“The rainbow tribe,” I replied.
“As I recall, only you got to meet your grandparents in Sweden before they passed away. Your mother took Jeff to Sweden but only to visit her sister. Her parents were already gone.”
“Did you go on the Sweden trips, too?” I asked.
“Trace Face, I was working; my schedule was crazy hectic. First of all, even before you were born, I was juggling films in Hollywood, shows in Vegas, the Rat Pack gigs, and making albums! 1957 to 1960 was probably my busiest time with Decca Records, ever. I made a swinging album with the Count Basie Band, two duet albums with Carmen McRae, worked with Mundell Lowe, had arrangements by Buddy Bregman. Rigid schedule.”
“Sounds like a good gig with Decca Records, though. Why did you leave?” I asked.
“Uncle Frank. He created his own record label, Reprise Records. I left Decca; he left Capitol. Uncle Frank even got Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Bing Crosby, and Dean Martin to sign on his label. Uncle Frank looked out for artists’ rights, so we all felt safe. In our contracts, if you chose, recorded masters would become the property of the artist after a period of time, or you could cash out. Either way, Frank looked after us, took care of us. There was trust,” Pop said.
“Trust is everything in the biz,” I replied.
“Trust is everything in life. That’s why I chose Marty Paich. I trusted his work with my buddy Mel Tormé at Bethlehem and Verve. Paich had this West Coast jazz–style approach to music. Together we made some of the best recordings of my career: The Wham of Sam and my hit single ‘What Kind of Fool Am I?,’ which was on the 1962 Billboard charts for fifteen weeks . . .”
“And won the Grammy for Record of the Year!” I added.
My father’s musical recording career from 1961 to 1964 was at its height. He had Broadway show-stopper albums, a collaboration with Sam Butera and the Witnesses, a live album recorded at the Cocoanut Grove, an album of songs composed by Mel Tormé, one with Count Basie, and even the cast recording from his second Broadway musical, Golden Boy. In 1965, Pop became a Tony Award nominee for Best Actor in a Musical for Golden Boy.
“My schedule was tight, but I did my best to make time for your mom, too,” Pop said. “We went to the rainy Hollywood premiere of West Side Story in December 1961. Not long after, at a New York nightclub, your mom impressed the crowds by dancing the Twist. She impressed me, too, since your mom had no rhythm at all.”
“You go, Mom! And don’t forget the Funky Chicken.”
“Oh,” Pop said. “let’s not do that . . .”
“Never forget that April, [columnist] Hedda Hopper came up to me at the Sands and asked if me and your mom were separating. Can you imagine? She heard a rumor, she said. I told her, ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m closing here and the next day we leave for Seattle for our first honeymoon,’” Pop said.
Jeff Nathaniel Davis, my parents’ second adoptive son. I nicknamed him “Bumba.”
“In May, we even took a week off for a vacation in Rome where I was working. Your mother mispronounced almost everything in English. But I found it endearing. I called it the decoding process—one of the reasons I loved her so.”
“But oddly enough, when it came to other foreign languages, she could translate anything. In Rome, she translated the Italian so well. I could never have gotten by without her. I remember joking with your mother, that she spoke so many languages it was funny English wasn’t one of them.” Pop smiled.
“I really didn’t like to travel without her to foreign countries, but when I did, I would always bring her back fabulous gifts. One time I was in Paris, I spent a fortune on some French couture Balmain dresses, coats—everything hand-sewn. Beautiful! When your mom found out how much it cost just to get the stuff out of Customs she almost cried!” Pop laughed.
“Don’t make me laugh!” I was chuckling.
“When you mother could join me in my travels, Lessie Lee took care of you kids like you were her own. She raised you children like my Mama raised me, over-protective!”
“My Mama loved to tell this story: When I was an infant she would stroll me down the streets of Harlem. When the other mothers would see her coming, they would exclaim, ‘Here comes Rosa B with her Jesus!’”
“At least Mama didn’t smother you in vats of Vaseline like Lessie Lee did to us!” I told Pop.
“Where’s the vat!” My father shouted toward the kitchen, “Lessie Lee! Get the vat out, my daughter’s got ashy black feet!” Pop said. In an instant, Lessie Lee marched outside with her vat of Vaseline. We all laughed.