widow, because years later I found out from Gary Stevens, a famous press agent, that Uncle Dick used to talk me up all over town. He was still working at the Broadway Theatre then, and he’d tell anyone who would listen: “I’ve got this nephew who can really sing! He’s going to be a big star. He’s really gonna make it. You gotta go out and see him!”
The best thing that happened to me after the war was the opportunity to study at the American Theater Wing on Forty-fourthStreet. The government set up a program called the Gl Bill that provided benefits for returning soldiers. It paid the tuition for college or trade schools, and provided other important services—anything to help the vets get back on their feet. It gave a lot of guys like myself the opportunity to continue the education that was interrupted by the war or to go to a school that we otherwise would never have been able to afford. In fact, in 1954 I was presented with a special citation that singled me out as “the ex-soldier who’d accomplished the most with his GI Bill of Rights training” by President Eisenhower. I am particularly proud of this award.
The American Theater Wing (which later became The Actors’ Studio) was one of the greatest schools in New York City. I had amazing teachers, most notably a Russian professor named Zhilinski who had performed with the world-renowned Konstantin Stanislavsky at the Moscow Art Theatre. Stanislavsky was the founder of what became known as Method acting, a discipline that has been made famous by actors like Marlon Brando and Dustin Hoffman. To this day I’ve never seen performances on Broadway or anywhere else that were better than the ones Zhilinski gave us. In one class, he demonstrated fifteen different ways to play a drunk and fifteen different ways to cry.
I’ve since applied the techniques I learned there to my singing. When I sing a song, I think autobiographically, as though the lyrics are about something I’ve experienced. I look for songs that lend themselves to that type of expression, songs that are full of powerful emotions, so that the public can “dream along with me,” as Perry Como used to say. That’s what I look for in a singer too. Nat “King” Cole, for example, just hypnotized me when he sang a song like “I Realize Now,” because he revealed himself so honestly. That’s the idea: to let the audience know how you feel.
At the same time that I was learning how to tell a story at the American Theater Wing, I was also studying vocal technique. Pietro D’Andrea taught me
bel canto
singing, the same method my brother had studied when he was a kid. These techniques and exercises have really saved my voice. There’s nothing like knowing the basics. I also studied with Helen Hobbs Jordan for a while. She taught me sight reading, which was quite a challenge, and gave me a whole new appreciation for what I was trying to do.
Another tremendous coach of mine was Mimi Speer. She had a studio right on Fifty-second Street, across from all my favorite haunts. We’d look out her window down at the marquees across the street: Art Tatum, Erroll Garner, Stan Getz, George Shearing, Lester Young, Count Basie, and Billie Holiday, all lined up in a row. It was enough to make your head spin. She’d tell me, “Do not imitate another singer, because you’ll end up sounding just like they do, and you won’t develop an original sound. Instead, find a musician you really like and study their phrasing. That way you’ll create a sound all your own.” It was a great tip. I paid particular attention to sax players Stan Getz and Lester Young. Art Tatum, was the greatest piano player of all time and was particularly instructive to listen to because he did unexpected stuff, all those jumps in and out of the melody.
I was particularly taken with Charlie Parker and the early beboppers. I knew a lot of soldiers who came back after the war and felt alienated by what had happened to jazz, but I was
The best thing that happened to me after the war was the opportunity to study at the American Theater Wing on Forty-fourthStreet. The government set up a program called the Gl Bill that provided benefits for returning soldiers. It paid the tuition for college or trade schools, and provided other important services—anything to help the vets get back on their feet. It gave a lot of guys like myself the opportunity to continue the education that was interrupted by the war or to go to a school that we otherwise would never have been able to afford. In fact, in 1954 I was presented with a special citation that singled me out as “the ex-soldier who’d accomplished the most with his GI Bill of Rights training” by President Eisenhower. I am particularly proud of this award.
The American Theater Wing (which later became The Actors’ Studio) was one of the greatest schools in New York City. I had amazing teachers, most notably a Russian professor named Zhilinski who had performed with the world-renowned Konstantin Stanislavsky at the Moscow Art Theatre. Stanislavsky was the founder of what became known as Method acting, a discipline that has been made famous by actors like Marlon Brando and Dustin Hoffman. To this day I’ve never seen performances on Broadway or anywhere else that were better than the ones Zhilinski gave us. In one class, he demonstrated fifteen different ways to play a drunk and fifteen different ways to cry.
I’ve since applied the techniques I learned there to my singing. When I sing a song, I think autobiographically, as though the lyrics are about something I’ve experienced. I look for songs that lend themselves to that type of expression, songs that are full of powerful emotions, so that the public can “dream along with me,” as Perry Como used to say. That’s what I look for in a singer too. Nat “King” Cole, for example, just hypnotized me when he sang a song like “I Realize Now,” because he revealed himself so honestly. That’s the idea: to let the audience know how you feel.
At the same time that I was learning how to tell a story at the American Theater Wing, I was also studying vocal technique. Pietro D’Andrea taught me
bel canto
singing, the same method my brother had studied when he was a kid. These techniques and exercises have really saved my voice. There’s nothing like knowing the basics. I also studied with Helen Hobbs Jordan for a while. She taught me sight reading, which was quite a challenge, and gave me a whole new appreciation for what I was trying to do.
Another tremendous coach of mine was Mimi Speer. She had a studio right on Fifty-second Street, across from all my favorite haunts. We’d look out her window down at the marquees across the street: Art Tatum, Erroll Garner, Stan Getz, George Shearing, Lester Young, Count Basie, and Billie Holiday, all lined up in a row. It was enough to make your head spin. She’d tell me, “Do not imitate another singer, because you’ll end up sounding just like they do, and you won’t develop an original sound. Instead, find a musician you really like and study their phrasing. That way you’ll create a sound all your own.” It was a great tip. I paid particular attention to sax players Stan Getz and Lester Young. Art Tatum, was the greatest piano player of all time and was particularly instructive to listen to because he did unexpected stuff, all those jumps in and out of the melody.
I was particularly taken with Charlie Parker and the early beboppers. I knew a lot of soldiers who came back after the war and felt alienated by what had happened to jazz, but I was
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