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It’s hard to believe, but in his early days during the Twenties and the jazz era, Harry Crosby (1903-77) was a hard drinker, a brawler and a real bad-ass. Elvis had nothing on him. Success softened him, and by 1931 he was the king of recording and radio.
He was a major innovator, inventing the laugh track and investing in the first reel-to-reel tape recorder, which changed the whole world of recording.
His closest friendship was with Bob Hope. Both men were born in the same year, and they golfed together for high stakes. My cousin-by-marriage, who wrote for Hope, was invited to play golf with them for “ten a hole”. He thought they meant ten dollars a hole, and when he found out that they were playing for ten thousand dollars a hole, he almost fainted. They let him off easily that time, but he never golfed with them again.
When Crosby died of a massive heart attack on a golf course in Spain, Hope was shattered. It was a case of mortality knocking at his door, although Hope would live for another 26 years. The Los Angeles Times wanted Hope to contribute a column on Bing’s death, and my cousin had to write it because Hope couldn’t bring himself to do it.
This song comes from the peak of Crosby’s form. I should note that the San Fernando Valley today is nothing like it was in 1944.
See you tomorrow night for the Top 10!
Thanks, Publius, for the 1944 Hit Parade for the troops to enjoy. ((HUGS))