Yesterday, on FirstNews, Donna Pitman was nearly rhapsodic about how great Donny Osmond looked for being in his 50s…as if, by age 50, a person should be appearing in Dannon Yogurt ads like those featuring residents of Soviet Georgia.  She’d say something like: “Wow!  Donny Osmond looks great and is in such great shape for being around 50….”  Then, the unspoken part of her comment: “Especially compared to these two loads I sit next to every morning.”

We did receive a couple of emails saying Kris Ketz and I were not really so bad.  Although, I must say that when one writer referred to us as “Mr. Ketz and Quasimodo” it did give me pause.  Not paws, pause!  Speaking of paws, a fellow employee here at KMBC, when told that there were viewers who actually liked the looks of not-so-little, old me replied: “Well, it is nice that their seeing-eye-dogs are able to lead them to their computers to send the email.”  Tasteless and hurtful all at the same time!

One emailer told me I should get a haircut in order to prevent “all those women from running their fingers through it!”  That reminded me to stop by the dry cleaners and pick up my weekend hair so I can look “playfully casual” at the  Harvesters Check-Out Hunger event on Saturday.  Actually, I don’t have any toupees…yet.  However, again this week, I had visual evidence of my fading follicle future.

First, while doing the report from the Harvesters Headquarters this past Monday, a shot of me sitting at the computer revealed quite an amazing look at the back of my head.  Of course, some may say that’s my best side but it did show a rather extreme…well…let’s call it a “part.”  Rather like the Red Sea as Moses was moseying through. 

Now, I do try to comb the sadly thinning hair back there in such a way as to minimize the scalp-sighting opportunities.  But, Monday morning, I wore a turkey head for one segment and I think that damaged the ‘do.  Maybe, if I just go with the turkey head at all times, none of this would be a problem until my snood turned gray and my wattle started to recede.

Again, today, as I was finishing up a weather report I caught a glimpse of my bulbous head in one of the television monitors.  It looked like one of those satellite pictures you see showing how a river has exceeded its banks during serious flooding.  Ever-widening.  Wiping out everything in its path.  I’m pretty sure I saw volunteers from the Salvation Army down there handing out blankets and cups of coffee.

As I quickly become the poster boy for male-pattern baldness, I must say it is a bitter thing.  Years ago, there was a fellow who was quite bald who would always make mention of my emerging waistline.  “Putting on a few pounds there, Joel?” he’d say with a smirk.  With quick, Oscar-Wilde-esque, wit, I’d reply: “Well, at least I’m not a cue-ball head!”  Is this what they mean by Karma?  Or, the Wisconsin version: What goes around, comes around?

I am not kidding myself.  I can almost feel my skull emerging where, once upon a time, there were tufts of youthful fur.  Frequently, I sense that I’m being followed by phrenologists who want to use me for their research.  Birds have started to use my natural bulls-eye with uncanny accuracy.

I guess I could grow the front of my hair really long and then swoop it back ala Barry Gibb.  Forget about how to mend a broken heart.  I want to know how to cover up some broken hair.

Or, better yet, maybe I could get taller!  That way fewer people would be able to notice my waning waves.  Becoming taller would also make my current weight seem almost proportional.  Almost.

What about these options:  Hair Club For Men!  Permanent Magic Marker!  Construction Paper and Super Glue!  Shoe Polish!  Wear lots of caps.  Carry a small ferret, on my head, at all times and then, when people inquire, say “What ferret?”

The barber who cut my hair, in the town where I grew up, used to tell me I had “Audubon Hair.”  “Audubon” on a dog.  At this stage of game, I’d take that…fleas and all.

November 10, 1969 was the day our nation was invaded by a bunch of fuzzy, colorful, noisy, goofy creatures.  No, I’m not talking about the initial broadcast of FirstNews.  That happened some years later.  I’m talking Sesame Street!

I was not really a Sesame Street kid.  I was more of a Captain Kangaroo person.  Any show with a guy wandering around named Mr. Green Jeans played by a guy actually named Lumpy Brannum had my vote.  I also liked the moose and silent rabbit.  Not to mention the attack of ping-pong balls at any moment.  However, whenever The Captain started creating something special using an empty shoe-box, glue and construction paper, I became frustrated and switched the channel to Sunrise Semester.  No matter what I tried to do in the “craft” department, my shoe-box always ended up looking like a shoe-box.  Still, I liked the Captain and stayed loyal despite the onslaught of these hippies of the puppet world who seemed intent on teaching me something.  Frankly, I was little old for the show.  I was getting my education from shows like Get Smart and F-Troop by that time.

Despite my penchant for shoe-phones and “We’re the Hekawi” jokes, I do remember the first time I noticed Sesame Street.  I was home, sick, from school.  Back then, for a punk, afternoon TV truly was a vast wasteland.  All you had to choose from was Search For Tomorrow and some guy on the public TV channel lecturing about improper fractions.  (At first, I was intrigued by the idea of  “improper fractions” but then I saw that it was just about math and nothing naughty.  I lost interest.)  All of a sudden, into this sleepy little video village, came singing, dancing, joking characters like Bert and Ernie, Big Bird and Cookie Monster.  Initially, I thought I was hallucinating due to the heavy combined odor of Lysol and Mentholatum.

As the years went by, I learned how to play the theme song so that my nieces and nephews would think I was a cool uncle and race all over the house like the kids in the open of the program.    Although they are all adults now, I’m pretty sure they still would break into a run…Pavlovian-like…if they heard the music which explains why they didn’t want me to play piano for their weddings.

Right here at www.kmbc.com, you can find a whole section devoted to Sesame Street, including a way to find out which character you most resemble…not necessarily physically. 

When our oldest child, Alexander, was little, he did watch the show fairly often and developed an affinity for Telly Monster.  That was the one who worried a lot.  Alex was about five or so when he got tackled by a bigger kid in the neighborhood and was convinced he’d broken his arm.  He insisted on walking around with a while towel wrapped around the “injury” for several days.  Then, all of a sudden, he was healed.  It was at that point that we discovered that Telly Monster had  a broken arm, too.  The day Telly’s cast came off, so did Alexander’s towel.

We took the boys to see “Bob” from Sesame Street in concert at Johnson County Community College one time, too.  To this day, I occasionally find myself singing “One of these things is not the like the others.  One of these things just doesn’t belong…”  In fact, if my life had a soundtrack, that would have to be the recurring theme.  ”Bob”  was great and, so far as I could tell, not a Muppet. 

Personally, I always liked Guy Smiley and Vincent Twice Vincent Twice.  In fact, I’ve based most of my so-called broadcast career on those two. 

I never warmed up to Elmo.  We’ve had a rather unhappy history.  No fault of the little, red monster.  All because of me.  I don’t want to get into it but let’s just say that if you plan to go to a costume party dressed as Elmo, just make it plain Elmo.  Not Tickle-Me Elmo.  Apparently, there are several local ordinances that come into play when a grown man, dressed in red fur, asks people to “Tickle Me” and then giggles like a maniac.  To put it in Sesame Street parlance, you could wind up serving “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.  Ten Years In Cell Block D!”  Where, I’m told, it’s not that easy bein’ green.

I must say that I am happy with the success Snuffleupagus has found hosting This Week with George Snuffleupagus right here on KMBC!

I took the “Which Character Are You Like” test here on the website.  My wife would have guessed that I’m most like Cookie Monster.  My kids would have probably voted for Oscar the Grouch.  My employer would have said “Joel who?  Isn’t he that really old intern?” 

Turns out my downy Doppelganger is Grover!  I remember reading The Monster At The End Of This Book to the kids and trying to do Grover’s wild voice.  My larynx was in traction for a month. 

I do feel a little sorry for Grover.  He was a pretty big deal on Sesame Street for a long time.  Running around. Always a part of the action.  Sometimes wearing a cape and calling himself Super Grover.  Being generally cute, cuddly and crazy.  Then, along comes a younger, cuter fluff-filled critter who steals Grover’s thunder.   See “Elmo” above.  

Now, I’m not saying I feel left behind around KMBC. I was never a big deal, anyway.  But, if I show up in a cape and knight’s helmet, you’ll know why.

Monday morning, as part of the kick-off to KMBC’s involvement with Harvesters Check-Out Hunger Food Drive, I was lucky to visit the scene of the action:  The Harvesters Distribution Center.  Before moving along, just a quick reminder that you can contribute to Harvesters in a whole bunch of ways over the next couple of months including the Virtual Food Drive starting right here at www.KMBC.com.

Like any big-time organization, Harvesters has a mascot.  Harvey The Turkey.  Naturally, because I am immature and love to play dress-up, I asked to don the turkey head.  And, because the people at Harvesters are just too polite, friendly and eager-to-serve, they let me.  So, I did an entire weather and interview segment being Harvey…from the neck up. Although, truth be told, my legs have been referred to as fowl-like before and I was molting all the way home from work yesterday.

Turns out my gobble was particularly effective when emanating from a giant turkey head.  It appeared to frighten FirstNews anchors, Kris Ketz and Donna Pitman, even though they were miles away.  Okay, I did threaten to find their cars and leave a gift from Harvey’s feathered colon…as Johnny Carson once put it when a chicken released a stinky “review” on his desk.  That may explain their trepidation.

While in the Harvey-Zone, I became particularly proud of my snood.  That is the fleshy, wrinkled fold of skin that hangs down over a turkey’s beak.  “Fleshy, wrinkled fold of skin.”  Kind of describes me as I get older.  Anyway, Harvey’s snood is bright red and beautiful.  I couldn’t help tossing it back off my beak  in that devil-may-care-Cheryl Tiegs sort of way. 

In fact, one of the folks wandering about the warehouse complimented me on my snood and said I had a nice wattle…that’s the fleshy lobe that hangs, forlornly, from a turkey’s neck.  Unfortunately, Harvey’s head did NOT have an attached wattle.  I really need to lay off the dairy.

The most disconcerting thing about walking around with a turkey head on was the number of people who glanced my way and said, casually, “Oh, hi Joel.”

Now, if you’re thinking that KMBC fowled or fouled up by having me talk about such an important issue, be at ease.  There was a terrifically articulate  spokesperson there with immense knowledge of the topic, a calm, poised, mature demeanor and enormous sincerity.  My teenage daughter, Samantha.  She really carried the day. 

On the way home, Samantha told me I was grounded…until Thanksgiving.  Sorry, Harvey.

They have banished me from the studio this morning.  It was only a matter of time.  Actually, my daughter, Samantha, and I get to talk about all the great work done by Harvester’s in our area and how you can be a part of the outreach.  More tomorrow on this fun stuff.  And, a bit about Halloween.

Speaking of that, a kid came to our door the other night looking like an empty hot dog but wearing a big smile.  We asked him what he was and he said:

“A Happy Hollow-wienie!”

As we head into this weekend for haunting, I decided to go bobbing for bloggles.  I came up with this one from 2006:

For many Halloweens, my lovely wife created the Halloween costumes for our four children. Early on, our oldest went out dressed like a giant pumpkin…sort of a berry on steroids. She also made a bunny outfit that looked something like Bugs but it wasn’t Bugs…just in case any Warner Brothers lawyers are paying attention. “Here Comes Peter Cottontail…Hopping down the copyright infringement bunny trail…Hippity. Hoppity. Litigation’s on its way.” Perhaps her greatest creation was turning our daughter into a box of pop-corn. She was rather short at the time, so her brothers called her Pop-corn Shrimp. Of course, we had our share of clowns, Power Rangers, Spidermans, devils, goblins and witches. Yesterday, our 16-year-old son, said he was going to comb his hair into a sharp point, then plaster it with hair-spray and mousse. After preparation, he would proceed to go up to people, push his head into their body and say he was a “thorn in their side.” He doesn’t plan on getting much candy.

One year, my daughter started out to be a ballerina, then morphed into a witch, then tried to turn that into a princess. She ended up looking like a member of the royal family on Pluto. A couple years back, our oldest son went out in the neighborhood wearing a Chief’s jacket, wire-rimmed glasses and scrunching up his face in a pained smile. He looked just like Dick Vermeil. He once did his impression for the Coach himself on a Red Friday. Mr. Vermeil, ever the gentleman, patted my son on the head and then made me do a hundred push-ups and 20 laps around Barney Allis Plaza.

This year, our youngest son is about the only true trick-or-treater left. He is recycling one of his mother’s greatest hits from years past: a giant Butterfinger. He’ll make a decent haul in candy. And, actually, our daughter, dressed as a baby, will also make the rounds. It’s one of the advantages of being kind of small for her age. Who am I kidding? Our daughter is the kind of person who will be dressing up for Halloween her whole life, just for the fun of it. I, on the other hand, am not that kind of person.

I tried it one year. Wore a “blood-stained” shirt with a pocket-protector, horn-rimmed glasses with white athletic tape over the nose portion, matted my hair down and puffed up my neck until I looked a little like a cross between Mr. Wizard’s evil lab assistant, Buddy Holly and a bullfrog. I was quite proud of the overall effect until I opened the door for the first trick-or-treater, and was greeted with “You’re that weatherman, aren’t you?” I knew the TV cameras added pounds but, until then, I didn’t know they revealed the inner child, so clearly. After that I mentioned to a co-worker, that I was done with costumes. “Next year, I’ll just go out dressed like a weatherman.” From across the newsroom, my news director chimed in “Bad idea. According to our research nobody will ever believe you as a weatherman.”

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

The last two bits of digital drabness in this space have been rather windy.  Just word after word after word after word after word after…well, you get the idea.  I realize that there are other weblogs right here at www.kmbc.com that are truly digilicious.  For example, one of them is filled with lots of different fonts clustered together in short, snappy easy-to-digest snippets.  Colorful, too!  Reading it is like reading a piece of Fruit Stripe Gum. 

Then, there’s this one.  Just kind of boring. Bromidic…I know that sounds like a medicine for heartburn and, just maybe, reading this stuff is a cause of that affliction but, according to Webster, it really means stale, trite and commonplace.  Well, guess what?  Today, I have three things to share with you that are most definitely not drab or dull or humdrum or tedious or vapid or anywhere close to registering on the ho-hum continuum.

**Happy Birthday to Pets For Life!**This past Saturday, I was lucky to be a small part of a big celebration.  For a quarter of century, a group of two-legged volunteers and their four-legged pals have brightened the day and lightened the load of folks in hospitals, nursing homes, domestic abuse facilities and many other locations where people may be hurting.  In nearly 500,000 visits, these dynamic duos have brought some unconditional furry love to a lot of deserving people. 

As part of the fun, they had a pet trick competition and pet costume contest.  I saw one dog that I was sure would win that latter event because he looked just like a cat.  Turned out it was a cat.  The actual victor was a pooch dressed up like one of Santa’s elves…little green and red booties on his paws and all!  I warned his owners that their cooperative pup would, at some point, get even. 

The legendary Charles Gusewelle of the Kansas City Star spoke and read from his wonderful books about the dogs and cats in his life.  Even the animals were engrossed.

Congratulations to Pets For Life!  Arf!  Meow! (For the hairier among you.)

**School Days**Tuesday, I was in Bonner Springs at the elementary school chatting with super second graders.  Wednesday, it was time for Shoal Creek School in Liberty.  Hello and thank you to all the students, teachers, administrators and parents in those tremendous places.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to serve a detention in either school.  Maybe my behavior is finally improving. 

Have a great rest of the school year!

**Braden’s Army**You’ve heard about the brave young knight, Braden, and his Army before in this cyber spot.  You can learn more about this young man and his amazing family by going to http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/bradenh.  Braden continues to face the challenge of living with cancer.  Today, October 28, 2009, marks another battle.  So, today is hereby declared Yellow Wednesday!  Yellow is Braden’s favorite color so…if you have a chance…wear something yellow today or tomorrow in support of Good Knight  Braden and all the other Kids of the Round Table trying to vanquish the dragon that is cancer.

There you go:  three things that were actually worth reading.  Hope you found this refreshing because, fair warning, tomorrow it’s back to the same old Interweb Inanity!

Yesterday, driving past the post office, I saw something that I think could be the secret to peace in our time. No, not Neville Chamberlain mailing his monthly payment for bumbershoots.  I saw a man walk from his car toward the building, carrying a package.  He was being trailed by a small girl who, I would guess, was about four years old.  Now, here’s the way to tranquility: the little lady was skipping!  SKIPPING! 

First of all, you maybe wondering how I could take that all in without rear-ending the car in front of me.  Well, who’s to say I didn’t?  But, that’s not the point.

The point is that I think if we all skipped from place to place…now and then…rather than always plodding along, we’d feel better and treat one another more kindly.  Yes, most of us would look totally ridiculous but that’s part of the beauty.  It is much more difficult to tumble into full-blown road rage if you’re laughing so hard your sides hurt.

The definition of skipping is “to move by hopping on one foot and then the other; to leap lightly about.”  Who’s going to take themselves too seriously if that is how they’re getting from one place to the other?

If you are uncomfortable with the very word, skip, there are plenty of options, thanks to Mr. Roget.  Try: bob, bound, canter, caper, cavort, flit, frolic, gambol, lope, scamper, scoot, skitter or…my favorite…skedaddle!

That leaping lass in the post office parking lot had no worry about what anyone else thought and she gave the appearance of being carefree.  I say “gave the appearance of” deliberately.  I have a tendency to whistle or hum to myself on a regular basis.  Sometimes I even break into a yodel.  None of these audio blurts mean I’m, necessarily, in a great or even good mood.  Often, this self-made soundtrack is just habit but, if it makes others think you’re in a pleasant frame of mind, what’s the harm?  Skipping would and could do the same!

Of course, skipping would not be appropriate in every circumstance or situation.  Pall bearers, for example, should probably not try it.  But, in the course of an average day, I believe just about everyone would benefit by an occasional skip.  Even world leaders.  Just consider Angela Merkel of Germany.  Don’t you believe that her whole demeanor would be boosted if she added a little hitch to her get-along?

So, today, just once…maybe while nobody is looking…put a tiny spring in your step.  I’ll bet you’ll feel better about everything.

Or, you’ll  feel silly and that’s not all bad, either.  Just ask John Cleese.

This past Saturday was the big “O You” event downtown featuring contributors to O Magazine.  That’s Oprah Winfrey’s publication.  Oprah’s chief financial guru, Suze Orman, Oprah’s favorite medico, Dr. Oz and Oprah’s best friend, Gayle were all there among other Oprah acolytes.  Some 4000 Oprah-holics were also in attendance.  That’s six mentions of Ms. Winfrey’s first name which I think qualifies me for a cup of coffee with Steadman.  Our own big names, Donna Pitman and Kris Ketz, were also on hand to greet the friendly folks from all over the area.

The excitement of Saturday reminded me of times when celebrities visited my little Wisconsin hometown way back when.  Some of these memories maybe a bit sketchy while others are totally untrue…not unlike my weather forecasts every day on FirstNews…5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. on KMBC and 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. on KCWE.  I apologize for the sneaky commercial but I’ve got a mortgage to pay.

It seems to me that we had a visit from a bunch of Green Bay Packers once.  I’m talking about legends like Bart Starr, Paul Hornung, Max McGee, Jim Taylor, Ray Nitschke, Fuzzy Thurston, Willie Wood, Elijah Pitts.  They came to Sauk-Prairie to play…basketball!  I can’t remember who they played against or what charity benefited but I do know my dad covered the event for our local radio station, WVLR: Wisconsin’s Very Live Radio! or, in the Summer months, Wisconsin’s Vacation Land Radio!

***DIGRESSION ALERT***

In the previous paragraph I referred to a place called Sauk-Prairie.  There is no such place.  Well, there is and there isn’t.  On a map, you will find Sauk City and Prairie du Sac.  Two distinct villages.  When I was growing up there was a definite  tension and rivalry between the two communities.  We had Norb’s Bowling Lanes.  They had Sauk City Bowling Lanes.  (That is not a misspelling.  It was Norb’s not Norm’s.  The owner’s name was Norbert.  I think everyone called him Pick.  Not sure why but I’m hoping it had nothing to do with his nose.)  We had Gordy’s Barbershop.  They had one named something else like Jim’s.  We had Mueller’s Drugstore.  They had Witwen’s Drugstore.  We had Accola and Osterfund  Hardware.  They had Lochner’s Ace Hardware.  We had 5th street.  They had Madison Avenue.  They were the same street but the name changed at the Catholic church on the corner.  Today, I believe, lots of municipal services have consolidated and many folks just call it Sauk-Prairie.  For us old timers, however, we still cling to our home village!

***DIGRESSION ALERT EXPLANATION***

It has come to the attention of the Web Wizards that these bloggianias have lots of self-imposed interruptions.  I pull off the road of the main story a little too often, I guess.  So, from now on, in order to help the reader, I am required to issue a DIGRESSION ALERT.  It gives you time, depending on the time of year, to head for your basement or find your snow shovel.  Then, again, if you’ve spent anytime reading this digital dung, you probably already have some sort of shovel handy.  Now, back to our regularly scheduled drivel.

Another time, a very young performer named Barbara Mandrell did a show in the gymnasium of the high school as part of Town and Country Days.  Everyone agreed that we’d be hearing more of her in the years to come.

The biggest star I remember visiting our little burgh arrived in a big, fancy bus which pulled up to the RiverView Ballroom on Water Street.  He entered the venue to cheers and whistles.  Dripping in sparkles from head to toe.  Wearing a cowboy hat and carrying an accordion.  It was Pee Wee King!

Pee Wee King was born in Milwaukee and raised in a  town way up north called Abrams.  Like all of us cheeseheads, he grew up listening to polkas, waltzes and schottisches.  Pretty soon Pee Wee took his fiddle and squeeze box and headed for Nashville.  He appeared in some Gene Autry movies and performed all over the country leading his Golden West Cowboys.  Pee Wee and his band’s vocalist, Redd Stewart, co-wrote several big hits like Slowpoke and You Belong To Me.  They also composed the classic Tennessee Waltz, which ranks as “our song” for an awful lot of couples.

Pee Wee King was in town to celebrate the one year anniversary of the aforementioned WVLR.  He played all the favorites and chatted on the air for hours.  I was just a very little squirt but I remember him as being an incredibly nice guy…wearing clothes that twinkled.

About 15 years later, Pee Wee King came back to the area.  By that time, he was enshrined in the Country Music Hall of Fame and a musical legend.  He and the Golden West Cowboys were playing in a ballroom in McFarland, Wisconsin.  My dad, a brother and I decided to go see the show.  As we were sitting at our table, my brother and I urged our dad to go on up and re-introduce himself to Pee Wee King.  It didn’t take much arm-twisting.  Lo and behold,  Mr. King remembered Mr. Nichols and WVLR.  (“Lo and behold?”  Who am I?  Angela Lansbury?)

Our dad came back to his seat looking pretty satisfied.  His smile got wider just a couple songs later when Pee Wee King announced from the stage:

“We want to dedicate this next number to a good, old friend of ours from this neck of the woods, Ron Nichols.  Ron gave us quite a boost several years ago by letting us play on his radio station, WVLR.  It was a great time and we sure enjoyed it.  Thanks, Ron!”

Then, they jumped into a polka while all eyes turned back to look at our dad.  If I’d been thinking, I would have chosen that time to ask for a raise in my allowance.

The old WVLR is now drifting through the ether somewhere but, thanks to that brother who was along on the Pee Wee Adventure, radio is still a part of our family and our hometown.  You can find it at www.saukprairieradio.com.  Small town radio gone World Wide! 

Sorry.  Another sneaky commercial.  But, one of these days when the honchos at KMBC wake up and give me my walking papers, I’ll need a job and I’m hoping my brother will at least look at my resume.  It’s in crayon so he can’t miss it.

I mean, I know I’m not getting a job at O Magazine.

Wednesday morning on FirstNews, we were giving away tickets to the Billy Joel/Elton John concert coming to town in December.  I’ve never seen either performer in person although I did have the chance to see Billy Joel about 30 years ago.  I’d saved enough money to see one concert.  My choices were Billy Joel or Sarah Vaughan.  I chose the Divine One-the legendary Miss Vaughan.  It was a great night of music…all of it, off-the-cuff…because  Sarah Vaughan’s arrangements had been lost in transit.  So, she and her trio took requests!  Amazing stuff.

The first big-time concert I ever attended, though, was another piano-playing songwriter:  Burt Bacharach.  I was about nine years old and Mr. Bacharach was making an appearance at the Dane County Coliseum in Madison, Wisconsin.  As a fledgling piano player myself, I’d found the John Thompson Easy Piano Sheet Music collection of the Bacharach catalog very appealing.  I could make my way through What The World Needs Now Is Love and Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head quite easily.  Do You Know The Way To San Jose and Close To You were more difficult for me.

This was in the days when piano-players were everywhere.  Ferrante-Teicher!  Peter Nero!  Roger Williams! Floyd Cramer!  You couldn’t swing a cat, living or dead, without smacking one of these tinklers.  Of course, there was also Liberace but he seemed to rise above these fine fellows into a different strata of show biz.  And, when he did rise above them, he was attached to wires and wearing red, white and blue sparkly short shorts and a white fur of some sort.

Still, I thought Bacharach was best of the bunch.  Back then I didn’t even know he had been born right here in Kansas City.  I just thought he was a cool guy who wrote cool songs. Hey, Bacharach’s moves and music got him Angie Dickinson! He must have been doing something right.  I tried to emulate his shoulder movements and light-fingered touch as I tortured the keyboard.  While Burt Bacharach looked classy as he tickled the ivories, I just looked like a kid who hadn’t taken all of his medication.

I probably won’t be attending the Billy Joel/Elton John concert but, in honor of one of the great piano-playing, singing, composing forefathers, Burt Bacharach, I may dig out my Easy Play Sheet Music of Walk On By and go to town.