Bob

Batz

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February 27, 2009

Memories of The Music Man

I was going through some papers in the basement the other day when I came across a yellowed, 43-year-old newspaper story. As I slowly read the story, fond memories came rolling back across the years.

It was a sunny autumn day in 1965 and I was a 26-year-old newspaper reporter in Flint, Michigan. Up to that point in my career, I hadn’t met any of what you could call celebrities.

Then, one afternoon, my editor, a crusty but brilliant curmudgeon named “Mac,” called me over to his desk where he always kept a half-empty bottle of whiskey in a bottom drawer.

This time he summoned me the same way he always summoned me to his desk. “Hey what’s-your-name,” he shouted across the busy newsroom. “Get the hell over here and make it snappy!”

I hurried – no, make that I ran – to his desk. “Yessir,” I said, my heart pounding.  

“Got an assignment for you, Butz ” Mac said, shoving a wrinkled slip across his desk to me. “Meredith Willson’s in Fenton to do a public appearance. I want a story about his visit for tomorrow’s paper.”

Ten minutes later I was on my way to Fenton, a small town a few miles south of Flint. Though I’d never met Meredith Willson, I’d heard of him because at that time Willson’s Broadway hit musical The Music Man had been made into a hit movie, making him one of America’s most celebrated composers.

Plans called for Willson to march in a parade that afternoon with the Fenton High School Band as the band played hit songs from the movie, including Seventy-Six Trombones, Goodnight My Someone, Lida Rose and Gary, Indiana.

I found the bespectacled composer in a room on the third floor of Fenton’s 100-year-old hotel.

“The Music Man,” Willson told me shortly after we shook hands, “wasn’t supposed to be a hit, you know. When it opened on Broadway, it took most theatergoers and many critics by surprise. Sure it was corny, but they loved it. Yes, it was sentimental, but they embraced it.”

Willson smiled. “It was fantastic,” he said. “They bought their tickets and they left the theater humming the tunes. I was absolutely delighted, to say the least.”

As you probably know, the “music man” in Willson’s Music Man is a swindler named Harold Hill, who goes from town to town selling the idea of forming a local boy’s band which he says he’ll train if the people of the town will buy him all the necessary equipment.

Unfortunately, Hill can’t read a single note of music and knows absolutely nothing about training a band.

Then Willson smiled again and added the words I will never forget:

“The Music Man is a fairy tale, you know. A dream come true. A couple of hours worth of fun and hope in the midst of a sometimes dreary world. The Music Man was a success. It made people forget, even if it was just for a little while, the problems of everyday life.”

Over the years, I’ve seen The Music Man movie at least 50 times. Every time I hear “Goodnight My Someone” it makes me misty-eyed and the film’s rousing finale still brings out the goosebumps.

Meredith Willson died in 1984. He was 82 years old and I’m hoping they buried him somewhere where the sun perpetually shines on marching band trombones.

Goodnight, my someone . . .

Goodnight.

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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