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"Gone and Also ... A Work in Progress" |
Claude Hall
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The post office in Harlem was now useless to him. She (continued next week) e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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Commentary Sometimes when a close friend dies, we are left with a hard hole in our heart and in our gut and the emptiness takes a long time to fill up and maybe we are never really whole again. You work with a man for several years and you think you know him. I joined Billboard magazine in March 1964 and worked with Mike Gross until we moved the headquarters of the magazine to Los Angeles in 1971. I didn't leave the magazine until 1979. I didn't see him again after leaving New York and, as far as I know, didn't talk too often with him on the phone. I might plead the excuse of work; I always had seven or eight phone calls waiting at the switchboard and many articles to write in addition to a column called Vox Jox. But I wish as I write this that I'd phoned him now and then. However, the man that I knew in New York may not have been the man I left behind. Both before and after.
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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Claude Hall, then radio-TV editor of
Billboard Magazine; organist Jimmy Smith, probably on
Verve Records at the time; and Mike Gross, talent
editor of Billboard Magazine. The picture was taken
at the Billboard office, 146 W. 46th St., New York
City. Tom Noonan, a former Billboard staffer who rose
to fame in the record industry, helped identify Smith
(ah, how quick we forget over 40-plus years)
When Mike Gross stepped out of a distant window in
Manhattan in the early 1970s, I experienced that kind
of hard loss mentioned above and I also felt somewhat
guilty. If I had only been there...been someone to
hear his woes...maybe he would have stayed around.
Instead, he lifted up a window upstairs at the 146 W.
46th Street office behind the Paramount Theater and
stepped out into the dark of night and they found his
body later on a rooftop below. After all of these
years, I cannot think of a possible reason for him to
do something as unfathomable as this; my wife Barbara
still thinks he was pushed. But that, of course, is
not what the police said.
Mike Gross was a pleasant fellow and, yes, though he'd
weathered a bout of illness--hepatitis--he had
recovered and was not suffering from it so far as I
know. He and his wife owned a condo in the Greenwich
Village area of Manhattan. She was one of the editors
of a leading woman's magazine. Vogue, as I recall.
Mike was very well-known by the record companies.
Especially known amidst the fabled Tin Pan Alley
crowd. Everyone liked him. I believe he had more
reasons to live than reasons to die.
I'd moved out to Los Angeles in May 1971 with the
Billboard headquarters and Mike, who was a consummate
New Yorker and thought the other side west of the
Hudson was still wild Indians and wilder cowboys (he'd
never learned to drive a car because there was always
a taxi handy that carried him as far as he wished to
go), stayed in New York. He was a New Yorker. He was
definitely New York theater.
Mike had been on Variety. When one staff walked out
of Billboard almost entire (or was fired; I never knew
the real truth), one of the first people brought back
to the staff was Paul Ackerman as music editor. He'd
worked there before and left when magazine policies
didn't adhere to his hard and fast standards of
quality. Lee Zhito was brought in as editor at Paul's
bidding. Then Mike Gross was hired as talent editor.
Then me. There was Aaron Sternfield still there, a
leftover, and there was another guy--Gil Fagen maybe,
I can't remember after 40 years and he left soon
anyway to join First National Bank. Aaron hated Lee
Zhito, the editor-in-chief, and he eventually decided
to hell with New York and went skiing in Europe and
never came back. The Secret Service came to talk to
me once about him. I don't know why. Was he being
investigated or was he under consideration for a
government position. I've often wondered.
Paul Ackerman, the music editor, was a quite,
dignified gentleman. He could quote Chaucer and he
could quote Hank Williams. I believe that Jerry
Wexler of Atlantic records, like myself, considered
Paul even more legendary than the Greek gods. But
Paul was worshipped by many, including Sam Phillips,
the man who "discovered" such as Elvis Presley, Johnny
Cash, and Roy Orbison. Paul was my mentor at
Billboard. But Mike also taught me a great many
things in his subtle manner.
In my fledgling days, I was asked to do a review of
Odetta at Town Hall. Town Hall in those days was a
wondrous place. My beautiful wife Barbara had taken
me there once to see the Weavers perform. Many of you
reading this Commentary might wonder who the Weavers
were. They were not only one of the best musical
groups that ever existed, they were social commentary
in action. I treasure that experience even today.
But others such as Ian and Sylvia, Gordon Lightfoot,
Paul Butterfield and his Blues Band performed in that
2,000-seat cubbyhole and I caught them during my
Billboard days.
I wasn't enamored of Odetta that particular evening.
Sorry. I think this was an off-period in her career
or maybe the backside of it. Or maybe it just wasn't
my "cup of tea." I wrote the review and Mike Gross
told me several days later that he'd received a phone
call from her manager or her record label...I don't
remember which. He said he'd defended me...that I had
the right to write the review as I saw it. He said
the major compliant was that I mentioned the lack of
audience reaction. Mike Gross did not chide me in any
manner. But I sort of got the gentle idea that it was
what I personally thought about the music that
counted, not what the audience thought. And I wrote
my reviews that way from there on out.
Mike Gross and Paul Ackerman knew the music business
and were generous with their knowledge. They always
went out of their way to introduce you to people and
this was something that I, myself, always sought to do
as years went by.
Incidentally, these were the good days of my Billboard
experience. Many years later, in Los Angeles,
something went wrong with Lee Zhito (perhaps with me,
too) and my working days became a living mess. But
those years in New York City and my early years in Los
Angeles with the magazine were more fun than you can
possibly imagine and more fun than I can even
describe.
Basically, in those New York City days when we were
trying to build Billboard (Cashbox was the number one
music trade magazine) there was me and Paul Ackerman
and Mike Gross. We competed against Cashbox for the
stories that were placed on page one of Billboard, but
also among each other; argued about them on a Friday;
fought for our stories like a hard storm. So did
Aaron Sternfield who fought for the first story I had
on the front page of Billboard with a byline.
The three of us--me, Paul, Mike--were so vastly
different. Paul with his sage knowledge of the
industry, beloved of its denizens, and his tradition
of inserting in almost every story that he wrote: "It
is no secret...." Mike with his phenomenal knowledge
of Broadway; he was once asked to doctor "Superman," a
play based on "Man and Superman" and not the comic
book hero. Gross refused politely; he told me that he
didn't think he could save the play.
Mike Gross was always willing to call someone for
Broadway tickets if you wanted to take your wife out
to a show and was always asking if I were willing to
do a review, usually adding that the groceries were
good as an enticement (this is also indicative of the
fact that our Billboard salaries were not quite
enormous). One night, Barbara and I saw Johnny Rivers
perform at the Copa as a replacement for Sam Cooke
(great steak). Cooke had been shot and killed by a
jealous husband. So far as I know, it was the one and
only time Rivers performed at the Copa. I loved the
show. He did about 45 minutes on "La Bamba," one of
my favorite songs. Barbara and I also caught the
Supremes at the Copacabana, as I recall. Tony
Bennett, we caught several times; the groceries were
very good at the Waldorf. Bennett was pretty good,
too. I would bet that Barbara and I saw Bennett
perform at least two dozen times. I got to the point
where I knew when he was going to take off his jacket,
when he was going to loosen his tie. He seldom
changed his act. He didn't have to. He was one
damned fine entertainer!
I don't know if Mike could have been a good
playwright. But he was a damned good trade journalist
for show business. There's a story about him writing
a review once and never leaving the bar at Carnegie
Hall. Whether the story was true or not, I do not
know. But everyone knew the story.
One of the things few people knew was that Mike would
write quips and one-liners and sell them to PR people
who would then plant these items under their client's
name in various trades and newspapers. Twenty-five
dollars. So a lot of people read Mike's stuff who
never knew it.
I've long wanted to write something about Mike Gross
and then I stumbled over a picture of me and Mike and
some record artist. Memories of Mike came flooding
back. A day or two ago, I wrote Tom
Noonan,Tenoonan8@aol.com, seeking information about
that picture. Tom always knew everything! I also
wrote Diane Kirkland, but she couldn't remember the
artist. Tom wrote quickly back: " I remember Mike
Gross well as we were good buddies--back in N.Y. when
we both were with Billboard. The thing that was
sensational about Mike was his contacts, his writing
ability. One time when I was a very young reporter
for Billboard I was given an assigment to go to
Carnegie Hall to review Lawrence Welk (you can see how
Iow I was on the assignment list by this very
assignment, right). Anyway I went and met Mike Gross
who was then with Variety (prior to joining
Billboard)--and we had a couple of drinks at the bar
before the concert was to begin. I went in for the
first half and Mike stayed at the bar--never entering
the Hall at all. At intermission, I again joined Mike
at the bar (if you recall, in those early days,
Carnegie Hall was the ONLY concert hall where they had
a full bar)--and Mike and I visited again. When the
bell rang for the second half of the concert to begin,
I asked Mike was he going in--he replied, 'Nah, I know
all about Welk and his audience'. And Mike stayed at
the bar. I went back in, took detailed notes about
everything--songs played, audience reaction, etc., how
Lawrence Welk would invite ladies from the audience up
to dance with him during some numbers, etc., etc. I
went back to Billboard and really labored over the
review that I wrote (would love to see it today) and
turned in my copy. Then Variety came out with Mike's
review of Lawrence Welk and you would swear that he
was sitting in with the band, it was that well
written, covered every single nuance--some that I
missed--and he never saw the concert to this day.
Incredible! Especially when you read his magnificant
review which made mine appear like it probably was, an
amateur's attempt at reviewing. I called Mike and
told him so. He just laughed."
So the myth of the "distant" review is true! This is
the first time I've heard the true story, I swear.
But everyone knew it. I also swear that.
Though no one probably remembers how huge Mike Gross
was these days, in those days he was Mr. Showbiz.
I'll swear to that, too. And this article is meant to
be a tribute to him so that people will know he did
exist and because Mike existed and Paul Ackerman
existed, I existed.
By the way, when I arrived at Billboard, Tom Noonan
was head of marketing, as I recall. He later went on
to a tremendous career in the record business.
At the Grammy Awards ceremonies, Mike and I would
divide the writing work. For fun, we'd pick out the
very last possible choice for a winner and laugh when
that person won more often than not. RCA Records
controlled the voting to a great extent in those days.
If it was RCA, it was Columbia.
One evening, Mike and I were covering a Latin artist
at small, down-trodden nightclub in Manhattan.
Cockroach on the wall sort of place. The artist had
once been very, very big with hits such as "Tico,
Tico, Tick," "Bessa Me Mucho," etc. Something
Williams. I fended off a reporter from one of the
other trades while Mike interviewed someone regarding
a new Latin record label. We managed to have fun now
and then along the way.
When Mike came down with hepatitis; Barbara and I
visited him in the hospital. During his illness, I
also covered talent for him. For a period of a few
months, I also did the classical music section and the
country music section as well as my radio-TV section
and music industry stories. I was also reviewing
albums for chart director Don Ovens.
I was glad when Mike came back to work. Not just
because it reduced my workload, but because that
smiling personality added something to the office.
Tom Noonan's email also sheds another faint glow about
Mike's death that I didn't know.
"The night he committed suicide," Noonan said, "I was
at Metromedia Records, further up Broadway and worked
late on that Friday eve--left my office and was
walking down to a restaurant to have a late dinner and
bumped into a close buddy, who was a cop, walking his
beat on Broadway--he stopped and told me that he had
just covered a suicide--I inquired where and he told
me it was on 46th Street, just off Broadway where some
guy jumped from the 16th floor--he gave me the address
and I told him that was Billboard's address--and asked
who was it that jumped. He told me it was Mike but
that he was considerate and jumped in the back so that
he would not land on some people walking by--I quickly
ran to a telephone and called Mary McGoldrick (who was
the office manager) and told her about poor Mike's
death. That was the first that anyone at Billboard
had heard about it. The last one to see Mike that
night, when he left the office, a little late, was the
late Mickey Addy. That's my sad story about a great
guy who went through many programs to attempt to get
sober but they all failed. But, I will never forget
Mike Gross and was still at Billboard when he came
over from Variety--who fired him for drinking on the
job. Paul Ackerman loved Mike as well--so did
everybody working at Billboard, as you know, Claude.
Take good care. I'd love to see what you write about
Mike. Will still get back to you re that artist in
the photo."
Tom did get back. Consensus is that it's Jimmy Smith
with me and Mike in the picture; Smith was very big in
those days on organ.
We come, we do, we go. And many of us never mattered.
Mike Gross mattered. I'll swear to that, too!
Over the years, a lot of good friends have gone on
down the road. But the one to whom I had the greatest
difficulty in saying goodbye was probably Mike Gross.
They sometimes refer to it as "closure." But like Tom
Noonan, I have not yet closed the book on Mike Gross.
I still remember him so very, very well.
OLD MATTERS
Bill Randle, April 5, 1981: "Excuse the paper. Am
writing this quickly since I am just back from 2
months in Aspen, skiing, etc. The address is still
viable, so write me at: xxx Good news about the
magazine. I'm sure it will benefit from your
background and expertise. I was in San Diego for 10
days in late February and it is a beautiful area.
While I was there I met with a tremendous young guy
(Minelli) at the Gannett station KSDO. He is the PD
there and has a really brilliant future. The format
is talk-personality and is quite effective. My
Presley piece (The Selling of EP) is now in
development (Barry Zwick of the LA Times is doing the
treatment, etc.) and I hope to have a program supplier
interested by mid summer. Etc. I may be back in SD,
LA area in late May-early June; if so, I will call and
would like to see you. As to the piece and picture, I
will be glad to. Just let me know what kind of piece,
pic, orietnation, etc., and I will do it. Take care."
Just ran across this letter above from the late Bill
Randle while sorting some stuff from cardboard boxes
to plastic containers. Suspect the magazine mentioned
was Casino, which I edited for veteran George von
Rosen. It failed; we couldn't get it on the stands.
I wrote an article for Casin about Joe Smith, then
head of Elektra Records, that I thought was pretty
good. Might reprint it some day since no one read the
original except me and Joe. Pity about the magazine.
Bill Randle and I corresponded now and then. I have a
great letter from him about the academic world, but
you know how it is about old letters. Some you keep
and can't find. Some you toss and wish you hadn't. I
think I kept every letter that I received from Bill.
And I have an interview on cassette that I'm hoping to
change over to CD. In fact, I have a lot of
interviews I'd like to put on CD. Gene Autry, Bob
Nolan, Stu Hamblen, Bill Drake, Chuck Blore, Ron
Jacobs, etc. Great, great stuff.
Just heard from Ken Griffis in Denver via snailmail
(see last week's Commentary for background details;
I'd written Ken, courtesy of Jim Kleist, to bring him
up to date on my last 20-plus years): "I'll have to
call Jim Kleist to thank him for his effort. Jim and
Avaline are such warm, helpful friends. As I read
your letter with great interest, I am impressed with
your many laudable achievements. But I think the
value of your letter was summed up in the few words
you wrote 'Ah, but we had a lot of fun in those days'.
Didn't we though? Yes, I did know most of the
cowboys back then, but sadly, almost to a man, they
are gone. This brings back a few words from an old
Nolan song--'This ain't the same old range, everything
seems to change, where are all the pals I used to ride
with, etc.' However, you overlooked one additional
important power--I knew people like you, Claude. That
association made my life notably more enjoyable and
rewarding. Your article on the West, and in
particular Bob Nolan and the Pioneers is most
interesting. The group is still active, appearing six
months in Branson and six months in Tucson. They
still produce a most listenable sound. If you ever
get the chance, you should go over to see them. They
are reproducing my Pioneer book 'Hear My Song'. It
should be available in the next two to three weeks and
I'll send you a copy. I'll even autograph it for you.
That and one dollar will almost buy you a cup of
coffee. Claude, Nora and I send along our love and
best wishes to you and Barbara. We trust things will
continue to go well for you. Let's keep in touch.
Thanks so much for your friendship."
There's a Scott Muni tribute 6-8 p.m. Nov. 18 at Sony
Music Studios, 460 W. 54th St., New York City. May be
by invite only. I don't know. But if you were a
close friend and can be there and wish to be there,
I'd make it a point. Say Tom Noonan sent you. That
name will get you in almost anywhere you wish to go.
For those who don't know Muni, he once programmed and
did an on-air shift at WNEW-FM, the flagship station
in New York City of the John Kluge-owned pathblazing
progressive rock FM stations that included WMMR in
Philadephia and KMET in Los Angeles. Huge
moneymakers. Very huge.