Remembering A Legend
The news today of the death of the great Harry Belafonte at age 96 took me back to my high school years, when this great Calypso singer explosively burst on the scene. My friends were all singing "Day-O" and "Jamaica Farewell" as these songs represented an entirely new type of music, wholly different from either American folk music or R&B.
No one was more of a Belafonte enthusiast than my early-40's mother, who added an element of sexual frisson to my more strictly musical appreciation. Indeed, in the spring of 1962, when I was now in my sophomore year at Harvard, I received a postcard from said mother whose text went more or less precisely this way:
"Your father and I are on a wonderful trip to Italy. We are staying at the Hassler in Rome and I have just discovered that Harry Belafonte is just a few doors down from us. I am trying to give your father the slip and, with any luck, you will never hear from me again."
My mother was not given to making jokes-- she was, I suspect, only slightly exaggerating. Also I knew, by age 18, that her devotion to her marriage vows was less than total. I noted her particularly strong enthusiasm for Mr. Belafonte accordingly.
Segue to nearly ten years later, and I am now working in New York. Emerging from a rear table at the Russian Tea Room, I spotted my good friend Bobby Short, the brilliant cabaret pianist/ singer, sitting at one of the primo front banquettes with none other than Harry Belafonte. I stopped to say a brief hello to Bobby, who then introduced me to his lunch guest.
I quickly told him the story of my mother's unrequited (so far) passion for him, quoting her postcard from ten years ago almost word for word. He listened, flashed his megawatt smile, and said in a sexy intonation, "Tell your mother I am back from Rome!"
