Before the Echoes Fade: An Entertainers Life in the Shadow of Fame

By Andrew Paul Mele and Floyd Vivino

In the annals of the entertainment world, the name of Len Carrie is not a household word. Yet icons like Frankie Avalon, Tiny Tim, Spike Jones, and Frank Sinatra are. And within the aura of these brilliant careers and others like them lies the spirited and talented Len Carrie. A multifaceted individual, Carrie is a pure entertainer. Comedian, singer, musician, bandleader, his range has engulfed every mediastage, TV, radio, records, and nightclubs. As a second banana with the great Spike Jones band, his talents reached out to vast audiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546211990

Andrew Paul Mele

Andrew Paul Mele was born and raised in Brooklyn and arrived in Staten Island shortly after the opening of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. He is the author of two books of baseball history in Brooklyn, as well as several short stories. His articles appear in the Staten Island Advance and the Italian Tribune. The introduction was provided by James P. Molinaro, Staten Island borough president.

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© 2017 Andrew Paul Mele. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Cover Design by Andrew Mele Jr.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/23/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1200-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1198-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1199-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017915406

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

To My Family: Always My Greatest Show On Earth!

FOREWORD

L en Carrie is the last of the true showmen. The very word - showman - is all but lost and forgotten in the vocabulary of the performing arts today. While there are stars in every field of the business, few , if any, could be called showmen.

Len Carrie could do it all. He was a musician, singer, comedian, actor, producer, writer, night club owner, band leader, recording artist, you name it. On stage, headlining his own revues, he made every act around him look and come across better than they actually were. He had an almost magical manner in making an act shine. In the rough and often cruel and cut-throat world called show business, few were as generous with their talents as Len Carrie.

I learned a lot about performing from Len. He is a living encyclopedia of show business. He worked with and knew more entertainers than there are stars in the galaxies. He helped and encouraged countless newcomers into our business and equally aided as many old timers, their careers and talents perhaps diminishing, yet he gave them their final honors and dignity on stage.

I can honestly say that I have never met anybody who loved show people more than Len Carrie…and many show people, myself included, survive and thrive today because of his kindness, encouragement and artistic generosity. Many of my fondest memories in show business are those which I shared in his presence on stage.

He is, truly and unarguably - the last of the true showmen.

Uncle Floyd Vivino

Totowa, New Jersey

July, 2017

PREFACE

H e was an old man now, time had made him that way. A bit hunched over, he walked slowly, pushing a walker in front of him. A bit gaunt as he sat down with some effort, his look just a bit pallid. And then he began to speak and I was completely taken aback at the strength of his voice and the rapidity of his speech. Actually it shocked me. I hadn’t spoken to Len for some thirty years and yet he sounded just as he had the last time I saw him. As always he began a conversation as though it was the middle of a discussion that had been going on for an hour. No how are you, or what’s new, or anything so mundane. He was in sync with the past and with the memories that he was so very fond of recalling and as the morning wore on I realized as he repeated stories I’d heard him tell before and recounted new ones, that this old guy hadn’t lost a thing. His mind was as agile and fresh and quick as it had been all those years before. There was pain in his shoulder and in his hands. It seemed the only part of him working as it had back in 1955 was his mouth and his memory.

He mentioned old musicians he had used in his bands, recalling them by first and last names as well as by nicknames in some cases, trumpet player John Serignano was Pepe le Moko. He talked about songs and arrangements and riffs and clefs and other musician terms that were for the most part alien to me. He remembered and explained clearly and concisely how he recruited some saxophone player sixty years before and repeated dialogue word for word as if in his own mind it had occurred on the day before. His eyes were aglow as he spoke and his habit of relating any story whether sad or happy or thrilling or dull, with the same enthusiasm was still very much in evidence. His verbal onslaughts were still ubiquitous allowing little opportunity for rebuttal.

His recollection of dates was remarkable. We opened up at Tony Mart’s on June 19, 1955, he told me with no hesitation whatsoever. Both ends of a telephone conversation with Spike Jones in 1958 was related word for word. He was specific about salaries he had received and profits made from one appearance or another. He repeated the words that Nino Morielli, an old saxophone player, had penned for the prayer cards at his own funeral; I’ll see you in the morning sun, and when the day is through… The only concession he made to memory lapses was the occasional hesitation followed by, It’ll come to me, and it usually did, minutes later when he would deviate from the subject to interject the fact he had previously forgotten.

He was a musician, a band leader, an emcee, an entrepreneur and a sight gag comic, but above all, he was a humorist. His normal conversation was sprinkled with the kind of rhetoric that brings smiles and downright laughter from whoever he is speaking with.

He was always a good man and an honorable one. He believed a man’s word was his bond. A promise had more validity than a written contract, as a result so many of his deals were sealed with no more than a handshake. When he turned down an offer it was because he had promised a friend that he would not break up the act they were performing.

Knowing of his vast show business experience, his adept story telling and his store of knowledge and the people that have passed through his life, I believed there was a book to write. I approached him with the idea. If nothing else I thought, the conversation would be nothing short of incredible.

This is Len’s story. Culled from a life on stage, the performer’s performer. It is all here, he pulls no punches. The good, the bad and the ugly, so to speak. But when it comes to acknowledgements there is only one place to began..with the master, Spike Jones. He was Carrie’s boss, mentor, and friend, and Len emulated him in many ways. Working for Spike was the high point of Len Carrie’s career. It was a rewarding period of success, enjoyment and education in the business of show business for Len. He developed close ties not only with Spike but with fellow performers Billy Barty and Doodles Weaver. The great knowledge and experience that emulated from these relationships also produced incredible memories which have become the basis for this volume.

We are indebted to the men who performed with Len over the years and who related their stories and memories; Rob Scott, Bill Turner, and Joe Matty. Many thanks for the contribution and advice from the great tenor, Franco Spoto. Particular emphasis to Charlie Sauss without whose memory and notes would not have uncovered so many of the artists and programs that had slipped through the aging minds of Len and myself. Buddy Raymond was Len’s first guitar player and old friend. We found Buddy in Phoenix, at 89 years, still playing guitar weekends in a local restaurant. Buddy has his own book, From An Island to the Desert and he graciously provided photos from the early days as well as his own stories and memories.

I deeply appreciate all the help and inspiration that came out of the Spike Jones Appreciation Society on Facebook, particularly from Jordan R. Jones, Ted Hering and Randy Morris. Thanks fellows. I hope you enjoy Spike’s story from Len’s perspective. There is no one I have come across who is more truly appreciative of Len Carrie’s contribution to their own lives as the family of Tony Marotta. Tony owned and operated the celebrated Jersey Shore nightclub Tony Mart’s. His son Carmen is overwhelming in his praise for Len Carrie and his Krackerjacks, whom he said his father credited with turning Tony’s beer and shot joint into the greatest showplace on the New Jersey Shore. Len and I thank Carmen from the bottom of our hearts for his support and confidence and scores of memories revolving around his beloved dad.

I am most gratified for the aid and assistance given to me by my dear friends Joseph and Debra Coscia. Joe edited the entire manuscript and Debbie lent her valuable marketing and promotional experience to the project. I wish to express my gratitude to my son Andrew for all his contributions including designing the cover of this volume. To the rest of my family whose continued support is essential to anything I do, thank you.

Len and I are blessed with a friend whose talent is in a realm entirely its own. We are deeply moved and appreciative that Uncle Floyd Vivino has written a forward to this biography. He and Len are a mutual admiration society and both belong in the sphere of the broad shadow cast by the master of comedy and music, Spike Jones. Floyd’s career has spanned so many mediums; television, radio, motion pictures, stage and stand-up comedy and he has excelled in each and every spectrum of the business. One of the funniest men alive, he is a joy to be around and a treasure in the business to behold.

A personal note. After my wife passed away recently, my children urged me to write another book, to keep busy. It was good advice. My son Andrew suggested a volume about my old friend and partner Len Carrie. We searched him out and reached him through his granddaughter. When I spoke with Len on the telephone for the first time in many years, I could swear it was as though I’d gone back thirty years. He was exuberant and his recall was incredible. This project would never have even begun had my wife been alive. Our plan was to retire in peace and harmony, filling our days with the little things we liked most doing. It was not to be. I wish to God that I had not been motivated to keep busy. However, the result is here and for someone who never wanted to write it and another who didn’t think he’d still be around to contribute, it is done for posterity. In truth, it turns out to be a story that should be told.

After Len and I met and agreed to make this attempt at a book about Len’s life, I got up to leave and he admonished me in typical Len Carrie fashion. You better type fast, he said. Remember I’m ninety years old!

CHAPTER 1

I t was late in the summer of 1957 and Len Carrie was riding a comet’s tail. At thirty-one years of age, he had been making music for more than 25 years and now with his popularity and success at its height, the young man felt certain that the upward spiral would continue unabated and all that he had dreamed was on the verge of fulfillment. Certainly his confidence was not unfounded. Following the formation of his new band, initially called The Len Carrie Quintet, in 1949, the band made up of Al Lowe, Buddy Raymond, Joe Rago, Jimmy Lynne and Len himself playing drums, Len had continued to move forward. Later groups would carry Len’s signature band name, The Krackerjacks. There was the great run at Tony Mart’s nightclub in Somers Point, New Jersey, beginning in 1952, the recording of a tune called Careless by his group, The Gallahads, which held the number one place on the charts in New York City for eleven weeks, the Capitol Records contract, and the multi-year signing with a new agent, Music Corporation of America.

It was, as a matter of fact, the agent from MCA Larry Funk, who signed Len, and also gave him a solid bit of advice: To make it in this business, you have to be in the right place at the right time, Funk had said, if you catch a break, then you need the talent to keep you there. Len thought he’d aced the first part of that and had all the confidence in the world in the second part. There was the hugely successful appearance on Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts show which led to Godfrey’s invite for the band to appear as a feature on his national television program. There was the contract with Decca Records, inspired by the appearance on the Godfrey show. Len Carrie and his Krackerjacks were definitely on their way!

He was certain that this was the band and the sound that would take him where he wanted to go. It had at long last come together. There was Buddy Raymond on guitar, Joe Cetani on piano, Tony Carr on Sax, Phil Bondi on Bass and Len on Drums. This was the band that could make it, Carrie thought with not unreasoned certainty. We were on our way! These were top musicians and each had talents beyond playing their instruments; they were accomplished comics with special unusual talents. This was a comedy band to rival any in the business. When they opened at the Nightcap Club in Newark, New Jersey, in the fall of 1957, Len felt assured that the road ahead had been cleared - there would be nothing to deter The Krackerjacks from here on out.

But, Len’s dreams of success with this band was short lived. When Buddy Raymond opted out of the band, he explained that he began to feel stifled and wanted to try something new. When he told the others Russ Marlo, the bass player, decided to go along with him. Buddy insisted that they take it up with Len. I didn’t want him to think I instigated anything. I was just acting for myself. The other two however, decided to join them and left Len as a drummer without a band. The boys went their own way and formed a new band they called the King Pins, leaving Carrie alone and despondent on a Newark street in the early morning hours of a bleak October night.

To add insult to injury, Len had just invested six hundred hard to come by dollars in several hundred Christmas cards and fan club cards. Embossed with photos of each member of the band they were now worthless. Standing outside the club when they gave me the sad news that they were leaving me, Len recalls, I went to the trunk of my car and pulled out the packages of cards. He stood by the curb and dumped all of the material, along with the $600 loss and his aspirations, into the sewer drain. Then he watched as they mingled with the filth and the foul odor of the slime of the Newark sewer system.

Music had been a part of Leonard Caramante’s life since that Christmas when he had just turned six and received a toy accordion as a Christmas gift. He played it for three years by ear, until Harry Kaplan, a camera store owner in Staten Island, brought a teacher named Salvatore Avalese to his store on Tuesdays to give lessons that allowed young Lennie to began formal music training. His parents were always supportive and his dad laid out $1,200 for a real instrument as well as for the lessons.

Len’s maternal grandparents Frank and Rose Lucci lived in East Kingston, New York where his mother Anna was born. Frank was a bricklayer and moved where the work was, so the family came to Staten Island and ultimately bought a home at 11-Faber Street, just off Richmond Terrace in Port Richmond. Only Anna, a strong-willed young girl in her mid teens, refused to go. Her friends were in East Kingston as was her life, so her parents agreed to let her stay with Frank’s brother, uncle Charlie and his wife Tessie. Aunt Tessie was a vibrant woman who ran a speakeasy out of her barn in East Kingston. Uncle Charlie was a quiet sort.

He just sat around and didn’t say much, Len remembers. But in the next six months, Frank managed to talk Anna into coming down to Staten Island and she decided to stay and went to work in a Manhattan cigar factory. Len’s paternal heritage originated in Boccoli, a fishing village on the Bay of Naples in Italy. In later years, when Len discovered a Staten Island cousin named Carannante, he learned that when his grandfather Leonardo, came to this country in 1912, a snafu at Ellis Island,(not at all uncommon at the turn of the last century), had resulted in a mistake that led to the misspelling of the family name, the double n’s becoming an m. According to Len’s research there, are pages of Carannantes and Caramantes in the Boccoli telephone book, but none anywhere else in Italy. So it remained Caramante.

Aunt Tessie ran a speakeasy in East Kingston and Raphael Caramante, Len’s father, was a bootlegger in Staten Island. His mother Celeste was a tough lady who let Ralph know her feelings when he tried to pull the wool over her eyes. He went to Florida on one occasion in order to do some business, but things didn’t work out so well, so Ralph wrote home to Celeste to send him some money. He claimed he had been injured, a broken leg, and needed the money for doctor bills. Celeste was no fool, or perhaps she knew Ralph too well. She spoke to Anna, his girl friend, You hear from-a Ralph? she asked her. How is he?

Yes, she said. Everything is fine.

So Celeste hopped on a train to Florida. When she arrived at the station Ralph just happened to be in the same location awaiting someone’s arrival.

He was comfortably seated in a touring car, his legs crossed over the seat in front of him, when his mom confronted him. Wheres-a-you broken leg? she demanded. He stuttered around a bit and then Celeste called him a name, spit on him, and got back on the train for New York.

But Celeste came out on the short end of a confrontation with her husband Leonardo. He brought home his pay and gave it to Celeste. She looked at it in her hand. That’s all-a you got? she said.

Yeah, he said. Why?

It’s-a-not enough, she demanded. What am I gonna do with that? In those days they had wood burning stoves to cook over. To prove that Celeste was not the only spontaneous person in the household, Leonardo grabbed the money from her hand and tossed it into the stove. There, he said. You like that better?

Somehow the two families got together, and that was through Anna Lucci and Rafael Caramante . The Luccis lived at 11 Faber Street. Leonardo and Celeste at 2142 Richmond Terrace and their back yards faced each other. Ultimately Anna and Ralph began keeping company. They would light candles in the window as signals of when and where to meet and their romance, however clandestine, blossomed.

They were married on November 18, 1923 and took an apartment at 19 Faber Street, next door to the Lucci’s. The fruits of their romance resulted in the birth of a son, their only child, on August 4, 1926, Leonard Caramante, named for his paternal grandfather, Leonardo. Len Caramante grew up with family, a great deal of family. Uncle Frank and aunt Katie, his dad’s brother and sister-in-law lived next door at 2136 Richmond Terrace. Anna was the oldest in a large family. There were thirteen births, nine lived to adulthood. Anna took all of them into her home for a time while they were struggling, until they could get on their feet. Her sister Jennie and husband Pat Sarcone moved in for a while, with them was a son Ralph, who everybody called Snookie.

Family life was paramount in the Caramante household. On Sunday afternoons the family was invariably together. They spoke Italian but Len never really learned the language because his father always insisted that he speak English.

You’re in America, he told him, you speak English.

Once Len slipped out a curse word in Italian. His father yelled at him. Where did you learn such a word? he demanded.

From you! the boy said.

Well, said Rafael, when I say words like that, don’t listen!

Music was very much a part of those family get-togethers. Marty Lucci, Anna’s brother, played the ukulele and in the summer months would strum in the back yard and sing along with his brothers Johnny and Louie. They included a friend, Teddy Armsfield. They would often go to Wolfe’s Pond Park in Staten Island and have family picnics, and the family musicians would bring their instruments. Though Len was an only child, there were 32 cousins in the Lucci and Caramante clans!

Lennie and Snookie did a lot of things together like vacationing summers in East Kingston with uncle Charlie and aunt Tessie. One year Len entered an amateur talent contest at Silver Lake Park. This was in 1938 and the finals which Len reached, was to be held on Labor Day weekend. After getting back home from East Kingston, he took sick. He ran high fevers and Anna and Ralph consulted a specialist from Perth Amboy, New Jersey. Unable to determine the cause of Len’s illness the doctor suggested they test the water he had been drinking from a well on uncle Charlie and aunt Tessie’s farm.

Len had typhoid fever, the well water was contaminated. I still can’t figure out how I got sick from drinking the water, Carrie says today, and nobody else, Snookie or anybody else, got sick.

He was hospitalized for three months, and of course, he missed the finals of the New York State Talent contest. His first day of school that term was November 1. But a lesson learned held him well in the future. His teacher, Mrs. Rosenberg, I remember her, Len said she was cross-eyed, wanted to leave me back. Len didn’t want to be left back because he wanted to stay with his friends. He had to make up all the work and pass all the tests. I worked my ass off, Carrie said and I passed. The lessen that was so important was that he realized that all I had to do was pay attention. Knowing that, the confidence he built from the experience turned him into an A student the rest of his time in high school.

At 19 Faber Street, the Caramantes lived in the apartment upstairs and the DeMeos, Dominic and Maria, who owned the house, lived in the ground floor apartment. Both of Lennie’s parents worked full time, Anna was now at Procter and Gambles, so Maria would wake Len every morning for school. She knew two words of English, Hey and Loonie, which meant Lennie. She began each day with, Hey, Loonie - Fa Tarde. It’s late! Len ate lunch with Mrs. DeMeo every day while Dominick was at lunch with the Sanitation Department. His job was to sweep the street with a broom while pushing that little barrel around.

Len recalls all of his relatives with fondness but there is a special place for grandma Rose Lucci. She liked to sing and had a favorite ditty she sang just for her musical grandson. She would serenade him with a refrain that went like this:

Pasta Fazoole - makea a weaka man stronger,

Pasta Fazoole - makea livea very long,

You wanna makea the bigga chest?

Pusha the button offa you vest?

Manga Pasta Fazoole.

Hey, Lennie, she’d say. You takea me ona the road with you?

It was Rose who translated the family letters to and from Italy. Len would tell her he couldn’t take her on the road, she was too valuable here at home.

Family life was paramount in the Caramante household. Len attended church every Sunday, usually at Christ the King parish across from his elementary school PS 20. The regular family parish was St. Mary’s on Richmond Terrace in Port Richmond. With all of his musical activities it’s hard to believe that this lad had time for sports but Lennie did find the time and the opportunity to play some sandlot football. The guys in the neighborhood, fellows like Saba Van Pelt, Gus LaRocca and Joe Caravaglio, used to hang out under the lamppost at Sharpe and Grove avenues on summer evenings. It was during these settees that the boys decided to put together a football team. They brought their idea to Mike Birche, a local who knew the game and was capable of coaching the club. Joe was the quarterback and Gus the center; Saba was a running back and Len played end. Of course in those days you played both offense and defense so Caramante was tackling as well as catching passes. They were the St. Mary’s Gaels.

Len wore number 76 on his jersey and as with every other aspect of his life there is a story or a tale attached. On a rainy muddy afternoon while Len sat on the bench the other players were muddied and wet so that their numbers were covered with mire and unrecognizable. Then Len got into the game. Get number 76, became the battle cry of the opposition. It was the only number distinguishable. Not good, thought Len. So he rolled around in the mud for a bit until he was just as unrecognizable as everybody else. This young man knew how to solve problems.

This young fellow knew how to think on his feet. He was ambitious and plotted his course early. Actually he was about fifteen when he attended a Glenn Miller show at the Paramount theater in Manhattan. It was the height of the Big Band Era and Miller’s was one of the top bands of the time. Up until now he was still taking accordion lessons, he learned to read music and was improving all the time. But when he saw the Miller orchestra that day in New York, time stood still for the impressionable youngster. He fell in love with the band and the sound. They completely turned me on, he recalled. He knew from that moment that he would one day play with that orchestra. He stayed to see the show three times and recalled that the film on the program was Mrs. Mineva, a classic Hollywood entry that starred Greer Garson. "Lucky it was a good movie, Carrie said, because I had to sit through it twice.

One problem was that there was no accordion in the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Would that put a crimp in his new career plans? Not on your life, certainly not for Len Carrie. Being the enterprising and confident young man that he was, Len carefully studied the musicians on stage seeking out the oldest looking member. He had in those moments determined to take up a new instrument. It would be the one currently played by the oldest band member. Carrie figured that by the time he was ready, this older fellow would be ready to retire and Len would step into his spot with the Glenn Miller orchestra. He zeroed in on Maurice Purtill, who was anything but old. He looked old to me, remember, Carrie said, I was only fifteen years old myself. Purtill happened to be the drummer. Purtill, called Moe, then twenty-six years of age had begun playing with Red Norvo in 1936, Tommy Dorsey until ‘38, then joined Glenn Miller where he stayed until Miller broke up the band on September 27, 1942 when the band leader joined the Air Force. Purtill was the drummer on virtually all of Miller’s hit records.

He played with Kay Keyser until 1944 before joining the Navy. When the war ended, Moe went with the reformed Miller Orchestra under the direction of Tex Beneke. Regardless of Purtill’s age at the time the teenager saw him as an old timer whom he could one day replace so he put his plan in operation. He announced to his parents that he was giving up the accordion. They both wanted to kill me, Len said. After all they spent on the instrument and lessons, but I was captivated by the Big Band music and especially by the sound of the Miller Orchestra.

Len went about preparing for his new career. He knew a fellow named