Bobby Cole - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Once again, it’s the sad anniversary. 

It was a miserable Christmas for Bobby’s friends, fans and family. Well, most. Some may not have heard the news of his passing yet. One of his friends got something in a major New York paper, and an old acquaintance wrote something up in a freebie give-away paper that was circulated mostly in the East Village. I say old "acquaintance" because in his little tribute, he declared he could never forget Bobby's "sapphire blue eyes." Let's just say the man was color blind, or hadn't seen Bobby in twenty years.

For some, and there’s irony here, Bobby's passing was a sudden realization that despite his flaws, he was a very special guy. Yes, more than once his self-appraisal was a gruff, “ain’t I a pain in the ass?” He was well aware of what his drinking had cost him, and continued to cost him when he’d have his lapses. He knew there were some, including ones he loved most, who shunned him. They were following the A.A. advice of "Let go, and let God," perhaps.

His fretful roomie, the bizarre Karen Leslie Lyttle, once tried to resurrect her acting career (her only famous role was in a Richard Pryor flop, "The Toy") by going out to the coast for auditions. She gave someone else the daunting task of looking in on Bobby, making sure he was taking his pills and not hiding them and binging. There were always some people who never quite gave up on him, or hadn't been disappointed often enough to walk away. There was one very attractive older woman with a famous hubby, who seemed to maintain a discreet affair via brief encounters when she happened to be in town. But I won't digress.

Some, who broke his heart by the angry words they hurled at him, and their silences, are now anxious for any photo or any recording they can find. “Lighting that torch, watching it burn.” I don’t blame ‘em. They had their reasons. Even his nutty roomie would sometimes try and take that vow, and lock him out and call up people and tell them not to take him in; let him sleep in a 24 hour movie theater in Times Square...make pay phone calls...and then walk for miles to that one person who answered the phone and couldn't refuse him. Those who know the Phil Ochs story know how this works. With Phil, even his own brother urged everyone to NOT help Phil by giving him money, a place to stay, or booze. It’s just a tough situation all around. And now, those who turned their backs have re-opened their hearts to his memory. And that’s a good thing.


Now and then, people share their memories on social media, and sometimes a bit more. Sometimes there’s an email or a phone call, and a bit of a surprise: “I know you knew Bobby well...I have a cassette recording...I don’t have a player anymore. Is there some way to get this transferred? Can we get together and have dinner, and talk about him, and can I give you the tapes?” 


There’s a recording of Bobby talking about life, his drinking, and how he wanted to try and get some more things done. It was an impromptu set of remarks between songs and giving a singing lesson to some woman or other. A brief snippet: “….I’ve been drinkin’ for 40 years. I don’t think I had a sane day in 40 years. Because it was all alcoholic thinking. If I wasn’t drunk I was withdrawing. Oh, there was some good times, but there are things I want to do. I want to do things I wanted to do when I was a kid, but I got hung up on the bottle…there’s life goin’ on…”

Yes, he had his demons, ones that sometimes got in the way, both personally and professionally. Like too many creative artists, he had a final project (the “Hole in the Corner Man” album) that he just didn’t want to finish, perhaps for fear of it being rejected. Meanwhile, he earned his money the old-fashioned way, playing and singing in bar-restaurants...a dying profession. There weren't too many places that would pay for live entertainment, as opposed to tips. Bobby did NOT play for tips. He refused to put a tip jar on his piano. The venue had to pay him or he wouldn't be there.

One factor that he had to deal with in his creative work, was the fact that some of the places he played were very noisy.  He could see the expressions of admiration on the ringsiders who were around his piano, but he could also look into the smoke and see dozens more paying no attention, and worse, talking mindlessly and loudly. 

The recording below is, unfortunately, an accurate example of how it sometimes was.  In his private life and in his performing life, sometimes he was taken for granted, unappreciated, or worse, ignored.

Until the Real Thing Comes Along - Dream a Little Dream of Me