BOBBY COLE - BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM

Below, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” for several reasons. First off, it’s seasonal. Second, it’s more accurate now than ever (“…the Christians and the Muslims exchanged frozen looks.”) OK, sometimes the exchange is gunfire, and usually one-sided by terrorists at unarmed people. I know a Coptic Christian who fled the Middle East to come to America and safety. If you check Wikipedia to find out more about Coptic Christians, you’ll find this line: “ The abduction and disappearance of Coptic Christian women and girls also remains a serious ongoing problem…” But I don't want to digress...

The THIRD reason for choosing this song is that it jump-started my long friendship with Bobby Cole. I may have mentioned this before. I’m not an “old fan,” who used to get loaded at Ali Baba and listen to the original trio. I didn't rush out and get "NEW NEW NEW" when it appeared on Columbia around 1960 or whenever it was. It was an era when the "American Songbook" was given a little extra "swing" by hip new musicians, but to modern ears, that stuff doesn't sound all that new. Having a member of the trio join Bobby in singing from time to time is quite a distraction. As for Bobby's solo on "Ebb Tide," which I thought was a highlight of the album, I got a typical Bobby Cole growling response: "I sound like I've got a sock in my mouth!"

You wanna see a publicity shot promoting the original trio, one you might not have seen before...ok....

I didn’t become enthralled seeing him on “The Judy Garland Show," either. I was a kid who was buying Beatles singles. My intro was the revelation of hearing “Mr. Bojangles” on the radio. Who had a voice like that? What was going on with that wistful electric violin? How did the calliope from “Mr. Kite” break down and end up in the shabby world of a “down and out” entertainer in jail? Who’s this BOBBY COLE guy? Where do I see him perform?? Jeez, how the hell do I get a copy of the record? As it turned out, some record stores only had the Jerry Jeff Walker ATCO version, which came out at the same time. I had to get Bobby’s via mail order!

That’s when I discovered the B-side, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” which Bobby told me was quickly done in a folk arrangement, maybe only a few takes, just a quick B-side thing for the rush-release of a song he had discovered by hearing Jerry sing it in a small club...before Jerry got a contract to record it. Cole had devoted all his energies to producing his vision of Jerry’s simplistic country strum. It was just an irony that Walker's buzz extended to ATCO and the ATCO version arrived almost simultaneously as Bobby's version on Columbia's DATE RECORDS division.

Many years later, I finally saw the ad I was searching for: Bobby Cole…The Bobby Cole Trio…playing at the Savoy Grill. Time to put on a suit, act cosmopolitan, and saunter in, dealing with the affected world of a maitre’ d and all the rest of the high class pretense. Lady and I entered this world mainly because of two songs that Bobby wasn’t even going to perform that night. His sets were loaded with the “American Songbook” material that were crowd favorites...music they knew from his jazz days at Ali Baba or Jilly's and other joints where Bobby's friend Frank Sinatra might be in the crowd. And yes, he played those vintage songs and sang them wonderfully with his ace new trio members, and was, to use one of his favorite words, “unique.”

As was expected of him, during a break in the sets, Bobby “worked” the crowd, going from table to table with a smile, and some “are you having a good time” quick comments, and getting nods and smiles and little compliments back. He got to our table, and we offered our compliments to him, and then I said, “Are you going to play BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM?” Bobby gave a quick little comical mock-frown (ala Robert DeNiro) as if I was being a wiseguy, and said, “You hang around…I wanna talk to you later!”

After the next set, we talked for a little while, and I mentioned how much that single knocked me out, and he gave me his card. Yes, if he had a mailing list, put me on it. Let me know where and when he’d be playing, and I’d be there. It grew into a very close friendship…there was a period there when I was the “go to” friend when he was alone or in trouble. Part of it, I admit, is that I wasn’t miles away as some others over the years ended up, and I was new to his alcohol problems while others had, under the sound advice of AA, chosen to “let go and let God.” Anyway…

December of 1996. It had been an upbeat time for Bobby. For many months now, his lifestyle had changed. He had moved out of the apartment next door to the Dakota that he had shared platonically with a very strange actress-widow-religious nut. He and a cute blonde (he nick-named her “Little Mouse” affectionately, perhaps not to her face) and she had found a love nest where they could live together.

She was smart, enthusiastic, and…unfortunately heading into the last week or two of December, having some problems with Bobby’s inevitable little falterings. Going out to get two bottles of Heineken from a bodega, was sometimes not quite enough, and he sometimes missed a night or two at Campagnola, which was his steady booking for many years (and a a time when bar-restaurant piano players were more and more of a rarity).

The Wikipedia entry, re-written several times with the help of friends, relatives or both, has finally gotten December 19th right…adding what was written here many years ago. Bobby didn’t “slip on the ice and hit his head on the sidewalk,” a weird supposition that Ron Meyers placed on his defunct website where he sold CD-Rs of Bobby’s demos and outtakes. Bobby may have been under a bit of a strain, having to find other places to stay for a little while when “The Mouse” told him he couldn’t keep drinking while in the love nest. But he was still smoking, still weighing several pounds over fighting weight, and in his 60's. He had lived a rugged life and it caught up to him in just a few moments. He simply slowed down as he walked, a block uptown from Campagnola, seized by an apparent heart attack.

Back to the incidents of December 19th. Within a day or two of Bobby’s passing, “The Mouse” wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of what happened and where he was found. She talked to Salvatore at Campagnola, and then traced Bobby’s movements that day, coming to the scene where the ambulance picked up Bobby and took him to the hospital. She spoke to the store owners on the block, to see if they came out to find out what was going on. As irony would have it, the incident happened in front of a bar. The bartender hadn’t yet opened the joint for the evening, and happened to look out the window and notice a white-haired gentleman in distress. He was leaning against a lamppost for support, and then slowly, slipped downward. The ambulance came quickly, but he was probably DOA by the time he got to Roosevelt Hospital (yes, same one that received John Lennon).

Patrons at Campagnola eventually got the bad news. There would be a replacement for Bobby...the somewhat grim looking guy who so often was called in when Bobby was having a wayward weekend...but The Man was not coming back. A little update on the joint for you:

Campagnola no longer has a pianist. Some entries on social media about the place mention how much “fun” the current pianist was, and how he would encourage everyone for sing-alongs. I'm not sure if this was the same guy who was Bobby's sub and steady replacement, or yet another replacement. The "jolly piano-man schtick" was, of course, the exact opposite of Bobby’s approach to entertainment. I suppose the sing-alongs may have delighted the peculiar crowd that would stand around at the bar in the middle of the night. I assume the songfests didn't start earlier, causing indigestion for the dour and affluent (and sometimes dangerous-looking) patrons who were paying high prices for their pasta, fish or steak. Oh yes, and the expensive Italian desserts. And drinks. And they knew to order the ITALIAN brand of bottled water, Pellegrino, NOT PERRIER!! (Mention Perrier and it was like you gave the wrong password from Gotti).

I walked by Campagnola one night a few weeks ago, and it was freezing cold and the place of course had NO indoor service because of the pandemic. They did erect an outdoor shack, which was long enough to seat about four tables. How any food could stay warm for more than five minutes I have no idea, but there was an elderly affluent couple in winter clothing, chowing down on some pasta. There were several uniformed waiters standing at attention waiting for the affluent diners to issue a command, or ready to “seat” new customers. You do NOT just go sit down, even under such ridiculous and shabby conditions…you signal for the waiter or the maitre’ d! I looked in the window…no piano. There was a framed photo of Bobby’s replacement on a little table that included some bottles and a vase of flowers…a table probably ready to be removed once indoor dining resumed.

Yes, there was a little memorial to Bobby, thanks to “The Church of the Healing Christ.” Bobby and I sometimes talked about religion, or poetry, or his favorite films (“I call him AWESOME Welles!” he declared). Bobby was not only extremely well schooled in classical music and theory and technique, he was well read, as you might tell from some of his lyric references, and the quote of a fairly obscure poet on the back of his Concentric solo album.

While the woman he’d lived with for so many years was most definitely a bit off the deep-end when it came to religion (she had a veiled bust of Christ in her bedroom), Bobby did accompany her to Sunday services quite a bit, and not just out of obligation. Though he was typically gruff about the name of the place (“The Healing Christ!”) he was a sincere seeker of meaning and of trying to piece together some of the deep, deep issues in his life, from deaths in his family to estrangements from ones he still loved, to his battle with the bottle.

I didn’t want to intrude on Bobby at the church, but I was certainly curious about the place, and I did attend a service there, knowing that for one reason or other, he wasn’t going to be there that Sunday morning. I also attended the service that included a memorial tribute to him in the program. I didn’t see any familiar faces at all from the world of Bobby Cole. I do remember speaking to a couple who apparently recognized me from Campagnola, and mentioned that they saw him there many times. And I did talk briefly to the Reverend Nielsen, the very unusual woman who was the heart and soul of “The Healing Christ.”

Here's a scan of the Playbill-sized modest booklet for the service held on January 12, 1997.

Long time ago. 1997... well before the days when I owned any “sneaky” little camera or device that could record video or take pictures surreptitiously. I wish I could show you a picture of Anna May Nielsen in all her splended glory! She presided over the services in a flowing gown, more ornate than what you might see being worn by a woman singing in a choir. The robe-gown seemed like some heavenly creation that Kitty Carlisle might have worn in a light opera. She looked very much like Kitty Carlisle, too, an older woman with flowing dark hair to her shoulders, her voice and manner confident, loving, and reassuring.

“The Church of the Healing Christ” was founded in 1906, and had only a few leaders over the past decades. I think the fortunes of the church took a hit over the years. I'm assuming that in the 30's and 40's and 50's (when leadership changed only once) they held services in an actual church. By the time Bobby Cole was attending, services were being held in a very large auditorium that was used primarily by a music school, as I recall. There were folding metal chairs that could seat maybe 50 people or less, and there was the bare stage, where Reverend Nielsen stood in front of a podium.

There were modest refreshments on a long table in the back, along with a donation box. She was an eloquent speaker, and as quaint as the surroundings were, she did have a presence that quickly made you feel like you were truly in a church, and in front of someone who was blessed with some kind of divine spirit, and might pass some knowledge, righteousness or comfort along to you.

Bobby died on December 19, 1996 and Rev. Anna May Nielsen died at the Specialty Care Granite Ridge facility in Canada on December 22, 2007. Her husband had died before her, and her relatives were mostly neices and nephews and two step-children. She attended the University of Manitoba graduating in 1939, and her “regular job” was with the United Nations, first at the Department of Economic and Social Affairs, and later at the editorial department of the United Nations Industrial Development department (whatever that is) for a total of 33 years. The remarkable woman could speak French, Spanish, Danish and Dutch.

She attended the Unity School of Christianity, became a licensed and ordained minister, and on Sundays presided over her devoted following, which included an avid student that those in attendance knew as Robert Cole.

BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM