Vol. 58, July 25th, 2023 Published a day early online
In Memory of Tony
Aw man, Tony Bennett died. I never met him. I never saw him. But I’ve spun a lot of his records for a lot of people, and we’ve all been the better for it. It’s a miracle he made it out of obscurity in Queens, unbelievable he survived the front lines of WWII. The draft notice filled in with dread. “I was sure I was going to die. I just knew it.” The frozen ground laughed at his panicked foxhole digging, shells shrieking death overhead.
But he made it through. Seeing a Bob Hope performance inspired him to take his singing somewhere, and a second fateful meeting with Mr. Hope would forever change the course of his life. The Beatles almost ruined him, the taxman almost got him, but his son stepped up, and he reemerged to bring jazz to the MTV era.
My favorite thing about Tony is this: I’d DJ his tunes. A friend would sit and close her eyes, as the strains of “Because of You” filled the air. A tear would leak out every now and then as she remembered her late husband. It was “their” song. Tony brought him back every time.
What did he mean to you?
Tony Benedetto
served on the front lines in WWII, calling it “a front row seat in hell.” After the war, Bob Hope would suggest the name “Tony Bennett.”
Quote of the Week
“I get up, and boy, I can’t wait to paint and study music and keep learning. I just love it.”
– Tony Bennett in his later years
“Booo!” (1965)
Bob Dylan jeered by sections of the Newport Folk Festival on this day for..playing an electric guitar. You can’t take some fans anywhere. Folk-rock is born.
Down the Rabbit Hole
Known for his singing, Tony was also a fine painter. For this week’s suggested research, try looking into some art. Pick up a paintbrush, make a sketch, or look up the history of your favorite sculpture.
Album of the Week
Cheek to Cheek (Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, 2014)
A brilliant collaboration between veteran Bennett, and pop star Gaga, spinning timeless jazz standards into a new era.
Write to Us!
The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or JoshUrban@ProtonMail.com
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #144)
Howdy, folks! Previously on Dr. Electro: “Cover me!” Electro springs from the van to topple boxes by hand, followed by the crew. “Don’t stop toppling those stacks! I think the memories are trapped inside. We’re breaking ‘em out of jail.” Memories and lullabies perfume the air, while tricycles and wagons roll by, loosed from the packing crate prisons. As Miss Stella warns of approaching bad guys, Charlotte is stunned to find her childhood doll, standing in a daze. “Watch out!” yells Walter.
This is...
The Return of Dr. Electro #35: The Big Left
“It’s Alice!” Charlotte cried, holding the doll up. “I lost her years ago.”
“It’s Ordinary Man! Behind you!” Walter yelled again from the van.
The villain’s shoes beat the floor in a shiny blur as he charged towards Charlotte, his face contorted in rage, the calm mask of self-control shattered somewhere along the way. “I’ll finish this once and for all” he shrieked.
Charlotte blinked, shook her head, and started to run towards the van, almost, almost...
With another screech, Ordinary Man took a flying leap, knocking her onto the hood and pinning her against the windshield with a crunch. The tussle started in earnest.
“Drive, Miss Stella! Drive while they’re still on the van! We’ve got him now!” Electro reached for the 2x4, but the lurch knocked it farther away. More squealing of tires, more yelling and punching on the hood of the van, and the fight become mobile. Ordinary Man and Charlotte grappled and bit and balanced. Miss Stella, not phased in the least, moved her head like a boxer to see around the combatants on her hood as she roared towards the far end of the underground warehouse.
“Give him the big left, dearie. YES!” She cheered as Ordinary’s head snapped back.
Arms flailing as the van pitched and careened around boxes, he frantically reached for anything to hold, and grabbed the open passenger window frame.
With a furious effort, Lady Wilkes, riding shotgun, cranked up the window onto his arm. “Ah ha! Got him now!” she crowed. “Hey wait a second...he’s wearing my Citrine as a ring!”
“That’s nice, dearie. Florence, which door? Hold on, Charlotte!” Miss Stella eyed the three green wooden doors fast approaching.
Electro’s heart dropped. “You’re gonna ram ‘em? But...Charlotte’s on the hood.”
“Oh, relax, child. I have a battering ram. She’ll be fine.” With a flick of a switch on the dashboard, and a thumbs up, she stepped on the gas. The van shuddered, groaned, and a metallic unicorn horn extended from the front bumper. “Which door, Florence?”
“Middle.”
“Copy. Toodaloo, gents!” Miss Stella waved a jovial hand out the window at the pursuing henchmen.
“Does everyone see this? The dog has my Citrine!” Lady Wilkes cried again.
Electro closed his eyes for the impending crash. Preacher muttered a prayer. Charlotte held on.
...To be continued next week...