BOBBY RYDELL R.I.P.

 
I met Bobby Rydell in 1960 before he was a big star, in movies and all, but was a star to those of us his age, 18, who hadn't come close to achieving what he already had. It happened when I briefly attended a Catholic college in upstate NY. Here's a sonnet I wrote about it from an unpublished series about that time:

Tom was from South Carolina. Smart, dark,

and good looking, he dressed more like 

someone on their way to church than ready

to jump up on a bandstand and wail, like me,

when we ran in the black clubs around Olean.

My roommate, Marino Vincente, Champ to

his friends, a tough little Italian from Philly, 

dug Sinatra as much as I did. Old friends

with Bobby Rydell, Champ took me to see

Rydell’s show when it was in Buffalo, then

backstage to meet his neighborhood buddy,

whose real name, Champ said, was Riderelli.

My first time in a star’s dressing room. Both

unexpectedly humble: the room and Rydell.