Vaughn Meader's Life

Vaughn Meader in 1963
Vaughn Meader, shown at left in 1963

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Many of his friends and neighbors in Hallowell, Me., are surprised to learn that Abbott Meader has another identity besides the pleasant, partying 61-year-old restaurant manager, musician and softball enthusiast they know.

Even some who remember "The First Family" as a hilarious parody of president John F. Kennedy and his family do not know that the handsome 26-year-old Vaughn Meader beaming from its cover is their friend. The spectacular success of the album drove a life as fast and free in the early 1960s as it is slow and settled today.

It has been a life marked by episodes of recklessness, a religious revival and astonishing coincidences. For several years in the 1980s and early '90s Meader managed the restaurant portion of a bar-restaurant called "The Wharf," along the Kennebec River in Hallowell. One local historian said the same building was the sight of a meeting of New England democrats in the late 1950s, including Senator John F. Kennedy. The lives of Kennedy and his mimic intersected at other places. Both attended Brookline High School outside of Boston, although about 20 years apart. Then, there are the most decisive nights of Kennedy and Meader's careers -- in both cases Oct. 22, 1962.

While Meader prepared to enter a New York City studio to be the president in 17 skits, the real chief executive faced a vastly bigger audience for a purpose that couldn't be more different. "It was the night of the Cuban missile speech and we had a live audience for our recording," Meader recalled. "And they were all ensconced in the studio and we had a cocktail party, hors d'oeuvres and stuff, priming our audience. The actors and myself were in the Great Northern Hotel in New York -- the studio was in the hotel.

"We took a break while we were getting ready to finally go in to record it. We went over to the bar of the hotel and had a drink and on television was the Cuban missile speech. And it was like if you don't get your missiles out of there we're going to shoot you down and it was very, very somber. And had our audience listened to the speech we probably couldn't have recorded that night."

Laughter Amid Fear

Nonetheless, the 26-year-old Meader entered the studio and flawlessly delivered his Kennedy impression through 17 skits exposing the 35th president and his family to unprecedented satire. But for days, it seemed that a war -- possibly even a nuclear exchange -- was about to make any humorous look at a president an anachronism.

microphone "The timing, which could have been atrocious,... turned out to be very great timing," Meader said. "After the Cuban missile crisis, Kennedy's popularity soared. They (the albums) were hitting right before Christmas and it became the novelty gift. I know one person got seven albums from seven different people." The meteoric sales made Meader's impression as recognized as the president's own voice. In June 1963, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, whose voice Meader also did on the album, had to discontinue a phone conversation so the person he had called to invite to a meeting could call him back -- to confirm that he was indeed the attorney general.

"That guy thinks I'm Vaughn Meader," Kennedy said, according to a New York Times story. "He's going to call me back to make sure." The First Family became the fastest selling record ever, a status it has held long enough to be the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question. In the four weeks after its release in late 1962, the album sold 4 million copies, a figure it took the "My Fair Lady" sound track, the previous all-time best seller, one year to achieve.All in all, about 7.5 million copies sold and perhaps millions more were given away after the president's death made them un-marketable. Appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show and The Tonight Show furthered Meader's recognition The album's sensational popularity also boosted Cadence Records, the plucky upstart which guessed right on the mood of the nation, showing up the Manhattan giants which had flatly refused to produce the album.

Did Meader or the album's producers encounter even an iota of the negative reaction the established record companies were certain awaited anyone foolish enough to parody a president? "No. In fact it got both sides of the spectrum," Meader said in an interview he granted during a walk through Hallowell. "Die-hard Republicans would say, 'I like the way you made fun of them Kennedys.' And die-hard Democrats would say, 'Gee, I like the way you did Jack.' Most of the reason for its success was that it transcended age and politics and just about everything."

�I Heard It on the Cab Radio'

If the woes of the world barely let Vaughn Meader's career get off the ground the night he recorded the album, they caught up with him on Nov. 22, 1963. Meader had come to grasp the startling success of The First Family while in a hotel in Detroit in November 1962 when over a period of minutes he received calls from The New York Times, Life magazine and The Ed Sullivan Show seeking interviews or bookings.

One year later, while he was on another trip to the Great Lakes region, his career fell apart just as quickly. He arrived by plane in Milwaukee, hurried through the airport and caught a taxi to go to a fund raiser for the Wisconsin Democratic party, where he was to perform. "The cab driver turned and said: 'Did you hear about the president getting shot in Dallas?' And I -- thinking that he recognized me -- thought he was doing one of those John Kennedy jokes," Meader said. "I would get a lot of that everywhere I went.... And I said: 'No, how does it go?'

"And before he answered me I heard it on the cab radio."

Initially, Meader said, he felt the same sort of grief every one else felt, with no additional mourning for the loss of his trademark act. Immediately, however, everyone who had booked him -- led by the Wisconsin Democrats -- cancelled or postponed his appearances. A week-long stint as a celebrity panelist on "To Tell the Truth," was put off for several weeks. "As Lenny Bruce said, they put two graves in Arlington -- one for John Kennedy and one for Vaughn Meader," he said.

From Raves to Pity

"I wasn't as tied into it as a lot of people tied me into it," Meader said of the assassination. "I'll never forget walking up Fifth Avenue and a riveter, a big, huge monster of a riveter... saw me walking up the street and stopped and set his jackhammer off and came over and, almost crying... said 'Geez, I'm so sorry.' Like I was a member of the family. But in a lot of ways, I was kind of a flesh and blood way they could touch him."

Soon, the name Vaughn Meader quickly elicited sadness.

"I was getting a reaction of pity, which is death for a comedian. Anything -- let 'em hate you, but don't let 'em feel sorry for you." The comic dropped all Kennedy references from his nightclub act and somberly announced that he would never do the impression again. He substituted a question-and-answer routine called "Dr. Bow Wow" for his presidential press conference segment, the standard ending of his act which had allowed Meader to display his quick wit by extemporaneously answering questions from audience members. Record stores scurried to remove "The First Family, Vol. 2," a sequel album.

Another Meader record, "Have Some Nuts," a comedy album with no Kennedy references, was released in mid-1964 and sold marginally well but attracted little media attention. Meader lived for a while off money from his records, but by 1965, he was doing little work, making bad investments and drinking considerably, he said.

A Westward Turn

On Memorial Day weekend in 1967, he accepted an invitation from a friend in San Francisco to migrate there with others in a van. Before leaving, Meader -- to comply with the non-materialistic ideals of the group -- gave away his Grammy and gold record awards and anything else of material value. Days later he was walking the streets of North Beach clad in a robe and sandals, a timing and look perfect to greet the summer of love.

Flower Power graphic He spent the rest of 1967 "generally in a dream world," he recalled, adding: "Reality didn't come back till '68. That's when peace and love and flower children and flower power seemed to take a turn. Every degenerate in the world seemed to join this movement."

His disillusionment foretold a decade-long period of drug problems and divorces, although Meader continued to affiliate with Abbie Hoffman and other counter-culture leaders and entertainers. Meader traced his problems -- and to some extent his success -- to the death of his father in a swimming accident when Vaughn was 1 year old.

His mother was unable to care for him and the young Meader lived in a series of children's homes, always showing off to get the attention denied him by tragedy. Meader has said in several interviews that comedians doesn't work so hard and long because they want to succeed, but because they have to -- to recoup that love in the form of applause.

He achieved a modest comeback in 1971, making a humor album about a return of Christ called "The Second Coming," which drew good reviews but little air time because of radio stations' worries that many would consider it sacrilegious.

Meader moved back to Maine in 1977, when -- after a religious awakening -- he began trying to succeed as a gospel and country composer and singer.

Before returning, he briefly held a county government job in Louisville, Ky., the hometown of his second wife, then moved to Los Angeles, where he did his JFK voice in a serious vein for a play about a man obsessed with the memory of the late president. In Louisville, he developed a love of horse racing and bluegrass music. In the last decade, Meader has struggled to build an identity as a musician, a field where his talents far exceed those in voice impressions, where he freely admits he was essentially a one-voice act.

Everywhere he has lived, Meader has performed in night spots, including The Wharf, a restaurant in Hallowell, of which he was recently the kitchen manager.

While washing dishes one morning in the restaurant, Meader was asked if he would ever set aside a pledge he made to a grief-stricken nation in 1963 and do his Kennedy voice again should a producer ask him to. Before the question was fully asked, Meader -- elbow-deep in grimy water -- said: "I'm not really interested in it."

What would he tell such a caller? "I'd rather play you my new song."

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