THE PARTY LIFE OF BOBBY RYDELLOur girl Steffi lunches with this young singer who is maturing

WHAT IS A BOBBY RYDELL?
It encases a structure that is 5 feet 8 inches tall. It has blonde hair, hazel eyes and, when it speaks, has a touch of a South Philadelphia accent, reminiscent of a New Yorker. It has a desire to date its fellow employee (whose name is Ann-Margret) but neither it nor its fellow employee can find the time. A Bobby Rydell is a lad of 20 with little time for anything but earning a living. He earns his living singing. He is sometimes called “the King of Teens.”
    When Bobby Rydell joined me for lunch he wore Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeved blue shirt. It was a hot day in Hollywood. Bobby was rehearsing a dance number called “Lots of Living” for his movie debut in Columbia’s “Bye Bye Birdie.” He had found a few other ways to earn a living. Dancing and acting in motion pictures.
    The ritual of lunch began. Rydell sought to order his favorite lunch-time meal—a deviled egg sandwich. But he settled for tuna. Suddenly becoming very concerned, almost motherly, I said “You’re so thin. You don’t eat enough. You don’t get enough fresh air.” I began to get carried away. Suddenly Rydell was becoming a modern Oliver Twist to me. “You probably spend too much time in smoky nightclubs and hot
sound stages. You’re pale.”
    Bobby interrupted . . .. “I’m not that thin! I’m 118 lbs. and, man, I really eat when given half a chance. I love food. Especially my grandmother Lena’s Italian home cooking. I love fresh air. I enjoy the outdoors. I just. don’t have any time to do the things I like.
    “For instance I love parties. Giving them. Going to them. You don’t have to have a specific reason for a party.”
    With a sweeping gesture as to what awaited us outside our air-conditioned restaurant: “Now this is perfect weather for the party I like the most. Start in the afternoon with a swimming party. Then barbecue a few things; put on some good records and dance. I go for dancing, particularly fast dancing. I don’t like it slow. I remember when I used to do the Dick Clark show, you’d have to dance with the kids. I would go to Dick and plead with him to please put on a fast record, nothing slow. So a dancing-swimming party is what I could go for right now. Except I can’t dance the Mashed Potato. Like they say in Cuba or somewhere The Twist, yes; Mashed Potatoes, no.
    “Of course that’s the kind of thing I would like to do but as far as having or even going to parties is concerned, life is pretty much of a drag to me. I’ve been in Hollywood for four months and done nothing.”
    “You mentioned Italian cooking in reference to your grandmother. Are you Italian? Rydell doesn’t sound Italian,” I said.
    “You’re right.” Rydell replied. “My real name is Ridarelli. But when I was appearing with Paul Whiteman on his show ‘TV Teen Club’—l was nine, by the way, and I passed for a teenager — Mr. Whiteman couldn’t pronounce Ridarelli. He really had a hard time with it, so he suggested I change my name to Rydell. lt hasn’t
seemed to hurt.”
    “How did you get to be a member of Paul Whiteman’s ‘Teen club?’ Matter of fact how did you get into show business?” I asked.
    “My father took me to audition for Whiteman. I used to spend all my Saturday afternoons at the Earl The- atre in South Philadelphia. I saw Gene Krupa there and I started to play the drums and do imitations of other performers I had seen there and on TV. Dad thought I had talent and boom, off to Whiteman. Then I played local clubs around Philly until I was 14. At 15 I joined a rock and roll band called ‘Rocco and the Saints’. You know Philly has produced quite a lot of talent like Eddie Fisher, Joey Bishop, Fabian, Mario Lanza and Jimmy Darren—just a few nobodies,” said Bobby with a quick smile and a glimmer in his eyes. This was to become a familiar sight during our luncheon. He continued:
    “In our group, the lead singer and trumpet player was Frankie Avalon. He went on to bigger and better things. I took his place. Then, while appearing at a summer resort in New Jersey, Frankie Day, a bass player with another group, took an interest in me. He asked my parents if he could manage me. I owe an awful lot to Frankie. He’s my best friend, and personal manager."
    “I guess the rest of your story is like a fairy tale,” I said.
    “It should only have been that easy,” answered Bobby. “Frankie and I would travel in his car, playing clubs, making the rounds of the disk jockeys. Sometimes we would sleep in the car, wash up at the YMCA and eat frankfurters at roadside stands for dinner. At one point Frankie was so deep in debt that back home they had turned off all of his utilities. Boy, did I get discouraged. I had had it! But not Frankie. He gave me not only encouragement to go ahead, but probably my password for life.
    “It happened like this. Frankie formed Veko Records in 1956 to see if we couldn’t get a record out onme. He kept saying that perseverance is what I must have. Just keep trying. If it’s there, it’s got to come out. If it’s going to happen, it will. Well it did. I signed with Cameo Records and, after trying unsuccessfully to get a hit record, on the third time we hit the jackpot: "AII I Want Is You’ and ‘Kissin’ Time.’ All you need is a hit record with the teenage crowd and you’ve made it. Except I really think a remake of ‘Volare’ put me in solid. From there on in, it has been a fairy tale of a career."
    Bobby has a sensitive face which tends to reveal all he feels. He is shy, but not passive. He is modest but not unaware of the talent he possesses. He has a well-timed and wicked sense of humor and has been known to play practical jokes. But only on people he likes.
    “Bobby, what do you feel about your fans? Have you ever had any unusual experiences with them?” I asked.
    A smile crossed his lips and he raised his eyebrows. “I owe almost everything to them. But sometimes they keep harping on you. Then they start to bug you. They should understand that just once in awhile you’re entitled to some privacy.
    “Like these two girls in Los Angeles. They followed me everywhere, even onto the Freeway. So there I was driving on the legendary Hollywood Freeway trying to dodge them and keep myself from becoming a statistic. Then they followed me to Las Vegas. To have devoted fans is great, but not to such an extreme. They would call up my room all the time. I couldn’t go anyplace without turning and finding my two shadows behind me. Finally Frankie had to call their parents. It turned out the parents didn’t even know they were in Vegas.
    “It’s a touchy situation. You don’t want to offend your fans and on the other hand you don’t want them to go overboard. I guess it stems from the parents. There should be more supervision."
    “Besides Frankie Day, who else has played an important part in your life?” I asked.
    “My family has influenced me a great deal. We are a very close family. They say that my talent stems from my grandpop Tony who was in show business for many years. Ther. there’s grandmom Lena, my mom, and my father, who travels with me. In Philly we all live together. Matter of fact, one of my big goals is to buya house for my parents when I turn 21.
    “Of course I owe an awful lot to people like George Burns, Jack Benny, Red Skelton. Skelton gave me a chance to do comedy. Then I put comedy into my act I’m always trying to better myself as a performer, trying to make my act more versatile. Danny Thomas is another person I owe a lot to. He gave me direction on a moral level. He made me realize that I could do things for other people besides myself and those close to me, by working through a charity. I’ve made St. Jude Leukemia Charity my pet project.”
    “You’ve talked of goals and bettering yourself professionally. Do you have any goals personally and plans for bettering yourself in that area also?”
    “Definitely. Let’s take one at a time. Professionally I try to accomplish one thing at a time. There’s no rush. I’m young. I’ve got the future. I want to be a great nightclub performer. I find that facet of entertainment the greatest! When I have a band behind me and a live audience in front, it really lifts me. I love movies, but a live audience is for me. I’d also like to do a Broadway play.
    “In trying to better myself personally, I’m trying to stop smoking. It’s a useless habit. I remember when I was 12—if you didn’t smoke, you just weren’t one of the boys. I don’t think any of us inhaled, we just had to be one of the gang."
    “Have you, thought about marriage?” I asked.
    “Yes,” he said smiling. “But not seriously. I wouldn’t want to get married before I’m 25 or 26. Then I’d like to have a family of two boys and a girl. I’ve missed having a brother while growing up.”
    “What do you really like and dislike about yourself?”
    “Biting my nails I dislike. I can’t stand myself for biting my nails. However on the other side of the ledger is my temper. I can take things with a grain of salt. Things don’t bug me that much. I can smile and shrug without losing my temper."
    “What do you most fear from the future?” I asked.
    Bobby paused. There was a long thought and then he spoke. “I’m certain that after awhile the kids are going to start looking up to someone else. And then my teenage following will falter. I would like to get into an adult field, be able to appeal to all ages.”
    “What is the possession you prize the most?”
    “I just lost it,” Bobby answered sadly. “When I was in Rome, I had a medal blessed by the Pope. It was just lost on the set. I’m hoping someone finds it and turns it in.”
    “Do you have a pet peeve?”
    “I don’t like the rain. I can’t sleep when it rains. Besides I don’t like my hair to get wet, it makes it look like a wet rat!”
    “Do you have an idol?”
    “Sinatra, who else?” he answered quickly.
    “What do you do to relax?”
    “At home I play the drums. I just forget everything banging on the drums. Lately I’ve also taken up bowling to relax while on the road.”
    “Do you have any preference as to the type of song you’d like to sing?” I inquired.
    “No. I just like to sing. I enjoy being what I am, doing what I’m doing. And I hope to continue,” concluded Bobby. “That’s a lot more than most people can say honestly.”
    Suddenly, the boy in blue did not seem quite so pale or quite so thin. He had taken on a great deal of weight over our hour lunch.
    The party life of Bobby Rydell may be a little on the dull side these days because of work, work, work. But, I’m convinced that it doesn’t really matter —because life itself is a party for Bobby.