The time...several weeks ago. The place...Miami Beach, Florida. The scene...mid afternoon in the lobby of the Fountainbleau Hotel. The characters...Bobby Rydell, top male vocalist and actor, and yours truly, Joyce Becker, reporter. :Let's go downstairs and have some lunch," Bobby suggested. We walked down a long carpeted stairway and into a very pretty coffee shop. As we were led to a booth at the far end of the room Bobby answered the friendly hellos of many of the customers, and stopped to sign a few autographs for a few swooning gals. "No doubt about it, Mr. Ridarelli, you're famous...you're a star," I said as I slid into the booth next to Bobby. He looked at me and we both grinned. We ordered our lunch, and I turned to Bobby and congratulated on the big success of his latest recording of the Bye, Bye Birdie songs. "It sure thrills me, Joyce, to know that other people are getting so much enjoyment out of my singing." This was a typically modest comment from Bobby, whose head has not been turned by his sensational climb to the heights. If you don't take a close look into his dark brown eyes, deep with sensitivity and warmth, you would think he was just another good-looking, boy next door....He looks and talks like a regular guy...he is a regular guy. I sat for a moment and thought how Bobby hasn't changed one bit since the day I met him, five years ago. Just as we began this interview, a man passed our table whistling, "The Girl That I Marry." "Ah, that's a good place to start my confessions," said Bobby. "The girl that I marry, she'll have to be...let's see, a neighborhood girl, yep, a girl from Philadelphia. I can see my future wife like the typical girl next door...not a lot of make-up, someone who loves children. I'd like to have three children. But most important, she'll be an understanding girl...Someone I can talk with, share my life with. "Sure I meet and even date many Hollywood starlets, but I honestly couldn't see myself married to one. I want my wife to travel with me for awhile...well, until we have children. Then I want her to stay home and raise them...no nurses for my children. I thank God every day for my Mom...Just having her there with milk and cookies when I came home form school. Or the times she bandaged my scraped knee...And even for the times she scolded me for doing wrong.I owe what I am today to my Mom, and I want my children to feel the same way about their mother. I'll be the breadwinner in my family. "I'd like to live in or near Philadelphia when I get married. I'd like to have a big house with lots of land around it, so my children could play safely. I also hope my folks and my wife's folks could live near us. You see, all my life I've lived with my with my folks and my mom's folks. In the same house. And what a great, rich, and full and happy life I've had. Family, close family, is wonderful. Anyway," Bobby smiled a broad smile, "if all those grandparents lived close we'd have built-in babysitters!" "Getting serious for a moment," I interrupted, "have you ever thought of marrying out of your religion?" "To be honest, I haven't thought very much about it. You see, I was born and raised in the Catholic faith, and I never thought of marrying outside that faith. But I do suppose if I ever meet a girl who is not a Catholic and we fell deeply in love, I would marry her." "Does that mean you'd change your religion?" I quizzed. "No, Joyce, that's one thing I wouldn't do. What I would do is ask the girl to turn Catholic. "Ah, yes, and while I'm making these confessions, I must say that I'd definitely want my children to be raised Catholic. You see, I attended Epiphany Grade School and Bishop Neumann High, both parochial schools, and I always dreamed that my children would attend these schools. "To be honest, though, Joyce, we are talking way into the future. I'm not planning to be married for a long time yet. I'm just 21, and I doubt I'll be getting married before I'm 25." Right about now, two pretty, well-tanned teenage girls walked over and asked Bobby to sign an autograph for them. By the look on Bobby's face I could tell how very thrilled he was having the girls ask for the autographs. Not only did he sign two pictures for them, but he sat and chatted with each one for a few moments...and when one girl whipped out a camera, he posed for several pictures. Bobby Rydell and his fans, why, they have a mutual admiration society that's bound to last! "Say Bobby," I asked as the waitress brought over our coffee, "don't you ever get annoyed by fans always asking for autographs?" "By George, I'll say I don't. I think I get one of the biggest thrills each and every time one of my fans stops me. I feel that if it weren't for my fans I'd have no career. In fact, every time I record, do a TV show or personal appearance, I say to myself, 'Bob, you've got fans out there who believe in you and love you...this is for them. Do the best you can...give it all you've got...this is for them.' And I honestly mean it. "As far as my getting bugged at people for asking for my autograph, well, why should I get bugged? I collect autographs myself. What to hear how I started my collection?" Bobby quizzed. "Now, Bobby, do you really have an autograph collection?" I asked. "Told ya I'd confess all sorts of things today...Of course I have an autograph collection. I have all the autographs tacked up in my room in Philadelphia. Now, do you want to hear how my collection got started, or not?" "Why, naturally I want to hear your story," I smilingly said. "Well," Bobby started, settling back in his seat, "It's really a strange story. About two years ago I had gone to New York City to do a flock of magazine and newspaper interviews, and I remember this very last reporter I saw asked me what my greatest ambitions were. I told him first to buy my folks a beautiful new home, and secondly to meet Frank Sinatra. This last interview ended pretty late so I asked my manager, Frankie Day, if we could stay over in New York and go back to Philadelphia the next day. He said I had a good idea and that we'd stay. Then Frank asked me if I'd like to go to the Copacabana night club to see Joe E. Lewis later that evening. I flipped over the idea because Mr. Lewis is one of my favorite comedians. "Frank had some business to take care for so we made plans to meet at the Copa instead of my waiting for him. I rushed back to my hotel and dressed, grabbed a cab and went to the club. When I walked in one of the waiters asked if I'd like to sit next to Frank. I figured he meant my manager. I said sure. As he led me to the ringside table, I thought how strange it was that Frank, who had so much business to take care of, got there ahead of me. When I got to the table I really had a surprise, because sitting three seats away from me was not Frank Day, but Frank Sinatra...in person! Joyce, I flipped. I didn't know if I should watch the show or Mr. Sinatra. "When my manager finally arrived, I was a nervous wreck. All I could do was whisper, "Frank, look. Frank, it's Frank, Frank, look." He thought I was out of my mind till he spotted Sinatra. After the show I wanted to meet Mr. Sinatra so badly, but they were afraid he'd get mobbed so he was ushered out quick as a wink. I thought I'd die...I was so close to my idol, and I couldn't even speak to him. Then I figured at least I got to see him in person. "We headed upstairs to the lounge, and walked over to say hello to Mr. Podell, the owner of the Copa. We sat chatting for a few minutes, when I felt someone standing behind me. 'Pull up a chair and sit down, Frank,' Mr. Podell said. Yep, it was Sinatra alrighty. And you know something, Joyce, he, Frank Sinatra, knew who I was..he said, 'Hello, Robert, you are ya?' And that isn't all, Joyce, he told me he listened to my records and even asked me questions about my career. I was overwhelmed...I was in a daze. He sat at the table for a long time and even ordered me a bunch of Cokes. And before I left I asked if he'd take a picture with me, because I knew none of my friends would believe I met him. And as a special favor they developed the picture real fast, and Mrs. Sinatra signed it, To Bobby, Your friend, Frank Sinatra. "I flew out of that club faster than the speed of light. And the moment I got into the hotel room I telephoned my Mom. At 4 A.M. I told her the whole story. She was thrilled for me. "Frank Sinatra's was my first autograph. Now I have people like Dick Van Dyke, Danny Thomas, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, Paul Newman, and many others." "Are there any autographs you'd like to get" I asked. "There sure are. I'd really flip to meet Elvis Presley, Peter Sellers and Alfred Hitchcock." "Anything else you'd like to confess, Bobby?" I asked. 'Well, since I promised to confess everything to you, I guess I'll have to confess that I'm accident prone. Boy do I have accidents, big ones, little ones, medium ones, and even near misses!" "Example, please." "Okay," Bobby said as he closed his eyes trying to remember one. "Here's a near miss that happened just a few weeks ago. I was in Hollywood on business and to do interviews. Jack Knox, a photographer, called and asked me to do a photo shooting with Shelley Fabares. Naturally I said I'd do the shooting. Well, the day our appointment rolled around, I had a bad cold. SO I called Jack and asked if he'd mind doing the shooting at the house...I was staying at Fabian's house at the time. "Well, Jack and Shelley arrived and we shot all sorts of things. Then I got a brain storm...take a picture on the roof of the house so all of Hollywood will be in the background. Now let me also tell you that the house is high on a hill. Okay, so Shelley, Jack and I climb onto the roof...Shelley took her place for the pictures, and along comes little me...somehow I slip...I grab Shelley's arm...and we both start falling backwards...Jack grabbed us both from falling...Just because I always seem to have accidents I nearly got killed, with Shelley Fabares in my arms. "Okay, so it would make for a good dramatic movie...But in real life...wow! "Joyce, I have one more confession," Bobby said, as he looked at his wristwatch, "I confess this has been a fun afternoon...I confess I'm happy you are finally writing a story about me...I confess I'd like to sit and talk for another three house...but I confess I'm exactly one hour late for a meeting with my manager...So, Missy Reporter, I confess that I'm going to have to say bye for now." We walked out of the luncheonette. Outside, he turned to me, winked and with a wave of his hand strolled down the street. I felt, at the moment, as if I had been deeply honored. This talented young man had spoken so frankly to me. So candidly. I hoped that whoever the girl is that he would finally marry, that she'd appreciate what a great guy her husband is. You know something...someone like Bobby would just have to pick the best girl around to share his future life. After all, she'd have to be like his Mom, and that's the best kind of girl a fellow could find.
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