Modern Screen (Feb-Dec 1959)

Fabian! (Continued from page 39) do it," said a neighbor. "If someone is too sick to carry out the garbage, shovel the snow, or take care of himself, Fabian volunteers to do it. If he sees an older person carrying a package two blocks away, he runs over and helps. There's nothing you can say bad about him." Marcucci thought: A swell kid like that, with such a handsome face and such a strong personality . . . would make a fine performer . . . I've got to find out if he can sing. At that time, Marcucci and his partner, Pete DeAngelis, had already launched another South Philadelphia boy successfully: Frankie Avalon. Now they were thinking of handling another-type boy . . . not cute and sweet like Frankie, but big, vital, strong, like Elvis and Ricky Nelson. The next time Bob Marcucci saw Fabian on the street, he went up to him and said, "Pardon me, but has anybody ever told you that you look like Ricky Nelson?" Fabian said, "Who's Ricky Nelson?" "He's a singer, too," Marcucci reminded him. "Yes . . . Guess so . . . But I don't keep up with the singers . . . Now if you ask me about sports. . . ." "Can you sing?" Marcucci persisted. "Never did sing," Fabian said. "Want to sing?" "I don't know ... I like to play football . . . I'm still going to high school . . . I work at the drug store. . . ." Marcucci went to see his friend Johnny again. "I'd like to test that boy's voice; but he doesn't seem interested." Johnny explained that the boy's father was still in the hospital, that his younger brother Robert was also sick. "Fabian's got plenty of problems." "Try to get him to let me tape his voice . . . I've got to find out if he can sing!" Marcucci urged. Johnny did his best but Fabian wasn't interested. Fnally Marcucci went to Fabian's house and rang the doorbell. That crazy man Fabian had just come back from playing football and he was still sweaty in his No. 40 uniform. When he saw Marcucci at the door, he called to his mother: "Mom . . . that crazy man is here." "What crazy man?" • "Tnat man that wants to test my voice." "Well, I know about him. He's a good friend of Johnny's. So be nice to him " '^All right." "If he wants to hear you try to sing, let him ... No harm." "Okay." Marcucci said, "Let's do it right now. You come with me. Don't bother to shower. Just change quickly." ; Fabian changed quickly, couldn't find hjs shoes, put on bedroom slippers, and hurried out with Marcucci. They went around the comer to Marcucci's house and Marcucci put a record Mi the phonograph of George Hamilton singing Why Don't They Understand? "Listen to the record, and try to sing with it." Fabian did, and Marcucci realized "abian couldn't carry a melody. "Well," said Fabian, "are you satisfied low that I can't sing?" Marcucci agreed, but explained that ust because he couldn't sing didn't mean ie( couldn't learn to sing. "Here, don't give up so quickly," he old Fabian. "Take these four records lome and listen to them as much as you can . . . study them . . . then we'll talk." Back at the house, Fabian borrowed a phonograph and spun the records. For a couple of weeks, every moment he could steal from his homework and his job at the drug store, he listened to those records. He tried to sing along with them. Then Marcucci went over and had his first earnest talk with the parents, Dominick and Josephine. The father, back from the hospital and recuperating, listened carefully. "But what if you put all your money and time into training Fabian and he doesn't turn out to be a successful singer? What happens . . . ? You'll lose your investment," the mother worried. "Don't you worry," said Marcucci; "we'll take that chance." For a couple of months Marcucci wrestled with the problem of convincing the wavering Fabian and the worried parents that his scheme for training the nonmusical Fabian was worth the effort. Marcucci brought Fabian into the management firm he and Pete DeAngelis had Anthony Quinn has this line in The Black Orchid: When Sophia Loren refuses to attend a movie because she's in mourning he says, "OK — so we'll see a sod picture." Earl Wilson in the New York Post formed, and both of them concentrated on Fabian. DeAngelis got a vocal coach for Fabian and taught him songs. And then, at night, Marcucci dropped by the house, helped Fabian study his homework, and then went over the songs with him. Meanwhile, Fabian was still working at the drug store three hours a night. After work he'd have to walk eight blocks to the vocal teacher's studio for lessons. Many times, as he trudged down the street, with school books under his arm, on his way to the studio, he asked himself: What am I doing trying to get into show business? Is this really for me? I can't sing, and I might as well admit it. But after a few weeks, he noticed that he was really singing better, and that he felt more comfortable about it. Some of Marcueci's friends thought he was slightly mad to invest so much money, time and emotion into an unproven singer. But he'd tell them, "Maybe it's crazy what we're trying to do. But we want to see if we can create a singer . . . We want to take nothing and make something!" Marcucci even re-shaped his protege. He got him to lose fifteen pounds and get a different haircut. He arranged for drama and dance lessons. Then he took him around to record hops when Frankie Avalon was appearing. He wanted Fabian to get the feel of show business; to soak in the atmosphere; to realize some of the problems; to understand that it is not all glamour . . . and to back out if he decided it wasn't worth it. After 9:30 to 2:30 p.m. at school, Fabian usually took his books to Marcueci's office, studied when he could, worked on his songs, then rushed to the drug store. Around March of 1958, his parents urged him to quit his drug store job. It was just too much. Fabian then had more time for music training. His mother reminded him, "Once you're in this, do it well, and do it with all your heart ... or drop it." And he did it with all his heart, and slowly and reluctantly pulled out of the school extra-curriculum activities. The week-end dances were out; no time. His days with The Vikings football team were over; no time. After having held student offices for years, he finally had to withdraw; no time. His buddies at school, at first, were puzzled. They asked him, "How did you ever get involved in this?" . . . "How do you know you can make it as a singer?" . . . "You sure it's worth giving up all your fun?" . . . "We miss you on the soccer team." . . . "The football coach wants you to try out for the team . . . ? It wasn't easy withdrawing from this exciting teen world of sports and dances and dating, but Fabian did it. And, to his surprise, the fellows and the girls finally seemed to understand. Nobody got sore. "The Fabulous Fabian" His managers then laid out a promotion campaign for Fabian. He would be billed as The Fabulous Fabian. He would be called simply Fabian, and his last name would never be used. It was a gimmick to get attention, they explained. Of course, they'd have to ask his friends and relatives not to give out his full name to reporters or strangers. It wouldn't be easy, but they'd try. It was a good gimmick and worth the try. Then, toward the end of May, the big decision was made: to have Fabian cut his first record for Chancellor (distributed by ABC Paramount). It was tense, finding the right songs and reassuring Fabian he was good enough to make his debut . . . but he disked I'm In Love and Shivers and the record was released. Then his managers took a daring advertisement in the trade papers, showing Fabian's photo and the statement: This is the fabulous Fabian. Destined to be America's Latest Recording Sensation! Then it added: Watch the amazing rise of the fabulous Fabian. It was presumptuous, and people in the recording trade snickered when they saw it . . . yet the ad was remarkably prophetic! Before the year was up, Fabian had indeed become the fabulous Fabian. During the training period, Fabian was watched more closely than he suspected. His managers watched for personality and character defects that would have to be straightened out before he could go out and meet the public. But, to Marcueci's delight, Fabian was a sensible, straight-forward, down-to-earth lad of fifteen, with no attacks of temperament and no smart aleek qualities. He did as he was told by those he respected; he listened carefully to all suggestions; he had a powerful sense of duty; he took seriously everything that applied to singing; and clowned only when the job was over. Marcucci couldn't have hoped for a nicer protege. Marcucci also noticed small things, like Fabian's greeting everyone cordially, insisting on hanging up their coats and taking their packages, remembering names, standing up when a lady entered the room, thanking everybody for any interest they showed in his career. Packaging Fabian With the singing coming along well, with his character and personality well defined, the next job was 'packaging' Fabian. Marcucci selected his stage wardrobe carefully: cotton, silk and burlap-style striped shirts, with blue and turquoise (Fabian's favorite color) in them; brightly colored sweaters with rolled collars, plunging neckline and detachable dickeys; and gray leather loafers. For street wear, Fabian would continue wearing his conservative Ivy League clothes; but for personal appearances, he would come out in bright colors in keeping With his youth and personality. Fabian was brought around to record hops, and Marcucci was delighted to see 67