One of the most popular columns posted here seems to be the one about me going to see Barry Manilow. In it, I decided my friends who like to think of themselves as "hip" (whatever that means, these days) would mock his show as corny and square, but that I had to recognize how much sheer pleasure he was dispensing to his audience including, ultimately, me. We often prove — or strain to prove some sort of sophistication by disdaining entertainment: It may please the unwashed masses but I have higher standards. That kind of thing. If something's bad, then fine. Say it's bad. Or ignore it and go look for something good, which is what I increasingly do as I get older. But don't ridicule it just because it appeals to people you'd like to believe you're better than…and don't close yourself off to the possibility that you might enjoy it, too. At least on some level.
I have just come from a show that reminded me of what I might call my Manilow Epiphany. I'm here in Las Vegas at the Orleans Hotel, where Tony Orlando is starring in "Santa and Me," a Christmas revue which he wrote. Basically, it's the story of Tony Orlando meeting up with Santa, and they talk about what Christmas means, and sing "Jingle Bell Rock" and "White Christmas" and "O, Come All Ye Faithful." There's an Elvis impersonator in the show, and a singing Christmas tree, and elves who join in a hip-hop version of "Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree," and Tony spends a goodly amount of time out in the audience, leading them in sing-alongs. If it sounds schmaltzy and syrupy…well, it is. But most of a showroom full of people had a very good time.
What makes it work is that Mr. Orlando is a delightful, sincere man who works his butt off. He's also a touchy-feely kind of guy. I met him Sunday night and thanked him for a long-forgotten favor he did for me…and all of a sudden, I'm getting hugged. By Tony Orlando. I have friends I've had for thirty years and we don't hug. But that's just the kind of guy he is and I decided — this is going to be an awkward phrase but it's the only way to say it — that I wouldn't like myself if I were the kind of person who ridiculed a guy just for being passionate and emotional and loving.
Did I like his show? I don't think I did, but I liked him. I liked the fact that he cares so much, and that he sent most of the audience out feeling not only entertained but that they'd spent a lovely hour with a lovely man. Most Vegas-style entertainment is like fast food that's prepared by assembly line and utterly unmemorable. This particular Vegas-style entertainment gave some people something they'll be talking about for years to come, and in a good way.
One person in particular. In the front row, there was a gentleman in a wheelchair. He obviously had dystrophy or some other neurological disorder. As Tony was scurrying up and down the aisles with the wireless mike, leading us in "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," he stopped at the wheelchair. He made a fast check to make sure its occupant was singing along and wouldn't be embarrassed, then held out the mike so the man could sing a few bars for everyone. The audience cheered, Tony hugged the guy and kissed him on the forehead, and I saw that the fellow was crying with joy, as were the people with him.
As I describe it here, you might think it was corny and mushy and everything we don't like about the Jerry Lewis Telethon. But Tony Orlando gave a guy in a wheelchair one of the happiest moments in what has probably not been much of a life. I'll bet you can't do that.