Amat victoria curam!

This is great story by Marc Evanier about Mel Tormes' Christmas Song...

I want to tell you a story...

The scene is Farmer's Market — the famed tourist mecca of Los Angeles.  It's located but yards from the facility they call,
"CBS Television City in Hollywood"...which, of course, is not in Hollywood but at least is very close.

Farmer's Market is a quaint collection of bungalow
stores, produce stalls and little stands where one can buy darn near
anything edible
one wishes to devour.  You buy your pizza slice or sandwich or Chinese
food or whatever at one of umpteen counters, then carry it on a tray to
an open-air table for consumption.

During the Summer or on weekends, the place is full of
families and tourists and Japanese tour groups.  But this was a winter
weekday, not long before Christmas, and the crowd was mostly older
folks, dawdling over coffee and danish.  For most of them, it's a good
place
to get a donut or a taco, to sit and read the paper.

For me, it's a good place to get out of the house and grab something to eat.  I arrived, headed for my favorite barbecue stand
and, en route, noticed that Mel Tormé was seated at one of the tables.

Mel Tormé.  My favorite singer.  Just sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee, munching on an English Muffin, reading
The New York Times.  Mel Tormé.

I had never met Mel Tormé.  Alas, I still haven't and now I never will.  He looked like he was engrossed in the paper
that day so I didn't stop and say, "Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed all your records."  I wish I had.

Instead, I continued over to the BBQ place, got myself a
chicken sandwich and settled down at a table to consume it.  I was
about
halfway through when four Christmas carolers strolled by, singing "Let
It Snow," a cappella.

They were young adults with strong, fine voices and they were all clad in splendid Victorian garb.  The Market had hired them (I
assume) to stroll about and sing for the diners — a little touch of the holidays.

"Let It Snow" concluded not far from me to polite applause from all within earshot.  I waved the leader of the chorale over and
directed his attention to Mr. Tormé, seated about twenty yards from me.

"That's Mel Tormé down there.  Do you know who he is?"

The singer was about 25 so it didn't horrify me that he said, "No."

I asked, "Do you know 'The Christmas Song?'"

Again, a "No."

I said, "That's the one that starts, 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...'"

"Oh, yes," the caroler chirped.  "Is that what it's called?  'The Christmas Song?'"

"That's the name," I explained.  "And that man wrote it."  The singer thanked me, returned to his group for a brief
huddle...and then they strolled down towards Mel Tormé.  I ditched the rest of my sandwich and followed, a few steps behind.  As
they reached their quarry, they began singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." directly to him.

A big smile formed on Mel Tormé's face — and it wasn't
the only one around.  Most of those sitting at nearby tables
knew who he was and many seemed aware of the significance of singing
that song to him.  For those who didn't, there was a sudden flurry of
whispers: "That's Mel Tormé...he wrote that..."

As the choir reached the last chorus or two of the song,
Mel got to his feet and made a little gesture that meant, "Let me sing
one
chorus solo."  The carolers — all still apparently unaware they were in
the presence of one of the world's great singers — looked a
bit uncomfortable.  I'd bet at least a couple were thinking, "Oh,
no...the little fat guy wants to sing."

But they stopped and the little fat guy started to sing...and, of course, out came this beautiful, melodic, perfectly-on-pitch
voice.  The look on the face of the singer I'd briefed was amazed at first...then properly impressed.

On Mr. Tormé's signal, they all joined in on the final lines: "Although it's been said, many times, many ways...Merry Christmas
to you..."  Big smiles all around.

And not just from them.  I looked and at all the tables
surrounding the impromptu performance, I saw huge grins of
delight...which
segued, as the song ended, into a huge burst of applause.  The whole
tune only lasted about two minutes but I doubt anyone who was there
will
ever forget it.

I have witnessed a number of thrilling "show business"
moments — those incidents, far and few between, where all the little
hairs
on your epidermis snap to attention and tingle with joy.  Usually,
these occur on a screen or stage.  I hadn't expected to experience one
next to a falafel stand — but I did.

Tormé thanked the harmonizers for the serenade and one of the women said, "You really wrote that?"

He nodded.  "A wonderful songwriter named Bob Wells and I wrote that...and, get this — we did it on the hottest day of the
year in July.  It was a way to cool down."

Then the gent I'd briefed said, "You know, you're not a bad singer."  He actually said that to Mel Tormé.

Mel chuckled.  He realized that these four young folks hadn't the velvet-foggiest notion who he was, above and beyond the fact
that he'd worked on that classic carol.  "Well," he said.  "I've actually made a few records in my day..."

"Really?" the other man asked.  "How many?"

Tormé smiled and said, "Ninety."

I probably own about half of them on vinyl and/or CD.  For some reason, they sound better on vinyl.  (My favorite was the
album he made with Buddy Rich.  Go ahead.  Find me a better parlay of singer and drummer.  I'll wait.)

Today, as I'm reading obits, I'm reminded of that moment.  And I'm impressed to remember that Mel Tormé was also an
accomplished author and actor.  Mostly though, I'm recalling that pre-Christmas afternoon.

I love people who do something so well that you can't
conceive of it being done better.  Doesn't even have to be something
important: Singing, dancing, plate-spinning, mooning your neighbor's
cat, whatever.  There is a certain beauty to doing almost anything to
perfection.

Pope Benedict made some ridiculous comments in an end-of-year speech to senior Vatican staff. Defending God's creation was not limited to saving the environment, he said, but also about protecting man from himself.

It is not "out-of-date metaphysics" to "speak of human nature as
'man' or woman'", he said. It came from the "language of creation,
despising which would mean self-destruction for humans". Gender theories, he said, led to man's "auto-emancipation" from creation and Creator. "Rain forests deserve, yes, our protection but the human being... does not deserve it less," he said. Translation: Gays are a disaster for humanity...

So Beni is really out of touch with the rest of the world - or perhaps he is talking about himself: let's face it: here is a guy who always wears dresses, likes fancy hats, has a couple of thousand cute boys around him and ... let's not forget paid hundreds of millions to victims of pedophile priests...