My New Year’s Eves

By Leo Racicot

When I was growing up, it was a New Year’s Eve tradition for families to gather around the radio or t.v. set to listen to Guy Lombardo ring in the new year. He and his band, The Royal Canadians, had begun their broadcast in 1928 and it had caught on with the public, was still going strong throughout the 1950s and ’60s. I wonder if Guy’s style of music, a mellow blend of bouncy strings and horns would appeal to kids today. Probably not. But generation after generation looked forward to “Mr. New Year’s Eve” reprising his hits, “Boo-Hoo” and “Coquette” (super danceable tunes) every December 31st. Then, of course, as the New Year approached, it was, and still is, the beloved annual tradition to watch in anxious anticipation for a 12 foot wide, ton-heavy crystal ball to slide down a flag pole as the country chanted the countdown to midnight. Only in the years 1942, 1943 was the ball drop cancelled due to city lights having to be kept low for fear enemy pilots would see them.      As the 1970s started, networks replaced the Lombardo sound in favor of a more modern sound. New Year’s Rockin’ Eve sought to draw a younger, more hip viewing audience with a younger, more hip host., popular DJ and sometime actor, Dick Clark, who’d gained fame as the host of American Bandstand, the monster, long -running cultural phenomenon that introduced rock music and youth trends to mainstream America. Clark’s fresh-scrubbed features and boy-next-door demeanor, combined with a certain cool cat vibe, was a perfect choice to replace Lombardo’s rather stodgy approach to the holiday and to a changing America. He (Clark) had a knack for bridging the old with the new, not so radical a presence that he offended the public but just groovy enough to make a smooth transition from what used to be to what was becoming a mood shift in the country.

You could count on two hands the number of times in my life I’ve been to a party; I wasn’t much for parties, only small house gatherings with a few friends, so I can’t say I went in for big New Year’s Eve bashes. In fact, I just now reminded myself, anomaly that I am, that I’ve only been to two weddings in my lifetime: my cousin Ray’s marriage to his wife, Marcy, and my friends, David and Brenda Bowles’s nuptials at Saint Patrick’s and the reception after. Now, as we age, and friends and family leave this Realm, it’s more “wakes than weddings”, isn’t it?  Sigh…This is a roundabout way of stating that I’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve celebration.

I’ve also never been one to sidestep sad events, the sad aspects of my life’s experiences, and I attribute, in part anyway, a marked melancholia to my nature, to the fact that our father died very young, when Diane and I were very young. So, I thought about omitting this next anecdote but feel I simply can’t; it comes to mind whenever I hear the words, New Year’s Eve.     It was 1968 and the first New Year’s Eve since our mother had suffered her stroke that summer, leaving her sad, depressed over her immobility, the numbness that had left her arm and face frozen in time. She was trying hard to bring herself back to herself but I could see the struggle was exhausting. I wanted to do something to cheer her, bring her hope for the future. I was 13, struggling myself to be the “man of the family”. I set about planning and making a New Year’s Eve fete for Ma; I bought crepe paper down at Prince’s Department Store, spent hours and hours cutting/shredding it into pieces for confetti, blew up a dozen or so balloons, later affixing the whole shebang in a blanket-type canopy on the living room ceiling, to be released at the stroke of midnight. I put together a spread of eats: deviled eggs, small, party cakes, peanuts, popcorn, a tray of cookies. I made Mama a mock cocktail, a highball, complete with one maraschino cherry (her favorite bar drink). I bought fun hats, tooting horns, silver whistles. I told my mother nothing about all this, hoping to surprise her on the night itself. At the stroke of midnight, I brought it all out of my bedroom into where she sat on the couch. As the clock turned 1968 to 1969, I blew the whistle, tooted the horn, hatted mom with a wacky chapeau, shouted, “Happy New Year!” and released the balloons and confetti from their net. Honestly, I had never seen such a sad, deflated reaction on anyone as I had our mother’s face as the confetti fell onto it and onto her blouse and pants. Even her striped slacks looked sad. She did manage a wan smile but I, too, have never felt as deflated as I did that New Year’s Eve. I had only wanted with my mini-celebration to help rouse Ma from her torpor. She looked at me as if I was the strangest kid she’d ever laid eyes on. I joined her in her depression; my efforts had been for nothing. A few days later though, I overheard her defend me to a neighbor who’d said to her, “Your son, Leo, is such a strange duck.”  Ma put the full force of her weight on her cane, drew herself up much taller than her height of 5’4″ and answered the neighbor with “Leo’s a gem. What other thirteen-year-old son do you know who’d do a thing for his mother like what he did for me?!!”

When it was brand spanking new, one of the special movie theater treats in those days was going to see a picture at Lawrence Showcase Cinemas. Joe and I went a few times but for the life of us, neither can remember how in the world we got there. This was before I had my driver’s license and Joe never did get his so we couldn’t have driven ourselves. Somebody drove us there but we can’t remember who. We think maybe my sister, Diane, or Joe’s dad or his sister, Janie. But then we ask, where did our driver go for the two hours we two were at the movie??  We know they didn’t see one themselves, that much we’re sure of. Only Janie remains to ask but she doesn’t remember. We like that it remains a mystery of our outings together as kids. We did love it that on Showcase’s second floor was a mini-museum of sorts. While customers waited for their movie to start, they’d pass the time viewing the wall art, mostly the work of local artists. It was fun to go up there. There was something sophisticated about seeing a movie and an art gallery, an unprecedented combination in those days. Anyway, one New Year’s Eve, we went to see a show that was timed to wrap up at midnight. Joe says it was the Barbra Streisand version of A Star is Born. I say it was Rocky but don’t go by me; I don’t even know how I got there. The theater was mobbed, and throughout the movie, there was a palpable energy and excitement among the crowd, not only for the movie but also for the approach of a brand, new year. As midnight struck, more than a few audience members stood up and cheered, blew horns, shouted Happy New Year!! I remember lots of celebratory jostling as Joe and I fought our way to the exit and whoever it was picking us up. A memorable New Year’s Eve.

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Time’s Square ball drop

Showcase Cinemas in Lawrence

Showcase Cinemas Art Gallery

Guy Lombardo

Dick Clark’s Rockin New Year’s Eve

A Star is Born poster

Happy New Year!