Como died a few months later at the age of 88 on May 12th, 2001—and a few days later, I received the photo back with his signature on it. So I probably have the last autograph of Perry Como’s life—not that anyone cares. I recently bought a signed Perry Como record contract for $48 on eBay, and the people who know me know to buy me Perry Como stuff for my birthday: both because I love him and because it’s a really, really affordable gift.

2012 marks the hundredth anniversary of Como’s birth, and I would bet anything that this piece might be the only mention of it in the media. But it’s high time for a re-examination of his legacy—and a rediscovery of one of the greatest and certainly the most underrated male singers of the Great American Songbook.

Indeed it was Perry Como’s success with the Ted Weems Orchestra that played a key role in inspiring Frank Sinatra to leave the Tommy Dorsey orchestra in 1942 and embark on a solo career. “Mr. Como was with Ted Weems, a then-popular orchestra leader, and he is still such a wonderful singer,” Sinatra said. “I thought if I don’t make a move out of this band and try to do it on my own soon, one of these guys will do it, and I’ll have to fight.”

If Frank Sinatra, a man known for many things—the ease with which he was intimidated not among them, felt threatened by the prospect of a Perry Como solo career, it’s worth a second look at his work.

That is where problems begin: the greatest enemy of Como’s legacy has been, paradoxically, his greatest successes. His biggest hits mainly consisted of faddish novelty songs: “Hot Diggity Dog (Ziggity Boom),” “Papa Loves Mambo,” “Hoop-De-Doo,” and “Kewpie Doll,” and melodramatic septuagenarian pabulum ballads like “Temptation,” “Prisoner of Love,” and “If,” and his improbable 1971 comeback “It’s Impossible.”

It’s tempting to blame Como for his willingness to sing poor material, but the truth is that nearly every popular vocalist of the era did the same thing. No one talks about “Mama Will Bark”—a duet that featured Sinatra singing with Dagmar and the sound effects of a dog—because it flopped and most disc jockeys played the B-side, “I’m a Fool to Want You,” instead. But the public responded best to Como’s worst songs, and his legacy has suffered for it.

But even on his worst songs—and especially on his better album cuts, the artistry and genius of the Perry Como style is evident. It is so smooth, not in the slick, self-conscious way that Dean Martin sang but in the understated, too confident to show off manner of a true pro. Como is the dancer who is so talented and practiced that it looks effortless, while lesser performers grunt, sweat and wail their way through shows.

But one of the best parts of the Perry Como experience is that you can listen knowing that he lived his life with the same mellow warmth of his music.

He was married to one woman, Roselle Como until her death in 1998. They were together for 65 years and adopted several children together. Como did no club appearances for 26 years—the prime of his career. Instead, he focused on his TV show, recordings, and family. A 1957 Look magazine cover story asked the question: “Perry Como: Is He Really Mr. Nice Guy?”

“It is pointed out that Como is the only TV performer with a price tag of more than a million dollars a year who has no enemies and no embarrassing eccentricities and whose personal life has always been unblemished by gossip,” reporter Joe McCarthy noted.

“I’m not relaxed, I’m just tired,” Como told him.

Como was one of 13 children born to Italian immigrants in Cannonsburg, Pennsylvania. His father worked as a laborer at a tin-plate factory for $35 per week. By the time Perry was 10 years old, he was getting up at 6:00 each day to sweep the floor at a barber shop on his way to school; after class, he returned to shine shoes, heat towels, and sharpen razors. He had his own chair as a barber by the age of 13, and was a major contributor to his family’s finances.

He left the hair business to embark on a singing career. When not making progress, he returned to the barbershop for several years before he was lured back into show business with the offer of his own radio show. When a reporter suspected that the “singing barber” story was an invention of a record-company marketing department, Como responded by giving the reporter a free haircut.

In the 1950s, Como hit his stride as one of the most popular television show hosts of his era. The Perry Como Show ran in various incarnations into the 1960s, while he continued to record occasional specials.

It was during The Perry Como Show period that he recorded a series of albums for RCA/Victor. With the TV show providing Como with a built-in audience and rock and roll bumping the traditional pop vocalists off the radio, there was less pressure to focus on hit singles, and the best-recorded work of Perry Como’s career emerged.

While Sinatra was recording the concept albums that marked the rebirth of his career, Como was scoring steady sellers with titles such as So Smooth, We Get Letters (1957), Saturday Night With Mr. C (1958), Como Swings (1959), and 1961’s Young at Heart. Como’s albums provide the laidback counterpart to Sinatra’s hip Las Vegas sound.

If I could pick one song that epitomizes the Perry Como style at its best, it would be “Gypsy in My Soul,” the eighth track on Saturday Night with Mr. C. With light orchestration, Como just rolls through the song: “If I am fancy-free and love to wander, it’s just a gypsy in my soul,” he sings, letting the last word drift off into two syllables. The enunciation is understated and lilting, and the result is a song that is almost impossible to listen to without smiling.

The almost completely forgotten ballad “Toselli’s Serenade” is another of Como’s best recordings, this one from 1966. It’s a sad song (Dreams and memories/Are all that you’ve left me/Only lonely thoughts/About the one I worship and adore) out dreams and regrets is the perfect treatment for it. Mario Lanza, generally regarded as a superior vocalist, belts it into a dramatic power ballad. But Como’s version is both more enjoyable and more in sync with the lyrics.

In a business where leaving a distinct mark on each song is seen as a key to success, Como’s understated, unselfconscious performances set him apart. Ironically, it may explain why he’s forgotten; his style has been supplanted by belters. “Once you know a song too well, you start to fool around with it.” he said. “At the session, when the band’s working on the arrangement, I learn the tune right there.”

Como’s onscreen presence matched his vocals. Though his movie career at MGM was unsuccessful (his most well-known film being 1945’s Doll Face with co-stars Vivian Blaine and Carmen Miranda), his laidback manner could not have been better suited to the early days of television. With a sound and presence inoffensive and warm, Como was exactly what people wanted in their living rooms.

A 1954 12-city poll of 20-year-old women by Life magazine found that Perry Como was the most popular choice for a potential spouse even though the magazine noted, he “does not fit all the requirements nor all of the personal characteristics girls rate high. He is 5 feet 9 1/2 inches tall instead of 6 feet. His eyes are brown instead of blue and he is not 23. He almost never washes dishes.”

“I was always relaxed on camera when I sang, mainly because I’m not very high-strung or animated by nature.” he told Good Housekeeping in a 1990 profile. “Acting coaches in Hollywood were always telling me to use my hands and body more. But that was never me. I just breathe and sometimes it doesn’t look as if I’m doing that.”

One of the more interesting The Perry Como Show clips available on YouTube is a 1961 duet with 13-year-old Brenda Lee, who had recently had a major hit with “I’m Sorry.” In the video, they sing a medley including “Teach Me Tonight” and “An Apple for the Teacher”—a hit for Bing Crosby, who was Como’s biggest influence along with the long forgotten Russ Columbo. Ms. Lee appears nervous and flubs several lyrics. Como then flubs one, too, something he was not known for doing and this was, perhaps, an effort to put her at ease. Como’s posture is slightly stooped, and his manner is paternal.

When he died, RCA Records took out a full-page ad in Billboard that said simply this: “50 years of music and a life well lived. An example to all.”

Ultimately, Como’s unpretentious, warm, and light style was replaced, in some cases literally, by a more self-conscious, egocentric style of music and life: the building where he spent parts of two decades recording The Perry Como Show became Studio 54 and to the extent that he still gets any airplay at all, it comes during the holidays.

His recording of “Home for the Holidays” is still one of the more popular Christmas songs, although the less remarkable Andy Williams seems to be the crooner of choice for radio these days; Williams and Elvis Presley were the only artists to have two of the 25 Christmas songs with the most radio play in 2010, according to data from the monitoring service Mediaguide.

But Como likely wouldn’t care. An unabashed popular entertainer, he greeted his declining popularity the same way he greeted his rise to success. “I’ve done nothing that I can call exciting,” Como once said. “I was a barber. Since then I’ve been a singer. That’s it.”

On the 100th anniversary of Como’s birth, with the Great American Songbook enjoying a comeback thanks to singers like Michael Bublé and Rod Stewart, it’s time for fans of classic pop to give the best and nicest singer of the era another listen.

Why Perry Como Matters The Saturday Evening Post

The Beatles – photo by John Zimmerman

The BeatlesPhoto by John ZimmermanMarch 21, 1964

Photographer John Zimmerman was one of the best. His lens caught famous politicians and newsmakers, and even strange new groups from Britain. But this 1964 photo of the Fab Four is a classic. The cover promised “a probing analysis of their incredible power to evoke frenzied emotions among the young.” Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. What do you expect from stuffy old editors who worked Eight Days a Week? To simplify: the Beatles just made us feel Glad All Over. Okay, I’ll stop now.

Sonny and Cher – photo by Jerry Schatzberg

Sonny and CherPhoto by Jerry SchatzbergApril 23, 1966

Another classic! Cher is looking hot and Sonny is looking, well, not the least bit Republican. Always up-to-date on the latest lingo, the editors informed us that Sonny and Cher were “what’s happening, baby”. Cher was known for her mod fashions, but here’s a description of Sonny backstage at the Hollywood Palladium: “Although the musicians were wearing tuxedos, Sonny had on a yellow turtleneck sweater, a white, double-breasted pirates’ jacket with wide lapels, epaulets and yellow puffs for buttons. His trousers were white, tight, and ornamented with a wide, silver-buckled, brown-leather belt, and black boots completed the outfit.” You can’t get more hip than that. That description, by the way, was from the author of the article, Peter Bogdanovich.

Roger Miller – photo by Maurie Rosen

Roger MillerPhoto by Maurie RosenFebruary 12, 1966

It wasn’t just rock and roll. There was a “big boom in country music”. Anybody over fifty remembers the “King of the Road”. From “Engine Engine No. 9” to wishing you had a “Do Wacka Do” (okay, you had to be there), Roger Miller was big time. What is country music? “It’s soul in a rhinestone suit”, the article said, “honesty with amplifiers, a new ‘uptown’ sound that city folks like—and it’s back in the big time again.” Remember “A White Sport Coat” by Marty Robbins? The Carter Family? Sonny James? This was “that new sound from Nashville”. But no one could do “You Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd” like Roger Miller.

The Mamas and the Papas – photo by Dan Wynn

Mamas and the PapasPhoto by Don WynnMarch 25, 1967

“Monday, Monday,” “Calfornia Dreamin’,” “I Saw Her Again” – the hits just kept coming for the Mamas and the Papas, proving they weren’t just hippies – they were hippies with talent. But they were on the wild side. A guy in one audience stood up and shouted, “Cass, Cass, I love you.” Cass “peered into the audience from the footlights. ‘Dynamite! Where are you staying?’” The article by William Kloman stated that once “the Mamas and the Papas instigated a riot, mainly to test their theory that it could be done scientifically. John got a black eye for his efforts, and they have since tried to keep their audiences under control.” Mama Cass (whose voice on “Dream a Little Dream of Me” I will always remember) died of a heart attack in 1974, John passed away in 2001 and Denny in 2007. Happily, lovely Michelle is still with us.

Frank and Nancy Sinatra – Supremes photo

Frank and Nancy SinatraSupremes PhotoJuly 15, 1967

“It has been 15 years now since rock ‘n roll was laughed off as just another fad,” the Alfred G. Aronowitz article states. “Frank Sinatra called it ‘the martial music of every sideburned deliquent on the face of the earth.’ The police in Atlanta, Ga., ruled that teen-agers couldn’t dance to it without written parental consent. Roman Catholic leaders in Boston called for a boycott of it, to be enforced by a censor. And the head of the White Citizens Coucil in Alabama saw it as part of a Negro plot to ‘mongrelize America.’” Welcome to the 60’s, folks. The diversity in music was a sign of the jumbled times: Herb Alpert, The Supremes, The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel, Petula Clark. 27-year-old Nancy Sinatra, “has already collected three gold singles, which is two more than Frank Sinatra ever got in his entire 26-year career.” And then Frank and his little girl have a smash love duet, “Something Stupid.” Something Crazy was going on.

Bob Dylan – photo by Elliott Landy

Bob DylanPhoto by Elliot LandyNovember 2, 1968

Okay, I confess: once, hearing a guy on a radio program dedicate a Bob Dylan song to our troops, my response was “haven’t they suffered enough?” Not a fan of the voice – sorry. This 1968 article covered “the royal family” of pop. From Hendrix to Buck Owens, Joplin to Merle Haggard, B.B. King to the Beach Boys. And oh yes, the Stones, Simon & Garfunkel and Johnny Cash. Then, “Enter the King, Bob Dylan”. Author Alfred G. Aronowitz makes Dylan’s lyrics sound almost biblical, “….the mysterious Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest” he says, is “a parable of friendship and temptation.” And “the moral of one of his songs, he recites, is that no man should be where he does not belong, that each man should help his neighbor, that no one should envy his neighbor’s lot.” But I can’t argue about the unending beauty of “Blowin’ in the Wind,” which became something of a civil rights anthem. Indeed, how many roads must a man walk down…

Classic Covers: Music of the Sixties The Saturday Evening Post

Singer-songwriter Paul Anka remembers the first check he received after his recording of “Diana” soared to the top of the pop charts. The amount was $300, modest even by 1957 standards, but “it seemed like a lot of money to a kid coming off a paper route in Canada,” says Anka, who was 16 at the time. Unlike many one-hit wonders whose success was short-lived in the early days of rock and roll, Anka had the savvy and talent to stay ahead of the trends. The music he wrote soon evolved from sock-hop ballads like “Puppy Love” to big-band standards like “My Way,” created for his mentor and close pal Frank Sinatra.

“Frank and Sammy [Davis, Jr.] looked after me, watched over me, and allowed me into their circle,” he says of the legendary entertainers. The “circle” was Sinatra’s famed Rat Pack, and members included Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop. Sinatra gave them all nicknames, which were embroidered on the robes they wore when they lounged around the saunas and pools at the Las Vegas hotels where they performed. Anka, decades younger than the rest of the Pack, emerged as The Kid. The name stuck, although “as I got older and after I wrote ‘My Way,’ the mentoring thing became more of a friendship,” he says.

With an active concert schedule and a new CD in the works, Anka doesn’t dwell on nostalgia, although a couple of current projects have him rummaging through his files and pulling out photos, clippings, and programs from the past. If everything goes according to plan, 2009 is going to be a big year. His autobiography, still untitled, is scheduled for an autumn release, and he’s in preliminary talks about a Broadway show based on his 50-year career.

At age 67, The Kid is on a sentimental journey, recalling the times he traveled with Elvis, hung out with Buddy Holly, popped up on American Bandstand, and wrote a theme song for Johnny Carson. And then there was Ole Blue Eyes….

We’ll begin there.

The Post has uncovered an interesting photo of you, Frank Sinatra, and a monkey. Is there a story behind the picture?

Actually, it was an orangutan. We were in Vegas, and Frank’s friends were throwing a birthday party for him. I remember thinking, What do you give to a guy who has everything? So I went to the circus that was playing at a nearby hotel, and I said, ‘Let me borrow the orangutan.’ It was fitting because back then the atmosphere in Las Vegas was all about the prank. I marched into the party with the orangutan and gave it to Frank. Little did I know that in those days he was wearing a very bad toupee, and [in photos taken that night] the monkey’s hair looks better than Frank’s.

Of the more than 900 songs that you’ve created, “My Way” may be most memorable. What motivated you to write the words that became Sinatra’s signature signoff?

We were at a dinner in Florida when he announced his plan to retire. The Rat Pack had dissipated and he was tired. He said he would make one more album, and then he wanted out. That moved me to go home, imagine myself in his place, and write what would be the retiring song for someone who was the premier artist of all time. I used to do everything on the typewriter — I could type 60 to 65 words a minute — and so I just rattled away from one a.m. until I finished it around five. The song became a turning point for both of us. I remember I was in New York when he called me from the studio in Los Angeles and played it for me for the first time over the phone.

Let’s talk about the early days, the ’50s and ’60s, when you toured with some of the pioneers of rock and roll. What was it like to travel with these great artists — many of them African-American — at a time when some venues didn’t welcome people of color?

I remember that period in great detail. Coming from Canada, it was very difficult for me to understand segregation. I was close to the Platters, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, and the others. Consequently, I was taken aback by it. We were close because of the music, but the situation drew us even closer. I remember refusing to eat at places that wouldn’t serve them. I was part of the team and we were very protective of each other. It was a time of great camaraderie.

How did your parents feel about their son going into show business at such a young age? Did they encourage you?

Things were different than they are now. A lot of parents today are sophisticated and start training their kids at age four or five because with shows like American Idol, they know what’s at the end of the rainbow. They understand the possibilities. But that wasn’t the case for us. Television started at five in the afternoon in Canada, and the programming was limited. People really didn’t have their arms around the music yet. My parents were dealing with the unknown — and a kid who was focused and aggressive about what he wanted. They were very concerned when I borrowed some money and went off to New York. Then I called them and said, “Come on down and sign my contract.” They were dazzled by it … and so was I.

You’re working on your autobiography now, piecing together five decades of history. What’s it like to go back in time and recall all that you’ve seen and done?

It’s been cathartic and sentimental. I’ve kept all my memorabilia…all the letters, articles, itineraries, and pictures. I have 50 years’ worth of material, so it’s really a process of editing out what I feel is not important or what I’m not willing to reveal. The memories come back, maybe not the details, but the meat is there when I look at the pictures and read the letters. I can remember what was going on and the people I was meeting.

And now there’s the possibility of a Broadway show…. Do you have a performer in mind to play Paul Anka as a teenager?

Yeah, I like the young kid who was on American Idol [David Archuleta], but there would have to be someone else. My real dream stroke is Robert Downey, Jr. His energy and capabilities are what I envision. That would be the coup of the century.

The music you’ve created over the decades is so varied that it can’t be tucked into a pigeonhole or given a label. How do you continue to stay up on the trends? When you’re in the car with the radio on, what do you like to listen to?

A lot of everything. There’s so much good stuff out there; my taste is eclectic. I listen to Madonna, Elton John, Yo-Yo Ma, Alicia Keys, Tim McGraw…. I have to be aware of what’s going on. I’m always learning something. I can’t come from a limited point of view of not embracing all music. I think that’s a mistake. Some artists are pretty highfalutin about what they do. That’s not me. I like country music a lot…I love the lyrics; I think country is the purest American music; that and jazz. As a musician I get a little something out of all of them.

Obviously you’re not thinking about retiring. Your last couple of albums did well, and you’re headed into the studio for another. Will it be classic Anka or new material?

I’m coming off of the success of Rock Swings

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Paul Anka: Doing It His Way The Saturday Evening Post