Ready With a Song and a Story at 95
By FRANK J. PRIAL
“Tony Martin? The singer? Used to be married to Cyd Charisse? I thought he was. ...”

Whatever you thought, forget it. He is alive and well, still married to Cyd Charisse and still singing; Saturday night, in fact, he is winding up a five-night engagement at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency, on Park Avenue. And he’s 95 — yes, 95 — years old.

His voice is not what it was, and he needs a little help negotiating the bandstand steps. But when the lights dim and he opens with Lerner and Loewe’s “Almost Like Being in Love,” he has the audience in his hands. What he may lack musically he makes up for with nostalgia. He does 16 numbers, introducing each with a vignette about the composer or the singer who made it famous, frequently Tony Martin. Occasionally he turns to Dick Parent, his accompanist and musical director, to ask, “What’s next?”


“ ‘To Each His Own,’ ” Mr. Parent whispers, or “ ‘The Very Thought of You.’ ”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Martin says, “Ray Noble, lovely guy. I met him when I did the Palladium in London, and he asked me to sing that song.”

“I Don’t Know Why,” a Roy Turk-Fred Ahlert song, had him recalling Russ Columbo, who popularized it. “I was working with Woody Herman in Tom Gerun’s band in Oakland when we heard that both Columbo and Bing Crosby were singing with Gus Arnheim’s band at the Cocoanut Grove down in L.A., so we drove down to hear them.” That led into “I Surrender, Dear,” a Crosby hit in the ’30s, and then to Cole Porter’s “Begin the Beguine.” “Cole wanted Bing to record it,” Mr. Martin said, “but Crosby said, ‘Let Tony Martin do it.’ I did, and it was the biggest hit in my career.” Though his version was never on the Billboard charts, Mr. Martin has been performing it for years.

Later, in his room, Mr. Martin talked easily about being 95. “I’m in pretty good shape,” he said. “I gave up smoking in my 60s. I eat only two meals a day, and I only take a drink once in a while, usually white wine. I walk a lot, because when you’re old, the legs are the first thing to go.”

He walks slowly but erect; there is no elderly slouch or shuffle. “My weight’s about 159, 160,” he said proudly. “Hasn’t changed for years. And my waist is still 33.” These numbers could not be independently verified.

“I have to admit, there aren’t many people my age in show business still working,” he said. Not many? An informal count came up with a figure: zero. Still, an astonished smile from someone who recognizes him trumps a blank look. “I’ll go to some Screen Actors Guild thing in Hollywood,” he said, “and be introduced to some young actor who will say, ‘And what do you do, Mr. Martin?’ ”

In fact he does what he’s been doing for more than 80 years, if you count his double-threat debut in grammar school as a boy soprano and saxophone player. “My grandmother gave me the sax when I was 10,” he said. He formed his first band in high school, in Oakland, Calif., where he grew up. He was born Alvin Morris in San Francisco in 1912, and the family moved across the bay soon thereafter. His parents were Jewish immigrants from Poland who wanted him to be a lawyer. “I went to St. Mary’s College,” he said. “I was in the class of 1934, but I left in 1932 after one of the brothers told me I was flunking everything and should stick to music.”

After college he headed for Hollywood, where his new name, good looks and voice soon had him working steadily. In 1936 alone, he appeared in some eight films, mostly in bit parts. Over the years he appeared in increasingly important roles in about 30 films, most of them musicals like “Till the Clouds Roll By” and “Ziegfeld Girl,” in which he serenades Judy Garland, Hedy Lamarr and Lana Turner as they float down a typical cinema staircase. During his Hollywood years, he recorded for Decca. After Army service in World War II, he first went with Mercury, where his “To Each His Own” hit the Top 10. He later recorded for RCA Victor.

A marriage in 1937, to the actress Alice Faye, ended in divorce four years later. In 1948 he married the Texas-born dancer Cyd Charisse, whose own career has included some 40 films. “We had the same agent,” he recalled. “He got us to go to a movie together. We’ve seen a lot of movies since.”

The couple live in a condo near Beverly Hills, where Mr. Martin spends hours watching sports on television. “I love sports,” he said. “Always have.” Leo Durocher and his second wife, the actress Laraine Day, were friends, as is Joe Torre.

“I’ve followed him since he started with Milwaukee in the ’60s,” Mr. Martin said, “and now we have him in Los Angeles. It’s going to be a good year for us.”

Mr. Martin plans to continue appearing in clubs, usually for short gigs like the one in New York, “as long as I can.” It makes him feel younger, he said. How much younger he didn’t specify. But he seems to affect at least some of his audience the same way.

On Thursday night after his last number, “Moon River,” one matronly fan slipped through the crowd filing out and made her way to the empty bandstand. Under the tall stool on which Mr. Martin had been sitting was a handkerchief he had dropped during the show. Swiftly, she picked it up and stuffed it in her purse.

She probably hadn’t done anything like that since she was a teenager.

Tony Martin performs Saturday at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency, 540 Park Avenue, at 61st Street; (212) 339-4095, feinsteinsattheregency