Singer Peggy Lee appeared at the Nixon White House on February 29, 1970, to entertain French President Georges Pompidou and his wife in the East Room after a State Dinner. Halfway through her show, Peggy spoke at length about poetry as an introduction to her surprise hit song “Is That All There Is?”

Adapted from my book The Best Gig in Town:
​ 

Incomprehensible as the song itself was to some people, the songwriters were even more so. Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who wrote all those ’50s and early ’60s three-minute popular rhythm and blues hits “Hound Dog,” “Searchin’,” “Charlie Brown,” “Along Came Jones,” had by the late ’60s become less and less interested in the sounds of Teen Pan Alley. 

Leiber, for one, found himself reading the likes of Thomas Mann—in particular, the short story Disillusionment. This literary work inspired him to write loosely connected verses of a disillusioned woman, to be spoken, not sung. 

The first verse is about a little girl watching her house go up in flames who asks, “Is that all there is to a fire?” The second verse centered on a day at the circus has the narrator asking, “Is that all there is to a circus?” The third verse about a love affair gone wrong and the fourth about a final disappointment elicit similar questions.

Leiber presented his four bittersweet, cabaret vignettes to Stoller, who immediately wrote music to capture the spirit of Kurt Weil and Bertold Brecht. The pair showed their work to English singer-actress Georgia Brown, who, in need of a song for a London TV special, suggested it needed a chorus, something for her to sing between verses. The two collaborated as usual and came up with the perfect song-saving chorus that included the lines: “Then let’s keep on dancing” and “Let’s break out the booze and have a ball.”

Georgia performed the song on TV, but the BBC didn’t record it. The boys wanted a single and began a search for someone who would be acceptable to a record company. They approached actress Marlene Dietrich, who, in their estimation, would be perfect for a cabaret song. She turned them down: “That song you just sang to me is what I am, not what I do.” They then sent the song to Barbra Streisand. No reply ever came.

Then they thought of Peggy Lee. She had recorded their “I’m a Woman,” which was an across-the-board hit. Jerry handed her a demo of the song at a party. A week later, she called: “I will kill you if you give this song to anyone but me. This is my song. This is the story of my life.”

In January 1969 the songwriters joined Peggy in the studio. “I’ll do three takes” she said, “and no more.” It was a struggle. She did 36 takes; the last one was heavenly perfect. But the engineer had forgotten to push the “record” button. One more take—number 37—is the one the world would come to know.

But then Capitol Records refused to release it. At that point in her career, Peggy wasn’t selling records, and this new one—this existential treatise, Stoller called it—was hardly what the company wanted to hear. 

But for Peggy, that wasn't the end of the story.

Capitol Records wanted to promote some of their new acts and hoped to get them on Joey Bishop’s late-night TV show. Joey wasn’t that interested in those artists, but agreed to host them if he could also get Peggy. 

Always cagey, Peggy saw her chance. “I’ll go on the Bishop show,” she said, “if you release ‘All There Is?’ because that’s the song I’m singing on the show!” Capitol capitulated.[2]

The question remains. If the East Room crowd at the Pompidou State dinner had known all this, would it have made a difference? Probably not. 

And if that British singer hadn’t suggested the pair’s existential treatise needed an upbeat chorus, would it ever have been a song? 

And if comic Joey Bishop hadn’t had a thing for Peggy, would Capitol Records have ever allowed her to record it? 

And if Peggy had thrown her hands in the air and walked out after learning the recording engineer had forgotten to push the record button after the perfect take, achieved after a grueling 36 takes in a row, would it ever have been a song? 

Probably not, all around. Still, it became a song, a most unusual hit song at that.

​Serendipity Doo-Dah!

1. Edward Allan Faine, The Best Gig In Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2015), 51–52.
2. Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller with David Ritz, Hound Dog: The Leiber & Stoller Autobiography (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009), 234–46.

​

The most notable jazz event of 1969—and one of the most notable in all of jazz history—was the Duke Ellington gala held at the White House on April 29. This six-hour event included a banquet, a 90-minute concert of 27 Ellington songs performed by an all-star jazz ensemble, and a jam session with dancing. Hundreds of guests attended the celebration, during which President Nixon awarded Duke the Medal of Freedom.
 
This was the first time the award was given to an African American and the first time it was given to a jazz musician. This gesture, at a time when jazz was not yet fully recognized as an art form, set the jazz arts community abuzz like never before. Not only did the medal go to the most respected, honored, and accomplished jazz musician in over four decades, but it was as if the award had gone to jazz itself, bestowed at the highest level of government. Greater recognition was bound to follow, and it did.
 
Jazz received its first federal grant in 1969, which grew tenfold over the next five years and also set the stage for jazz to receive significant grant money from reluctant foundations for the next ten years. Shortly thereafter, jazz was accepted as a fully recognized American art form.
 
And it all began at the Ellington tribute in the spring of 1969, well described by jazz critic Dan Morgenstern: “Though there were moments of appropriate solemnity, the tenor of the evening was one of cheerful warmth and friendly informality, set by the president himself.”

More in-depth information can be found in my book Ellington at the White House, 1969, and the recorded concert can be heard on All-Star White House Tribute to Duke Ellington, Blue Note (2002). 
​

The “Year of Duke” continued. His orchestra came in first in DownBeat magazine’s critics and readers polls, and he topped those polls in the composer and arranger categories as well. Moreover, his album And His Mother Called Him Bill was voted the year’s best by critics and the year’s fourth best by readers.[1]
 
Mother Called Him Bill is the maestro’s homage to his long-term composer-companion, Billy Strayhorn, who passed in 1967. The record is notable for its celestial tracks by altoist Johnny Hodges, particularly in “Blood Count,” “After All,” and “Day Dream,” the latter a late-at-night, sob-in-year-beer favorite. Stray’s compositions brought out that special, sensuous Hodges sound. As singer Lillian Terry recently put it, “Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress.”
 
The flip side of the Hodges coin—the bluesy side—Billy also knew well, as illustrated by “Snibor,” “The Intimacy of the Blues,” and “Acht O’Clock Rock.”[2]
 
In the year 1969, DownBeat fairly embraced the avant-garde movement while also fully embracing rock. Regarding the former, reviews of new thing musician albums were well represented and, generally speaking, highly rated (there were exceptions, like altoist Lou Donaldson’s scorching article declaring it was a bunch of noise made by amateurs[3]).
  
For example, albums by Gunter Hamphill, John Carter and Bobby Bradford, Don Cherry, Archie Shepp, Pharoah Sanders, Ornette Coleman, Sonny Simmons and Prince Lasha, Albert Ayler, Roscoe Mitchell, and Joseph Jarman were all received. And, oh, the movement’s founding father, Ornette Coleman, was entered into the DownBeat Hall of Fame in 1969.
 
DownBeat had tippy-toed around rock in years past but dove deep into the music in 1969. Besides establishing a regular column for the first time (by Alan Heilnman), the magazine featured articles about the following rock musicians and groups, as well as reviews of their albums: Tim Hardin, Steve Miller Band, George Benson, Mike Bloomfield, Bob Dylan, Mothers of Invention, Blood, Sweat and Tears (BST), Ten Years After, and Chicago.[4]
 
The Newport Jazz Festival followed suit, inviting a slew of rockers to perform, including BST, Lighthouse (a BST clone), Ten Years After, Jethro Tull, Jeff Beck, Mothers of Invention, Sly and the Family Stone, and James Brown. In one respect it worked—the festival drew a larger crowd. But it wasn’t a jazz crowd; it included a sizable number of youthful, rowdier fans (think Woodstock), resulting in a host of security problems. Impresario George Wein concluded, “The kids destroyed the event and the experiment was a failure.” The Newport town council concluded, “No rock next year.”[5]
 
It was also the year of Miles Davis. DownBeat readers voted him jazzman of the year and best trumpeter and combo leader. They also voted his albums Filles de Killimanjaro (FDK) and In a Silent Way the year’s best and third best, respectively.[6]

While not fully appreciated at the time, these two stepping-stone albums represented Miles’s first breakaway from the hard bop aesthetic (and his occasional romantic excursions) that had begun with Walkin and continued from the first great quintet (Round Midnight) and sextet (Milestones and Kind of Blue) to the second great quintet (Miles Smiles and E.S.P.). His breakaway sound would soon be labeled jazz fusion, jazz rock, or electric Miles (Bitches Brew).

Interestingly, neither FDK nor In a Silent Way stirred much controversy at the time of their release—that would come later.

Paul Tingen notes the following regarding the FDK tracks:
​ 

“Filles de Killimanjaro” and, to a lesser extent, “Toot de Suite” indicate for the first time a real integration of folk and rock influences, and no one got upset—many people enjoyed it. DownBeat readers loved FDK and selected it as their favorite album of 1969.

The quintet that recorded FDK consisted of Miles on trumpet, Wayne Shorter on sax, Chick Corea on piano, Dave Holland on bass, and Tony Williams on drums. (Replace Tony Williams with drummer Jack DeJohnette, and this group would have been called Miles’s “Lost Quintet,” a quintet that never made a studio recording). 

Cook and Morton describe In a Silent Way, the second stepping-stone album, as a collage using “found objects” put together with a view to the minimum details and coloration required to make an impact—the “found objects” being British guitarist John McLaughlin, Austrian pianist Joe Zawinul, whose “In a Silent Way” became a centerpiece of the album, and Columbia producer Teo Macero, who stitched repeats of certain recorded live studio passages back into the fabric of the music, giving it continuity and a certain hypnotic circularity. 

In effect, three new players of electric instruments (Chick Corea on piano, Joe Zawinul on piano and organ, and John McLaughlin on guitar) joined four members of the second classic quintet (Miles Davis on trumpet, Wayne Shorter on soprano sax, Herbie Hancock on electric piano, and Tony Williams on drums) to give the band a sound completely unlike any previous incarnation.[8] 

Producer Teo Macero’s post-production role was crucial to the outcome (quite unusual for jazz at the time). Teo edited two hours of recorded music and trimmed it with Miles to 27 minutes of original music. He then expanded it to 38 minutes (to fit two sides of a 12” LP) by repeating certain sections.[9]

Cook and Morton praise In a Silent Way as a beautiful album, touching and centered. The title piece and “Shhh/Peaceful” are among the most atmospheric recordings in modern jazz.[10] 

In a Silent Way became an important forerunner of ambient music. Not certain what to make of the album, the DownBeat reviewer awarded it three and a half stars.[11]

Another 1969 album of note featured the venerated Modern Jazz Quartet. Released on Beatles label Apple Records in 1968, Under the Jasmin Tree featured the lengthy three-part suite “Three Little Feelings” and “Exposure,” both poised structured fare with swinging elements, as well as two surprises: “The Blue Necklace” and “The Jasmin Tree,” both based on the Afro-Moorish rhythms of Morocco, with drummer Connie Kay and bassist Percy Heath front and center. 

On “The Blue Necklace,” a very active Kay rang his triangle, shook his jingle bells, and tappety-tapped his snare’s skin and rim alternately, and at times simultaneously, while Heath plucked a high-note, clave-like rhythm on his bass. 

On “The Jasmin Tree,” Heath held the bottom with a steady boom-boom-boom as Kay maintained a clack-clack-clack, sock cymbal clucking away underneath, a triangle keeping the pulse on top (instead of a ride cymbal), and—the coup de grâce—a tambourine gospel shaking that sounded like the quick one-two hand claps of a church choir.

​In the middle of this throbbing stew, John Lewis on piano and Milt Jackson on vibes twined their way through a folk-like ditty, stating the melody, comping, and soloing, first one then the other, back and forth. 

About three-quarters of the way through, the gospel-ish rhythm came to a halt, and a new but related melody (Moroccan folk song) was introduced, played in unison by piano, vibes, and bass. Following this interlude, it was back to the Moorish church, and the tune concluded as it began. 

DownBeat magazine awarded five stars to this welcome departure from a much-revered group, which, by the way, also played the White House in 1969.[12]

1. Critics Poll, DownBeat magazine, August 21, 1969; Readers Poll, DownBeat magazine, December 25, 1969.
2. Edward Allan Faine, “Faine Favorites: Top 10 Alto Sax Albums,” Jazz Blog, August 31, 2018. 
3. Lou Donaldson, scorching review of new thing music, DownBeat magazine, February 1969.
4. All issue review of both avante-garde and rock music coverage, DownBeat magazine, January 9–December 25, 1969.
5. Coverage of Newport Jazz Festival, DownBeat magazine, August 21, 1969.
6. Readers Poll coverage of Miles Davis, DownBeat magazine, December 25, 1969.
7. Paul Tingen, Miles Beyond: The Electric Explorations of Miles Davis, 1967–1991 (New York: Billboard Books, 2001), 46. 
8. Richard Cook and Brian Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 7th ed. (NewYork: Penguin Books, 2004), 408–409. 
9. Tingen, Miles Beyond, 60.
10. Cook and Morton, Penguin Guide, 66.
11. DownBeat magazine, October 1969.
12. Edward Allan Faine, The Best Gig In Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2015), 27–32. ​

One of the grandest events ever held at the White House occurred 50 years ago on Duke Ellington’s seventieth birthday, April 29, 1969. It began with a banquet in the State dining room, followed by a ceremony in the East Room, where Duke received the Medal of Freedom from President Nixon, who then, at the piano, accompanied guests in a joyous rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
 
Next up, a 90-minute concert by jazz all-stars playing 27 Ellington tunes. This was followed by a jam session (guests, military, all stars) that lasted until two in the morning. A summary of this stellar event excerpted from my White House jazz book The Best Gig in Town appears below.

ELLINGTON ALL-STARS BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE*
On the evening of April 29, 1969, President Nixon awarded the Medal of Freedom to Duke Ellington—the first time in United States history anyone in jazz had been so honored. To pay tribute to the maestro, a stunning array of jazz greats assembled in the East Room of the White House (another first) and performed twenty-seven Ellington songs in a ninety-minute concert.

This stellar evening will undoubtedly be remembered as one of the most glittering in the history of the White House.[1]

Both Ellington and jazz had to travel a decades-long journey to have their music heard at the presidential mansion. Born at the turn of the twentieth century in New Orleans and its environs, jazz spread slowly at first and then caught like wildfire in the 1920s as it swept through major cities, including Washington, DC. Yet one spot in the nation’s capital remained impenetrable to this new music for forty years.

Starting in the 1930s, Ellington took steps to bring jazz to the White House, arranging an audience with President Hoover in 1931. Despite being publicized in the newspapers, the meeting never took place. Three years later, Duke tried again, this time with the Roosevelts, but he was politely rebuffed.

It took nearly three more decades for jazz to make its first appearance: President Kennedy invited the Paul Winter Sextet to perform at the White House in 1962, following their overseas tour. But still no Duke. Then finally, in 1965, during Lyndon Johnson’s tenure, Ellington and his orchestra were invited to give the final performance at the White House Festival of the Arts on the South Lawn. At age sixty-six, he had at last arrived.[2]

Hopes for the jazz precedent set by Johnson, some people feared, would not carry forward under Nixon, who was not known by any stretch of the imagination to be a jazz aficionado. Happily, their fears were unfounded.

As to who initially conceived the idea of a White House party for the maestro on his seventieth birthday on April 29, 1969, all evidence points to his public relations man, Joe Morgen, Duke’s representative for more than twenty years.

After laying the groundwork for this singular event with his Washington contacts, Morgen was distressed to learn that Ellington was cool to the plan. In his memoir, Duke’s son Mercer discloses that his father’s reluctance to accept stemmed from his concerns about allying too much with one political party. “Joe insisted and insisted until ultimately [sister] Ruth indicated that she wanted the party to take place. Then Pop agreed to it.”[3]

To produce a concert of such importance, the White House chose someone with connections, organizational skills, and stewardship: Willis Conover. For the previous fourteen and a half years, as a consultant to the State Department, Conover had broadcast music twice daily, six days a week, worldwide, via the Voice of America.

He was well known to President Nixon—and to the world—as the voice of American music, the voice of jazz. In short order, Conover assembled an all-star band for the Ellington tribute, consisting of a four-piece rhythm section and a six-horn front line, complemented by two singers, three guest pianists, and a conductor.

When the big night arrived, the guest of honor, accompanied by his sister, Ruth, stood with President and Mrs. Nixon in a reception line to welcome the quests. After the banquet in the State Dining Room, everyone moved en masse to the East Room, where Nixon presented the Medal of Freedom to Ellington. Much to the audience’s surprise, the president sat at the piano and led everyone in singing “Happy Birthday.”

It was now time for the concert. As master of ceremonies, Conover introduced the Ellington songs—from “Take the ‘A’ Train” to “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” to “It Don’t Mean a Thing”—performed by such jazz giants as Dave Brubeck, Earl “Fatha” Hines, J. J. Johnson, Gerry Mulligan, and Clark Terry. The audience responded with booming applause throughout the evening.[4]

At the boisterous jam session that followed the concert, guests danced to the music of marine, all-star, and guest musicians, including jazz notables Dizzy Gillespie, Marian McPartland, and Willy “the Lion” Smith. The party lasted until sometime after 2 a.m.

The excitement of Duke’s birthday bash no doubt influenced Nixon to schedule subsequent jazz soirees. At some point, after listening to the featured musicians that night, he told Leonard Garment, “If this is jazz, we should have more of it at the White House.”[5]

This singular White House jazz event reverberated throughout the jazz arts community like none other before. It was about recognition, about respect, and about honor. It reverberates still.

Ellington’s tribute also had an enormous impact on the African American community and on the millions worldwide who viewed a USIA documentary of the event (a White House first) and listened to radio broadcasts over Voice of America on Willis Conover’s daily jazz program.

Jazz critic Leonard Feather, one of the after-dinner guests, later wrote this about the evening:

*Excerpted from The Best Gig in Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974.

To learn more about the tribute, read Ellington at the White House, 1969. Packed with details and photos, it not only covers that amazing evening, but also presents a history of early jazz at the White House.

1. For a full account of the Ellington tribute, including details about the jazz all-stars and the music performed during the concert, see Edward Allan Faine, Ellington at the White House, 1969 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2013).
   
2. A short clip of the Paul Winter Sextet at the White House on November 19, 1962, is available for viewing here under “Count Me In.” The sextet was, in fact, the first entertainment of any kind filmed at the president’s mansion; Harvey G. Cohen, Duke Ellington’s America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 498–99.
3. Mercer Ellington with Stanley Dance, Duke Ellington in Person: An Intimate Memoir (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1978), 186.
4. The recording of the all-star concert is available on CD: Duke Ellington 1969: All-Star White House Tribute, Blue Note, 2002.
5. Terence M. Ripmaster, Willis Conover: Broadcasting Jazz to the World (Lincoln, NE: iUniverse, 2007), 142.
6. Leonard Feather, From Satchmo to Miles (New York: Stein and Day, 1974), 57.

When President Nixon awarded Duke Ellington the Medal of Freedom in 1969, it was only the seventh time the nation’s highest civilian honor had been awarded to a musician. And, of course, it was the first given to an African American and to a jazz musician. And that was truly special!

Since 1962, after JFK awarded the first to Pablo Casals, US presidents have been handing out Freedom Medals like they were Cracker Jacks prizes, dispensing them to more than 500 individuals, an average of more than 10 per year. Unwittingly or not, our chief executives have devalued the citation. Clearly, we can all agree, the award today is not as special as the one Duke received.

In December 2013, President Obama continued the top medal largesse, awarding a total of 16, one to former President Clinton, as if he needed another trophy. In Obama’s defense, all presidents prior to Clinton got one too, save for Nixon.

One went to jazz trumpeter and Cuban émigré Arturo Sandoval, an obvious act of political correctness. The ethnic breakdown of the other 15 honorees: one Asian, four black, and 10 white. Gender wise: 10 men, five women.

Sandoval is a mighty fine trumpeter and composer. But how many long-term jazz fans would select him over saxophone masters Sonny Rollins or Wayne Shorter, for example? Very few. And how many jazz fans would select reedman Charles Lloyd or saxophonists Joe Lovano or Ornette Coleman or pianist Keith Jarrett over Arturo Sandoval? The body of work and influence of the aforementioned living jazz alternatives far exceeds that of Mr. Sandoval.

Who would you have given the medal to?

For the record, the below lists past jazz recipients of the Medal of Freedom, by year:

​In my book The Best Gig in Town, I chronicled the long road that Frank Sinatra traveled to land his best gig at the White House for President Nixon in 1973. As his first step, Sinatra changed his national politics from Democrat to Republican. No easy task since he was deeply embedded with John F. Kennedy’s campaign for the presidency, as indicated by the following excerpt:
​

And now, thanks to a recently released documentary, JFK: The Lost Inaugural Gala, we have visual confirmation of “the most stunning assembly of theatrical talent ever.” [2] The Gala was held at the old Armory in Washington, DC, on the eve—one could say the day—of the inauguration because it ended at 1:30 in the morning.

NBC filmed the extravaganza for future broadcast but Mother Nature had her say, blanketing the nation’s capital with a massive snowstorm that limited rehearsal time and the performers’ ability to return to their hotels for evening wear.
​
​NBC deemed the resultant film not ready for prime time TV—that is, until 2017, when the “lost” gala was “found” at the JFK Presidential Library, restored, and broadcast on PBS stations around the country, appropriately on the 100th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s birth.​

In retrospect, NBC brass made a big mistake. The armory setting, the informal staging, the “let’s put on a show” ambience lent a relaxed charm to the whole affair that it would not otherwise have had, eliciting quality performances from nearly everyone.

Frank Sinatra kicked off the show with a buoyant “You Make Me Feel So Young,” the Myers/Gordon song that was his standard concert opener at the time. After a hesitant start, and once synched in with the Nelson Riddle Orchestra, he teased and twisted his vocal line to a swinging climax.

Atop a splendid arrangement from long-term collaborator Nelson Riddle, “the first lady of song” Ella Fitzgerald followed with a finger-snapping version of “Give Me the Simple Life.” Whether she was aware of it or not, she shared the same birth year as the president-elect.

Another long-term Riddle collaborator, Nat King Cole took center stage to offer an up-tempo version of “Surrey with the Fringe on Top” from the Broadway hit show and then recent movie Oklahoma by Rodgers and Hammerstein.

Next up snippets of topical humor from era comics Milton Berle, Joey Bishop, Alan King, Bill Dana, and a somewhat out-of-place Leonard Bernstein.

Ethel Merman walked on wearing a plaid coat (she didn’t have a chance to dress for the show because of the storm) and, in her distinctive powerful voice, belted out “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” from the Jule Styne and Frank Loesser Broadway smash Gypsy (closed for the night so she could sing for the president-elect.)

And if you are thinking that producer Sinatra’s show sounded like a 1950s TV variety show, you’d be right. For the next skit, the designated producer had his favorite composer team Jimmy van Huesen and Sammy Cahn write parody lyrics to popular songs all related to different aspects of the president-elect and wife Jackie, who were both in attendance.

The Frank Sinatra-Milton Berle duo started off the parody song medley, then in quick order Alan King, Gene Kelly, Nat King Cole, Joey Bishop, Harry Belafonte, Sinatra again (“Old Jack Magic” to the tune of “Old Black Magic”), and Ella Fitzgerald.

Dancer Gene Kelly took the stage for an impressionistic Irish jig in honor of the Kennedy family heritage, his lengthy, athletic performance dispelling all doubts about Kelly being one of the better, if not the best show dancer of the era.

Next up, Harry Belafonte singing “When the Saints Go Marching In”—a somewhat surprising choice, most definitely not a showcase for his talents.

Sinatra returned with “That’s America to Me,” a patriotic anthem originally titled “The House I Live In,” in which he sang in an award-winning film of the same name back in 1945. The “House” is a metaphor for the country, and the lyrics written by Abe Meeropol, are a plea for racial and ethnic tolerance.

Nat King Cole took another bow, singing an absolutely gorgeous version of Hoagland Carmichaels’s “Stardust,” a song he had recorded many times, including with Nelson Riddle, but none likely better than here.

Jimmy Durante in his inimitable talk-sing rendered a touching version of Weill and Anderson’s “September Song,” before opera star Helen Trauble closed the entertainment portion of the show with the patriotic warhorse “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

The documentary weaves the gala performances around memorable filmed events in JFK’s life and career: family football games, sailing junkets, Jackie marriage, Democratic convention and presidential campaign, and inaugural speech—a way, after all, to place the inaugural eve festivities in context and to celebrate the centennial birthday of John F. Kennedy.

But it is the film’s star performances—Gene Kelly’s outstanding dance routine, Fitzgerald’s, Sinatra’s, Merman’s and especially King Cole’s singing of classic songs of the era—that linger. 

Coda
​As mentioned in the May, 2017, blog, some 12 years later, after his conversion from Democrat to Republican, Sinatra again performed for a president, this time Richard Milhous Nixon at a State Dinner for Prime Minister Andreotti of Italy on April 17, 1973. After the banquet, in the East Room, Ol’ Blue Eyes opened his 10-song set with “You Make Me Feel So Young” and closed with “That’s America to Me”—the two songs he’d sung to Kennedy 12 years before. [3]
​

1. Edward Allan Faine, The Best Gig in Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2015), 133.
2. JFK: The Lost Inaugural Gala, Creative Retrospectives: John Paulson Productions, 2017, DVD.
3. Edward Allan Faine, Best Gig, 141–63.

An inaugural gala that featured a stunning array of Broadway and Hollywood stars was held for President Kennedy the night of January 19, 1961, in the old Washington Armory. The ticketed event—purposed to raise funds to pay off campaign debts for the Democratic National Committee—was meticulously planned over a two-month period by Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack buddy Peter Lawford. In addition, the singer served as unofficial host and sang two songs he dedicated to the president: “You Make Me Feel So Young” and “That’s America to Me.” [1]

Some 12 years later, after his conversion from Democrat to Republican, Sinatra again performed for a president, this time Richard Milhous Nixon at a state dinner for Prime Minister Andreotti of Italy on April 17, 1973. After the banquet, in the East Room, Ol’ Blue Eyes opened his 10-song set with “You Make Me Feel So Young” and closed with “That’s America to Me,” the two songs he had sung to Kennedy 12 years before.

Coincidence? We’ll never know. At show’s end, and after the applause had faded, a reporter asked Frank why he had chosen the songs he sang, Sinatra snapped back, “How else could I put a program together?” and moved quickly away. [2] 

Guess we’ll never know. And no, he didn’t sing these two songs for President Reagan, even though he performed twice for the septuagenarian president.

I discuss Richard Nixon’s aesthetic tastes in music in my book Ellington at the White House, 1969:

Henry Mancini provided additional evidence in his autobiography, Did They Mention the Music? On June 30, 1969, prior to his East Room performance for the moon-circling Apollo 11 astronauts, Henry and wife, Ginny, accompanied Nixon on a tour of the upstairs family quarters. Mancini asked, “What’s your favorite album, Mr. President?”
​