Every 
 Song
    Tells 
   a
 Story . . .

. . . but 
       what's
   the story
        Behind 
    the 
       song?

It’s easy to give up
People do it every day
Takes no effort
Almost happens by itself
And all around, it seems,
Circumstances conspire
against you,
making it so tempting
to relax all defenses.
Throw in the towel
and Stop Trying.

The battle is uphill
Momentary doubts
make you lose your footing
and slide backwards
But if you keep your purpose
firmly in your heart
nothing can stop you
And you find,
upon reaching the top,
that the air
is exhilarating
up there.

Are you watching my life 
Are you taking it in?
Is it tough keeping track 
of my ups and my downs
and the places I've been
From where you're sitting, 
It all must be so clear
Where I should go from here

Are you wondering why 
I refuse to give up
And give in to the pressure 
of keeping a smile on
When life gets too rough
From where you're sitting, 
It must be easy to see
Except that you're not me

I'm the one 
who's working on a dream
And it won't go away
And I'm the one 
who knows what it can cost
It's a price I'm willing to pay

So stop shaking your heads 
and saying a prayer
Yes, I know the odds 
aren't looking so hot
but guess what - 
I don't care
From where you're sitting 
it may look like I've failed
And though I can't say 
I've got the world by the tail
I'm not quitting this crazy marathon
I know just where I'm going
I'm going on

There was this funny little record around the house when I was growing up. Too small to be a 33-1/3 rpm and too big to be a 45, it had no label. You didn’t put the needle on the outside of the record, but on the inside. As the record played, the needle worked its way out to the edge. It was a 16 rpm! A woman with a beautiful voice sang a famous standard of the era:

You Go To My Head
And you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spinning 'round in my brain
Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

The singer was our mother. My sisters and I had no idea why she made this record and weren't the least bit curious. We played it a few times and I think it ended up in the toybox. Years later, in 1989, Mom passed away and we looked in vain for this record. Gone! How could we have been so careless?? We asked one of mom's oldest friends, Marion Gilhooley, about it and she got a dreamy look in her eyes. '1940. The Blackhawk! Chicago's hottest club where all the Big Bands played. And where they played, we went! I'll never forget this one night...

‘... the bandleader asked for a volunteer to come onstage to sing with the band, and before you could say Tommy Dorsey your mother was up at the microphone. And she was a big hit. Everyone loved her! They pressed a record of her performance and we all thought she’d wind up on Your Hit Parade. Don’t you know all this?’

No. We did not. Because our mother didn't tell us. She'd left it all behind. I thought of the times she might have said to me, 'I was really something in my day'. Or 'Why don't you sing the song this way, Eileen.' Instead, she was my biggest fan and never missed a performance. In return, I took her for granted – the dubious reward of all devoted mothers.

I knew what I had to do. I had to write a song.

I see my mother in the mirror
I see her more and more each day
There's no denying that's her nose
her mouth, her laugh
But guess what I heard someone say

My mother was a singer
Imagine my surprise
I wonder, did she grow up 
with a dream or two
And did they die, the way dreams do

She didn't shared her little secret,
And all the while, who'd ever guess
She filled her world with little girls
and shoes and socks and dentist trips
She never needed to impress
And say she'd been a singer
And could've been a star
And did she have her quiet moments
now and then
Wondering what might have been
At center stage her heart set free
She would have been
A lot like . . . Me

Oh, I can picture you,  a gardenia in your hair
Swingin' and swayin' in front of Benny Goodman
Bet you would've made the men fall madly in love with you
Every time you sang . . . Deep Purple

So when I look at my reflection
I know there's more than meets the eye
My mother's dream of long ago, it lives through me
Does that mean dreams don't have to die?

And that's why I'm a singer,
cuz she gave me her song
The love and joy she poured into her family
Are shining through my melody

That's why I'm a singer,
and she gave me my song
From now on when I'm singing
I'll hear her sing along

The first time I sang My Mother Was a Singer was at an event for ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) - of which I was a member. I knew no one would be interested in hearing a song about my mother. It was a personal story, after all. But I didn't care, I wanted to sing it. Not only because of what it meant to me, but as the writer I wanted to see if it all came together.

I was not prepared for the reaction. Within moments I felt all this emotion coming at me from the audience. Some people were even crying. When I finished, the applause was steady and long - not with hoorahs but with heart. We'd lost Mom only the year before and I barely managed to keep from crying myself at this outpouring that I knew was all for her. I'll never forget it. (I reminded myself later: everybody has a mother - of course they were moved!) I was at home with my baby but other singers sang it and it was nominated for Song of the Year by the Manhattan Association of Cabaret. Thanks, Mom!

One of my favorite books growing up was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. At the beginning, a 12-year old girl named Francie sits in a bakery and sees a very old man who is disheveled, dirty, and looks lost. As she watches him, she imagines the life he might have had. A beautiful scene from the point of view of a generous-hearted little girl and I dedicate it to gentlemen like him I used to pass on my walks through the city.

A park bench near a bus stop,
I try not to stare
Every day I see him sitting there
Old and cracked like a dusty vase
Tips his hat with a touch of grace
In an instant I can see
A man's life in front of me...

Somebody held you once
You were somebody's baby once
She tickled your nose 
and kissed all your toes
The whole world revolved 
around one baby boy.

Somebody chased you once
You were somebody's buddy once
Climbing up trees 
and scraping your knees
Every day was an adventure

Somebody touched you once
You were somebody's sweetheart once
Your wish came true when she said I do
Fairytale endings had nothing on you

Somebody needed you once
You were somebody's daddy once
A cry in the night, a little girl's fright
You held her close 
and made everything right.

Now here you sit
Smiling at the passers-by
They don't turn to say hello
And it makes me wonder why
For here I am, 
Can't seem to tear myself away
Could it be that I see me...
Sitting on a park bench 
just like you one day.

Somebody held me once
I was somebody's baby once
And somebody's sweetheart, 
now somebody's wife
With all of the good things 
that fill up a life
But you've let me know 
how quickly they go...
I'd like to let you know somehow
You're Somebody now.

Postscript: this song was chosen to be in a Broadway-bound revue called Ball Games. Other songwriters were also asked to contribute, including Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim. Each songwriter was paid equally, based on the length of our song - very common in shows of this kind. Because my song was one minute longer than a certain someone's, I earned more money, week in and week out, than ... Stephen Sondheim. His name was right above mine on the weekly invoice we songwriters received, and I could see both of our totals. A heady feeling indeed. Poor Steve. I hope he was able to make ends meet.