I didn’t use the songwriter’s name in the heading because it would spoil the story.
I had accompanied Anne Murray to Nashville where she performed at a Nashville Song Writers Association function at the Opryland Hotel. After about an hour at the reception following her show, Anne slipped out and went up to her room. We had agreed earlier that I would stay at the party to explain her absence should anybody ask. About half an hour before the reception was scheduled to end I was approached by an older, balding, goateed gentleman. “I saw you earlier with Anne Murray,” he said. “I was hoping to get a chance to speak to her but she seems to have left.”
I explained that Anne had an early flight in the morning and had called it a night. He asked what my association with her was and whether I would be seeing her again soon. I told him I was her business manager, and although I probably wouldn’t be seeing her for a week or so because she was on tour, I would be talking to her on the phone the next day. He then said, “Please tell her I’m sorry I missed her, and that I think that she’s the finest female singer around today.”
Although most people at the party had been wearing name tags, but he didn’t have one on, so I asked, “Who shall I say paid the compliment?” He told me his name, which to my chagrin I didn’t recognize. So I asked him what his connection to the business was. He replied, “I’ve written some songs.”
“What have you written?” I naively asked, not realizing that my chagrin was about to become abject shame.
“Well,” he chuckled, “I wrote Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.
He was, of course, the legendary Johnny Marks, a highly respected member of the Song Writers Hall of Fame and the greatest writer ever of Christmas songs. He’d also written A Holly Jolly Christmas; Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree; A Caroling We Go; The Most Wonderful Day of the Year; and I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day..
“You certainly did write some songs!” I pronounced, and commented that Rudolph must have been pretty good to him.
He replied, “Yes, it surely has, but it damn nearly didn’t get recorded.”
“Do tell,” I urged.
“Want the whole story?” he asked. I assured him I did, and we moved to a table along the wall where we split a bottle of pinot grigio while he told me about Rudolph, I answered questions about Anne Murray, and we got to know a bit about each other.
As I recall the tale, his brother-in-law, Bob May, had written a poem for the Chicago department store Montgomery Ward to use in their Christmas advertising. The poem was based on Santa Claus needing a reindeer whose nose shone like a fog light because it was a foggy Christmas Eve, and Rudolph was born.
A couple of years later Johnny used the poem as the basis for his song. In 1947 he sent a demo to Gene Autry, whose Santa Claus is Coming to Town (which Johnny did not write) is still a perennial seasonal hit. Autry hated Rudolph and refused to record it. But his wife, Ina Mae, heard the demo, thought it was wonderful, and insisted that Gene record it, which he did in 1948. Rudolph skyrocketed to No.1 during Christmas 1949 and, as the saying goes, the rest is history. Johnny and his brother-in-law shared the Rudolph royalties, making them both more than comfortably wealthy.
Johnny Marks was a thoroughly interesting person. For example, although he’s the most successful writer of Christmas songs in history, he was Jewish. A native of New York City, he was a graduate of both Colgate and Columbia universities, where he studied business and economics. He also saw extensive action during World War II as a much-decorated captain in the US army.
I’m happy to be able to add that besides being thoroughly interesting, Johnny Marks was a thoroughly nice man.