Tales of the Road

The bartender in a downtown pub on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue smiled as he handed me my drink and asked, “Do you know who is sitting next to you?”  I was spending a December weekend in the Windy City and had just come in from the frigid, blustery street to take the first seat I saw.  It was on the end of a horseshoe-shaped bar.  After ordering the drink from the bartender, I shrugged out of my winter jacket and hung it on a rack in the corner.  Up to that point I hadn’t particularly noticed other patrons in the establishment.  However, the bartender’s question piqued my curiosity so I turned to the gentleman beside me and studied him carefully.  The graying, red-haired bar patron sitting there; who likely was in his early sixties, smiled at me in return.  His face did look somewhat familiar, but for the moment his name wouldn’t come to mind.  At that point I had no clue as to who the man was.

The stranger and I exchanged small talk for a few moments while I pondered his identity.  Then, as I listened to the distinctive voice and took note of the lopsided grin, suddenly I recognized him!  He was the well-known dancer and singer, Dan Dailey, of Broadway, movie and television fame.  I remembered him most recently from the popular television series “The Governor and J.J.” with Julie Sommars.  The tall, red-haired singer and dancer, who co-starred in many post World War II movies with the likes of Betty Grable, Ethel Merman, Jeanie Crain and Jayne Mansfield, always impressed me with his fantastic dancing ability.  Back then he was a renowned “hoofer” and was even nominated for an academy award in 1948.

Once the mystery was solved, I introduced myself and the two of us shook hands.  Mr. Dailey seemed pleased that I finally did recognize him.  Though he still was a handsome man, he had changed much in appearance from when he was in his prime.  He had gained some weight, and now had prominent jowls on either side of his once long, narrow face.  Most of his still abundant hair was gray, but I could make out vestiges of its former carrot red color.  Mr. Dailey was dressed casually in a pair of dark slacks, a light colored long-sleeved shirt and a burgundy sports coat.  I’m at a loss to remember what kind of drink he was nursing.

While sipping our drinks; we chatted back and forth.  During that conversation I confessed to him that at one time I entertained aspirations of being an actor but instead had settled for doing amateur acting in local productions.  I told him that I was a secondary school teacher.   His reply indicated that he thought both of our career choices were difficult undertakings.  In answer to my next question of why he was in Chicago, Mr. Dailey told me that he was starring in the comedy “The Odd Couple” which was having a short run at one of the city’s theatres.  He was playing one of the two leads in the cast for the touring Broadway show.

I found the famous actor to be a real gentleman as he answered my many questions.  He even asked me a few questions as well.  Mr. Dailey appeared to have a genuine interest in what I had to say and carefully listened to my answers.  Later, when I was ready to leave the pub and head out into the cold again on the way to my hotel, I shook his hand for the second time and told him that it had been a real pleasure meeting him and hoped that it would happen again.

Unfortunately that second meeting never occurred.  About a year after that, in 1975, I read in the Detroit Free Press, that Mr. Dailey had passed away suddenly.   His death ended a long, busy career in show business spanning well over forty years—from when he was a teenager until he was in his mid-sixties. To him I say, “Rest well, Mr. Dailey.  You earned it.”