He was the FIRST to say "Ay Caramba!" on TV!

Yesterday was the family party to celebrate the birthday of both my nephew Jay and his lovely wife Jamie, although their birthdays are 6 and 9 days off, respectively.


I'd like to share with you the Cliff's Notes version of what happened on the day Jay was born, March 25, 1977. I was working as a midday DJ at the time, and between a Conway Twitty record and something by Johnny Paycheck, I got a call from Mom saying that my sister had given birth to her second child. This came as no surprise to me, because it was well known that she was, indeed, going to have her second baby. The only question was, when? Mom said the name of the hospital, gave us the visiting hour times and so forth, and I said we'll see you later.

That evening, Peggy and I headed to Towson with the full intent of seeing the little baby. On the way, we passed by a store called Greetings and Readings, a book-card-stationery and novelty store then located right outside Towson. A huge sign out by the road proclaimed "Tonight Only! Desi Arnaz in person - will autograph copies of his autobiography!"

Well, now, how often does one have the chance to commune with one of the all-time greats of show business? I thought hey, we'll zip in, grab a book, get him to sign it, and be on our way.

Towson in 1977 was not quite the cosmopolitan hub it has now become. Approximately 27,000 people were ahead of us in line. It really started to resemble Woodstock, without the mud, the nakedness, the music and Wavy Gravy.

Well, all right. Maybe we were #78 and 79 in line, but the line seemed to move very slowly, owing mainly to Mr Arnaz's charming way of holding a conversation with every person who ponied up the price of a book. As the first valuable seconds, minutes and hours of baby Jay's young life ticked off in the relentless march of my Timex Glo-In-The Dark watch, I became more and more restive, fidgeting about in line so obviously that passers-by became concerned for my well-being. But at last, the sea of humanity parted, and there we were, face to face with the great man himself. He took our book and inscribed on the inside cover "To Mark and Peggy GRACIAS Desi Arnaz" and slid the now-priceless tome back toward me. Time was still on my mind, had to get to the hospital, but then I saw a well-worn fedora by his side and I just had to ask if it were the same hat he wore on the show. He said it was, indeed, and I asked him if he would say those words he said every time he got back to the Mertz's apartment house after working at the Copacabana, doffing his hat as he entered, with Lucy in both an apron and a dither, and he said...
"You mean...."HELLO LUCY I'M HOOOOOOOOOOOOOME!!!!!!!"

Yes yes yes! It was worth every second of the wait. We thanked the Cuban comedy legend, scooted out, hopped in the car and headed off for the hospital, skirting past people who were all ready to lock up for the night like Rickey Henderson sliding into second. In just a twinkling, we found the maternity ward, and there lay Jay in a little kiddy-cubby as the entire family pressed noses to the glass, waiting for him to do, who knows what? Get up and dance?

But there followed a pithy question-and-answer period, in which the question was "Where have you two been? Visiting hours are over in like 5 minutes!" and the answer was, proudly, "We've been with Desi Arnaz!"

Came this to that:

"Well, if you don't want to tell us where you really were, don't say something silly!"

We still have the book; we proffered it as proof of our valid lateness, and every year at this time, we like to take that book down off the shelf, read aloud the chapter about the first time Desi met Lucy, in the manner of a Yuletide family reading from Dickens, and dance around to his records of "Cuban Pete" and "Babaloo." Desi's records, not Dickens's.

It's a simple life, yet ultimately rewarding, if you just follow the signs.