Roman Candle: The Life of Bobby Darin

Have you ever had someone say to you, "Whatever you do, do NOT think of an elephant!" And then, of course, you do precisely that. On that same note: Whatever you do, do NOT think of Bobby Darin singing "Mack the Knife."

Gotcha.

There's more to Bobby Darin than his untimely death at age thirty-seven, or his tumultuous marriage to American's virgin sweetheart, Sandra Dee. Whether you merely admired his voice, found him jaw-droppingly brilliant (as did this reviewer, so excuse me if I occasionally fawn), or never heard of the guy, David Evanier's biography will set the record straight. He was not an almost talent, he was the real thing. And everyone from Sinatra to Sammy Davis, Jr., to major composers, record producers, and aficionados of jazz, rock, and swing agree that Bobby Darin possessed a unique and extraordinary gift.

Born Walden Robert Cassotto, Bobby Darin lived a life of extremes. The child of a single mother, he was brought up believing that his grandmother Polly was actually his mother and that his birth mother was his older sister. This ruse prevailed until Darin was an adult. When he learned the truth, his response was an unwavering rage. He had adored the woman known as his mother, but was deeply embarrassed by his older "sister," Nina, and the man who later became her husband and devoted much of his paycheck and attention to the sickly little boy. These people were poor, uneducated, and the gifted boy they loved and supported with every part of their being could barely stand to be in their presence. When Evanier recounts several incidences of the singer's blatant cruelty toward these people, he makes neither excuses nor apologies.

When Darin died at the age of thirty-seven, his death was related to childhood illnesses. After several near-tragic bouts with rheumatic fever and a physician's prophecy of an early death, the boy was driven toward stardom. In this engaging and comprehensive biography, Evanier guides us through the stages of Darin's youth and the social struggles resulting from his acceptance at the prestigious Bronx High School of Science. How could a kid whose first bed was a cardboard box in a bureau drawer mix with the privileged children of doctors and scientists, children who were as comfortable at a classical concert as they were at a Yankees game? When the story leaves the schoolyard, the book really begins to move. Scenes taken from Darin's life of music-his frantically frustrating attempts to get noticed by producers, to get into the recording studios, and perhaps the most important thirty-five minutes of his life: the time it took for the twenty-one year-old Darin to compose "Splish Splash"-make for fascinating reading, as do the vignettes from his respectable movie career (that included an Oscar nomination).

Bobby Darin is a study in conflicts: a brilliant man who made poor decisions; a loving and caring man who would cut off an arm for a friend, but wouldn't lift a finger to help his impoverished family whose poverty was partly due to his enormous medical bills; the way he went out of his way to show kindness to a young talent (he insisted that "Danke Schoen" be recorded by the unknown Wayne Newton, when the song was perfect for his voice), but was merciless in his drive toward the top. He was also deeply political and became a major supporter in Robert Kennedy's run for the White House. Perhaps the most vividly poignant scene in this book is this one: Following the assassination and the funeral in New York, Kennedy's coffin was carried by train to Washington and then taken to Arlington National Cemetery. Because the graveside surface ran so long, it was too late to cover the coffin. Bobby Darin refused to leave. He not only slept next to the coffin all night, but remained until it was properly lowered into the ground and covered. The Kennedy assassinations changed the man from singer to activist.