Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

someone told me was owned by Sammy Davis, Jr. It was there that I was given an advance listen to the
Sgt. Pepper
album, and I was also introduced to Robert Stigwood, manager of the Bee Gees. That trip also took me to residences of other famous British musicians and was orchestrated by Alan to make my face available to the British music scene. But the theme that never ended was the absence of the Wheels. They never made the trips.
    Back in America I was being introduced to wealthy families who lived on Long Island. In fact, the band and I were hired to play a few of their private parties. Vera Swift was one who comes to mind. She was, at the time I met her, newly divorced fromthe head of the huge Swift Meat Packing Company. We had already established ourselves with kids when we stole the show away from The Young Rascals on our first “Murray the K” radio show, but now it was more about our managers making connections, paying off debts, or creating a buzz that would go from the street all the way up to the penthouses and mansions. As far as the road work went that year between “Devil” and “Sock it to Me, Baby,” it was light in comparison to the amount of appearances I faced after the breakup of the group, and so I spent more time at home being a father and husband.
    That year Susan and I had a birthday party for Dawn, partied with friends, sat at home, and occasionally smoked hashish. It was strictly recreational and was considered the thing to do then. Given the fact that I was a star, it was almost expected. I hadn’t turned into a drinker of habit, even though my Italian Grandfather got my sister Nina and me drunk on wine or beer when we were little and he baby-sat.
    It was a quiet life but I do remember visiting with Susan’s friends, Howard and Elaine Segal. Howard was the brother of Bobbie Segal, Susan’s girlfriend from the Village, and he pulled out a copy of a record he had just bought by a group called The Electric Flag. I laughed to myself, knowing that I had been offered the role of singer for the group, but saw no reason to explain anything since I was still a few hits away from what would prove to be “the end of my career,” as would be stated by an angry Bob Crewe two years into the future from this place and time.
    So here we were. Susan, Dawn and I had gone from an apartment to a house, and I had traded the Chevy Corvair for an Oldsmobile Toronado. I bought a motorcycle, moved into an upper middle class neighborhood, bought a new Cadillac, and then a Chevy station wagon for the dirty work (such as groceries, flowers, and all such menial tasks), hired a nanny for Dawn, foot patrol security guards, and was extremely grateful.
    All of our neighbors were professional people, or the wives of such. The man who built our home had built one for himself a few doors down. He was the developer for each of the homes near us. It wasn’t lost on me that all of our friends––everyone I worked with in music, my good friend Wally Schwartz (from whom I have purchased every vehicle I have owned since 1967), and with very few exceptions the community we were living in––were Jewish. It hit home one day when I received a letter from
B’nai Brith
soliciting a contribution. They probably thought my birth name of William Levise couldn’t be right, so they changed my name to William Levine.
    Oh well. I had to get Dawn to Hebrew school. I was being a good father and husband, but you can’t count on that for a safe marriage when you are famous, because one day our next-door neighbor, who had an eighteen–year-old daughter, came to visit me when Susan had gone shopping. Once she was in the house, she quickly made me aware that she had no underwear on and would like sex immediately.
    That was just one reason for both Susan and me to fear the future. We knew nothing of fame as a practical matter. In the end, Susan proved to be the one with more courage. My fate had yet to be determined, but she was the person she appeared to be and not the seed of a transitory illusion, as was I. Her fate was written in stone, and she knew there would be many days and nights when loneliness would be her companion. Susan was brave and strong and responsible, and was a loving parent whose sacrifices were met with those same qualities.
    Where were those things in my life? Where were those qualities that would ultimately be the only parts of our existence to define our worthiness and legacy as parents and human beings? I