Wilmington, NC 10 - Much Ado About Murder

Beekman Place and the period he referred to as “the Irving Berlin period.” Each evening he could not wait to get home from his job at the hospital, to grab a quick shower and supper, and then to walk across the street to ring Mr. Berlin’s doorbell. An attendant always answered, telling him he was expected and escorting him into the music room where Mr. Berlin could be found tapping out melodies on the keyboard of a magnificent Steinway piano.
    It was mid-May of 1989 and Mr. Berlin had just celebrated his 101st birthday. Over the previous fall and winter months, Dalton and Mr. Berlin had formed a fast friendship. Dalton would address his friend only as “Mr. Berlin” – never as Irving - while Mr. Berlin still called Dalton “Doc.”
    They had confided in each other. Mr. Berlin had shared intimate stories of the famous people he was once associated with. Stories about Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. And of Moss Hart. Mr. Berlin told Dalton how he had met the young playwright and convinced him to collaborate on a musical revue called As Thousands Cheer which went on to become a smash success and established Moss Hart’s career.
    The two men were friends as well, Mr. Berlin explained, and so were their families. Moss Hart was married to the actress Kitty Carlisle. When their daughter Catherine was born, the Harts asked Ellin Berlin to honor them by becoming the baby’s godmother. Which she did. “Cathy became a doctor,” Mr. Berlin said.
    “I know Cathy Hart,” Dalton had explained excitedly. “She practices internal medicine at New York Hospital. I’m always running into her. A lovely lady.”
    Dalton felt like he could confide in Mr. Berlin and he did. He told him things about his family that he dared not share with others. Not that he was ashamed of his family – on the contrary, he was quite proud of his ancestors. But simply because in the past folks he’d confided in had reacted with skepticism to what he had to say. And as a youth he had been aware that his parents were regarded as pompous and bragging, as they told anyone who would listen how the first Dalton Montjoy had been a founding member of the old Thalian Association.
    As he told his story about his ancestors in England, Mr. Berlin peered at him intently from out of those piercing, inquisitive, and knowing eyes. The man was sharp, extremely sharp for his age. A wonder. In so many ways.
    Then Mr. Berlin simply nodded and said, “I see. We both come by our love of music naturally. My father was a cantor. This love and talent for singing and song writing is in our blood.”
    And then on that positive note of acceptance from the great man, Dalton worked up the courage to ask Mr. Berlin if he would be willing to listen to Dalton’s musical compositions and offer pointers. And Mr. Berlin graciously agreed.
    After that, Dalton brought his musical scores over to Mr. Berlin’s house, played his songs on Mr. Berlin’s piano, and gratefully accepted Mr. Berlin’s advice: increase the tempo here, slow down there, too much repetition in one place, not enough repetition in another. He suggested bits of lyrics for the songs. And he told Dalton that what he now needed was a good playwright to write the libretto to go along with the musical score. “Too bad Moss is gone,” he said at one time.
    Dalton was overjoyed. He was actually collaborating with the greatest songwriter of them all, the great Irving Berlin.
    As the summer wore on, Dalton saw less and less of Mr. Berlin. When he rang Mr. Berlin’s doorbell, the attendant or a nurse would tell him Mr. Berlin was resting.
    And then on September 22, 1989, he and the rest of the world got the news: Irving Berlin had died in his sleep the night before. The lights on Broadway were dimmed in his honor. That night, his friends, neighbors, and admirers gathered outside his stately home. Dalton joined them. As voices softened to whispers of grief and respect, as tears flowed, candles were lit. The candlelight vigil lasted far into the night. With tears flowing down Dalton’s cheeks, he made his way home to his little apartment. It felt so empty. His life now felt so empty. He felt like he had lost his best friend. And he had.
    Within months his own parents were gone. Dalton inherited the family home in Wilmington. He resigned from his hospital job and returned home to join the Thalian Association and to rent rooms in his home to struggling actors. He worked on many musical compositions over the years,