When Tony Martin's wife, dancer Cyd Charisse, died six months ago, he was bereft. They had a blessed marriage - the kind where if one of them was away even for a few days, he or she would call the other to eagerly relate everything that had happened. After 65 years together, Martin suddenly found himself alone in their spacious Los Angeles condo, staring at photos of his gorgeous wife.
Aware of the need for a change, he phoned his agent, Scott Stander, and said he wanted to work. That made sense except for a few details: Martin was 95 years old and his profession was singing to audiences. Sinatra was forgetting lyrics in his 60s, and Elvis' voice was shot in his 30s.
But Martin still has the sound - "an unusually rich timbre synonymous with virility," in the words of one music critic - that made him one of the great singer-actors of the first half of the 20th century. He made hits of "To Each His Own," "I Get Ideas," "I Hear a Rhapsody," "La Vie en Rose" and "There's No Tomorrow" (based on "O Sole Mio," which also was the basis for Presley's "It's Now or Never").
These songs form the heart of the nightclub act he'll perform this weekend in San Francisco. A piano player comes regularly to his house to help him rehearse.
"I wouldn't perform unless I could remember well. This is my business," he says.
In the midst of our phone conversation, he started crooning "You stepped out of a dream. You are too wonderful to be what you seem." He first sang it to Judy Garland, Hedy Lamarr and Lana Turner in the 1941 "Ziegfeld Girl."
A gerontologist should make a study of what keeps him going. Everybody wants what he has at his age. Martin attributes his stamina to doing calisthenics almost every day. It must be working. Stander says that Martin's couch is quite low and that he himself has trouble getting out of it, but "Tony bounds right up." He lives alone and dresses without assistance. For a photo shoot the other day, he put on a well-tailored tweed suit.
Charisse was the cook at their house. Martin admits to being hopeless at it. The evenings when his housekeeper doesn't prepare a meal, he orders out. "French, Italian, Chinese - it all depends what I feel like," he says. "I have a good appetite." Martin still drives and will sometimes meet his friends at a restaurant for dinner.
He's also an ardent San Francisco Giants fan who used to drag his wife to windy and cold Candlestick Park. Martin now follows the games religiously on TV.
"As you get older, what you hold on to as long as you can is your independence, and Tony has his," says Stander, who has known him for years. "He makes his own decisions. He has a housekeeper and people that keep an eye on him, but he is very self sufficient."
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But Martin still has the sound - "an unusually rich timbre synonymous with virility," in the words of one music critic - that made him one of the great singer-actors of the first half of the 20th century. He made hits of "To Each His Own," "I Get Ideas," "I Hear a Rhapsody," "La Vie en Rose" and "There's No Tomorrow" (based on "O Sole Mio," which also was the basis for Presley's "It's Now or Never").
These songs form the heart of the nightclub act he'll perform this weekend in San Francisco. A piano player comes regularly to his house to help him rehearse.
"I wouldn't perform unless I could remember well. This is my business," he says.
In the midst of our phone conversation, he started crooning "You stepped out of a dream. You are too wonderful to be what you seem." He first sang it to Judy Garland, Hedy Lamarr and Lana Turner in the 1941 "Ziegfeld Girl."
A gerontologist should make a study of what keeps him going. Everybody wants what he has at his age. Martin attributes his stamina to doing calisthenics almost every day. It must be working. Stander says that Martin's couch is quite low and that he himself has trouble getting out of it, but "Tony bounds right up." He lives alone and dresses without assistance. For a photo shoot the other day, he put on a well-tailored tweed suit.
Charisse was the cook at their house. Martin admits to being hopeless at it. The evenings when his housekeeper doesn't prepare a meal, he orders out. "French, Italian, Chinese - it all depends what I feel like," he says. "I have a good appetite." Martin still drives and will sometimes meet his friends at a restaurant for dinner.
He's also an ardent San Francisco Giants fan who used to drag his wife to windy and cold Candlestick Park. Martin now follows the games religiously on TV.
"As you get older, what you hold on to as long as you can is your independence, and Tony has his," says Stander, who has known him for years. "He makes his own decisions. He has a housekeeper and people that keep an eye on him, but he is very self sufficient."
To see more of who died this year click here