Escapes
A Very Perry Christmas
|
|
Wednesday, December 4, 2002
Leave it to Perry Como, the famously relaxed (and often just downright groggy) crooner of such goofy-fun '50s hits as "Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes" and "Papa Loves Mambo," to somehow be more animated as a posthumous piece of granite than he ever was hosting 40 years of Christmas specials.
In fact, in a nice Christmasy epilogue more than a year after his death, the laid-back legend may wind up being the savior of a small, old-fashioned town as well.
In downtown Canonsburg, Pa., a charming blue-collar town 30 minutes south of Pittsburgh, residents two years ago erected a tribute to their most beloved native son, who died in May 2001 at the age of 87. The granite statue, sculpted by Stanislaw Lutostanski, features Como with one hand casually slipped into the pocket of his slacks and the other gripping a microphone. Wearing one of his trademark cardigan sweaters, the stone singer looks relatively giddy compared with his former sleepy self.
And starting the day after Thanksgiving, via a $500 sound system, the town began cranking the sweatered one's music 10 hours a day -- all Como, all the time -- from an outdoor speaker near his stony visage. Canonsburg, from its public crooning to its Christmas-crazy chocolate factory, is anything but subdued about celebrating the holiday season.
Canonsburg calls itself the "City of Antiques" -- and indeed, there are 12 such spectacular shopping destinations crammed in little more than a square mile. But the more suitable nickname is Comoville. The former barber was the middle son of 13 children of Italian immigrants, and his small childhood home at 527 Franklin St. is a fan-friendly photo stop. Pictures of the singing sensation adorn the walls of almost every downtown eatery, including an eccentric shrine at Trovato's Italiano Ristorante. His nieces and nephews -- minor celebrities due to name alone -- are scattered throughout the area. And just a step over the town line in Houston, Pa., lives his affable but protective brother Gene Como, 79, who insists that he never, ever used his big brother's name to woo the ladies. ("Didn't need to," he adds with a wink.)
They absolutely adore the late, great "Mr. C" here. Now more than ever. And it seems that the only regret people have about the statue, Gene Como says, "is that Perry didn't live to see it."
Canonsburg, the proud heart of western Pennsylvania's Washington County, could certainly use some upbeat, pumped-through-town tunes to boost its collective mood these days. A transformer factory here that employed hundreds of local residents did some extensive downsizing recently. And there's been a steady drop in tourist dollars over the years, which has put a strain on the merchants lining Pike Street, the town's quaint main thoroughfare.
But thanks to the "singing" statue -- which has been referenced lately by Jay Leno and Regis Philbin -- the people of Canonsburg now hope the holidays will bring a surge of new visitors. This weekend, the town will host "An Old-Fashioned Christmas in Canonsburg," complete with a Santa-led parade, miniature train rides for the wee ones, and, naturally, caroling at the stony feet of Como.
Of course, Canonsburg can deck its streets and cozy shops with all manner of twinkling white lights and boughs of holly and still not match the eye-popping yuletide mayhem inside the enormous Sarris Candies factory. Started more than 40 years ago as a one-room business by Frank Sarris, Canonsburg's own Willy Wonka and one of Perry Como's old golfing chums, the chocolate lover's paradise is now the "length of a football field" and employs more than 300 people, says Athena Sarris Simms, Frank's granddaughter and the company's director of marketing. There are no public tours of the factory, but perusing the sprawling store can take up a serious chunk of your day.
Featuring a ragtime soundtrack courtesy of a player piano, Sarris is the kind of throwback wonderland where even the light fixtures look like lollipops. As well as the massive wall of M&Ms (black ones, pink ones, gold ones, too), the equally impressive display of 60 different jelly beans (cream soda, Tabasco, cherry cake) and an extensive penny-candy section featuring all your old faves (Razzles!), Sarris has a chocolate lover's fantasy room where the good stuff -- all made on the premises -- takes the curious form of motorcycles and dinosaurs and playing cards and poker chips and turkeys.
Just outside the entrance to Sarris's in-house "old tyme" ice cream parlor, which serves sundaes as big as bowling balls, there looms a chocolate castle with rock-candy turrets that took months to build -- and could easily house a family of Saint Bernards. Canonsburg is almost as proud of this scrumptious architectural marvel -- "Have you seen the castle?" "You gotta see the castle!" -- as it is of the Como connection.
"The people who live here have old-school values and love their town," says Ellen Sims, president of the Canonsburg Antique Dealers Association and owner of the Victorian-themed Stone Bridge Antiques. "No matter where they go, people always come back here to get away from the hustle and bustle."
Besides spreading the word about Canonsburg's relatively huge bounty of antiques stores (several of them, including the '50s-themed Tri-State Antique Center and the kid-friendly Where the Toys Are, are just as visually captivating as Sarris Candies), Sims would also like to see a music museum open up in town.
"There are so many musicians from Canonsburg, there must be something in the water here," she says. "I mean, I love Perry Como and all, but I really grew up with the Bobby Vinton set. And you can't miss Bobby, right?"
Ah, yes, when in Canonsburg you would be unwise to overlook the "Polish Prince." Vinton, a '60s-era teen crooner who sold 75 million copies of his biggest hit, "Roses Are Red," is also a native son, and his diehard fans can get a little surly when you ignore this icon, now living in Branson, Mo. "Polka King" Frankie Yankovic also had strong ties to the area, and Dean Martin, who lived in Steubenville, Ohio, would often come to Canonsburg and "beg to play with the big bands here," Sims says.
Vinton partisan though she is, Sims admits that all music talk eventually comes back to Como. When he was at his most popular, in the '50s and '60s, he persuaded RCA Records to open an album-pressing plant in Canonsburg.
After many successful years (Frank Sarris worked there before entering a life of chocolate), RCA eventually shuttered the plant, but to this day, no one's forgotten what Como did to boost the economy.
And now, the people of Canonsburg are petitioning Saint Perry to help them out again, especially during his favorite time of the year.
"Every morning, on our way to church, we pass by the statue and say, 'Good morning, Perry!' " says Madaline Mazza, Como's niece, who lives high on a hill overlooking downtown Canonsburg. And now Mr. C, as cool and calm as ever, can answer back with a sly permanent smile and . . . a whole lot of music.
ESCAPE KEYS