When I was reaching for a cup of coffee at a gas station food mart the other day, a portly man sauntered by. My first impression was of bulldog jowls. A thick neck. Thinning hair. Pale skin. I was mightily unimpressed. Then, as I began to add milk to my cup, a series of sounds bypassed my ears, diverted my attention, and dove straight into my heart.
“Fairy tales can come true it can happen to you
If you’re young at heart”
He, this barely noticeable and noticeably undistinguished individual, was singing. His voice was clear, clean, and unapologetic. Loud enough for everyone to hear, but non-intrusive. As if both the man and the song were integral to the store. Like a cash register. Like a coffee machine.
“For it’s hard you will find to be narrow of mind
If you’re young at heart”
He walked toward the counter, moving gracefully and confidently. Like a character about to engage in a jaunty duet with Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire. But instead of looking like a dancer in an old Hollywood musical, he looked like an unsuccessful salesman or a tax accountant. His face was hopeless, but his song had its fingers poised tenderly over the strong and fervent pulse of hope.
“You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams”
The first time I heard Young at Heart was in the movie of the same name. It starred an attractively cynical Frank Sinatra and an ardently innocent Doris Day. The song itself, written by Carolyn Leight and Johnny Richards, was the true star of the movie, though, and I had always loved it. So, apparently, had the man in the food mart.
“And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart or on its way.”
His face, still not handsome, seemed somehow less ugly as he sang. Each syllable, so lucidly and lovingly pronounced. Each lyric, so smoothly and eloquently integrated into the next that it became difficult to separate the words from the man.
