Clooney The Singer
by Laurie Henshaw
If it hadn’t been for an Italian-American Saxophone player named Antonio Pestritto we might never have heard one of the finest voices to be raised in the postwar popular record market.
You want a number with a beat? Then put on Rosemary’s “Come On-a My House” or “Botch-a-me.” A children’s song perhaps? The try “Me and My Teddy Bear.”
Jazz tunes, love songs, novelties—Rosemary sings them all.
Not long after Jose Ferrer married Rosemary Clooney he had to leave her and go to new York for a series of plays at City Center. This left Rosie singing to herself, and in spite of her husband’s daily phone calls she felt cut off from the world. The wrose was the incht Jose called her from his hotel room. In the background she could hear the piano getting a workout and familiar voices raised in song. Self-pity enveloped Rosemary.
“You’re having fun,” she offered dismally.
“Sure,” said Jose. “Got your family here. Betty and Nicky.”