REMEMBERING ANN BLYTH (1928-2006)

 This past week Ann Blyth died at the age of 97. She starred with Bing Crosby in the 1949 film Top O' The Morning. Her greatest role though was came a few years earlier in Mildred Pierce (1945). RIP Ann Blyth...

BING AND GRACE KELLY: A HOLLYWOOD ROMANCE

Hollywood has always thrived on the electricity between its stars—the glances that linger a second too long, the chemistry that feels almost too real. Few pairings embodied that quiet spark more intriguingly than Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, whose connection in the mid‑1950s existed somewhere between rumor, respect, and a fleeting moment in time.

Their story is not one of grand scandal or documented love letters. Instead, it’s a subtler tale—of timing, admiration, and the kind of romantic “what if” that only Hollywood can produce.

By the time Bing Crosby met Grace Kelly, he was already an institution. With a crooning voice that defined a generation, Crosby had conquered radio, records, and film. He was in his early fifties, recently widowed after the death of his wife Dixie Lee in 1952, and navigating a more introspective phase of his life.

Grace Kelly, on the other hand, was ascending—fast. In her early twenties, she possessed a rare blend of poise and vulnerability that set her apart from the typical Hollywood ingénue. Though her screen image was cool and controlled, those who worked with her often remarked on her warmth and seriousness beneath the surface.

They met in 1953 during the filming of The Country Girl, a dramatic departure for both actors. Crosby played a troubled, alcoholic performer struggling with his demons, while Kelly portrayed his long-suffering wife—an unglamorous, emotionally complex role that would earn her an Academy Award.


On screen, their relationship was raw and convincing. Off screen, the atmosphere was quieter but charged. Crosby reportedly admired Kelly’s discipline and intelligence, while Kelly respected Crosby’s professionalism and generosity as a co-star. He was known to look after younger actors, and with Kelly, that mentorship seemed tinged with something gentler and more personal.

Hollywood gossip columns, ever eager for a narrative, began to whisper. Was there something more between them? The truth remains elusive. Friends and biographers suggest that if there was romance, it was restrained—shaped by circumstance as much as by feeling. Crosby was still emotionally anchored to his late wife’s memory, and Kelly was navigating a demanding career under intense studio scrutiny.

What did exist, unmistakably, was mutual affection.

If Hollywood romances often fail because of bad timing, Crosby and Kelly are a textbook case. Within a year of The Country Girl’s release, Grace Kelly’s life changed forever. In 1956, she married Prince Rainier III of Monaco, stepping away from Hollywood at the peak of her career to become a real-life princess.

Crosby would go on to remarry in 1957, finding stability and companionship later in life. Their paths diverged gracefully, without public heartbreak or dramatic fallout—just the quiet understanding that some connections are meant to remain moments, not marriages.

What makes the Crosby–Kelly story endure is not proof of an affair, but the emotional authenticity captured on film. In The Country Girl, their performances feel lived-in and deeply personal, as though something real was being carefully held just beneath the dialogue.

For audiences, that authenticity reads as romance—even if it never fully crossed that line in real life.

Perhaps that is the truest kind of Hollywood love story: not one defined by headlines, but by restraint; not consumed by passion, but illuminated by respect. Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly shared a moment when their lives briefly overlapped, and the echo of that moment still lingers in classic cinema.

In the end, their romance—real or imagined—lives where most Hollywood legends do: somewhere between fact and feeling, preserved forever in black-and-white frames and whispered memories of an era when stars still seemed untouchable...

THE VOICES BEHIND THE VOICE: BING CROSBY'S MUSICAL IDOLS

Before Bing Crosby became one of the most influential and beloved voices of the 20th century, he was simply Harry Lillis Crosby of Spokane, Washington—a young man with wide‑open ears and an instinctive attraction to music. His rise from a college student dabbling in performance to a global icon was shaped not only by his natural charm and vocal gifts but also by the artists he idolized along the way. Understanding those influences reveals the rich musical lineage woven into Crosby’s smooth, intimate singing style.

One of the earliest and most powerful influences on Crosby was the legendary entertainer Al Jolson. During Crosby’s youth, he eagerly attended vaudeville shows that passed through Spokane, and his enthusiasm eventually earned him a backstage job when Jolson came to town. From the wings, he studied Jolson’s dynamic performance style with intense fascination. The impression was lasting, as Jolson’s expressive physicality and showman’s instincts helped shape Crosby’s sense of stage presence long before he became a superstar.

Another formative figure in Crosby’s development was the jazz singer Mildred Bailey. When Crosby and his friend Al Rinker traveled to Los Angeles in 1925 to pursue music, it was Bailey—Rinker’s sister and a respected singer in her own right—who helped secure them a pivotal audition. This opportunity opened the door to Crosby’s early career and exposed him to Bailey’s sophisticated jazz phrasing and rhythmic sensitivity. Her influence encouraged him to explore subtler, more expressive vocal techniques that later became central to his signature sound. Perhaps the most profound influence on Crosby’s musical evolution came from Louis Armstrong. Biographer Gary Giddins notes that Armstrong’s rhythmic phrasing taught Crosby that the pulse later known as “swing” could permeate more than just jazz. Learning this principle fundamentally shaped Crosby’s relaxed, conversational singing style. Armstrong’s emotional authenticity, improvisational ease, and rhythmic freedom became hallmarks that Crosby absorbed deeply and carried into mainstream popular music, helping transform the broader landscape of American singing.

Crosby’s time performing with Paul Whiteman’s orchestra further enriched his circle of musical idols. Working alongside innovative jazz musicians such as cornetist Bix Beiderbecke and saxophonist Frank Trumbauer exposed him to new forms of tonal purity, melodic subtlety, and harmonic sophistication. Their cool, lyrical playing style inspired Crosby’s approach not only to jazz phrasing but also to overall musicality. As he matured as an artist, their influence could be heard in the smoothness, restraint, and elegant emotional shading that became trademarks of his recordings.

These varied influences created a mosaic of musical guidance that Crosby carried with him throughout his career. From Jolson he absorbed theatricality and charisma; from Bailey he learned nuance and vocal finesse; from Armstrong he gained rhythmic freedom and emotional depth; and from Beiderbecke and Trumbauer he embraced melodic clarity and stylistic refinement. Taken together, these idols helped shape a performer who would later define the sound of popular music for generations.

Crosby’s own legacy ultimately became so vast that it influenced artists including Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Dean Martin, Elvis Presley, and even John Lennon, a testament to how deeply rooted his artistry was in the voices he admired. His ability to synthesize the strengths of his idols into a style entirely his own allowed him not only to become a defining voice of radio, film, and early recording but also to quietly pass along the lessons of his musical heroes to the artists who followed.

The story of Bing Crosby’s musical idols is therefore not just a story of influence, but one of musical inheritance. Every note he sang carried echoes of the performers who shaped him, creating a lineage that runs through the heart of American popular music itself...

THE MAKING OF RHYTHM ON THE RIVER

In the summer of 1940, Paramount Pictures was buzzing with excitement. The studio had a new musical comedy in the works—Rhythm on the River—and at its heart were two rising stars: Bing Crosby, already America’s favorite crooner, and Mary Martin, the Broadway sensation with a voice as bright as her smile.

The story was lighthearted: a ghostwriter for a famous composer meets a lyricist, and together they create songs that outshine the work of the man they’re secretly writing for. But behind the scenes, the film was more than just a romantic comedy—it was a showcase for music that would become part of the Great American Songbook.

Filming began in mid-1940 on the Paramount lot. Bing was in his element, strolling onto the set with his trademark casual charm, pipe in hand, ready to deliver lines with that easygoing style audiences adored. Mary Martin, fresh from her Broadway triumph in Leave It to Me, brought an energy that lit up the soundstage. Director Victor Schertzinger encouraged improvisation, letting Bing and Mary play off each other’s humor between takes. Their chemistry was undeniable—warm, witty, and effortless.

The music sessions were a story in themselves. Johnny Burke and Jimmy Van Heusen had written a sparkling score, including “Only Forever,” which would become one of Bing’s most beloved ballads. Bing recorded the song in a single take, his voice gliding over the melody like silk. Mary added her own magic to numbers like “That’s for Me,” her clear tone blending perfectly with Bing’s mellow croon. The orchestra, under Schertzinger’s baton, filled the studio with lush arrangements that made every rehearsal feel like a concert.

Off-camera, the atmosphere was relaxed. Bing was known for his laid-back approach—often joking with the crew, humming between takes, and even playing golf on weekends during production breaks. Mary, new to Hollywood, found herself charmed by Bing’s unpretentious nature. “He made everything feel easy,” she later recalled. “You never felt like you were working—you felt like you were having fun.”

When Rhythm on the River premiered in August 1940, audiences fell in love. The film was a hit, praised for its breezy humor and memorable songs. Critics noted the natural chemistry between Bing and Mary, and “Only Forever” soared up the charts, cementing its place as a Crosby classic.

Today, Rhythm on the River stands as a snapshot of Hollywood’s golden age—a time when musicals were pure escapism, and stars like Bing Crosby and Mary Martin could turn a simple story into something unforgettable. Behind the laughter and melodies was a team of artists who believed in the joy of music—and gave audiences exactly that...

THE BIRTH OF BING AND A VOICE THAT WOULD CHANGE MUSIC FOREVER

On May 3, 1903, in the quiet city of Tacoma, Washington, a baby boy was born who would one day become the most influential voice in American popular music. His name was Harry Lillis Crosby—though the world would come to know him simply as Bing.

Harry was the fourth of seven children in a close-knit Irish-American family. His father, Harry Lowe Crosby, worked as a bookkeeper, while his mother, Catherine Harrigan Crosby, kept the household running with warmth and discipline. When Bing was just three years old, the family moved to Spokane, Washington, where he would spend his formative years.

The nickname “Bing” came later, inspired by a comic strip called The Bingville Bugle that young Harry adored. Friends teased him about his enthusiasm for the strip, and soon “Bing” stuck—a playful moniker that would become iconic.

Growing up in Spokane, Bing was an ordinary boy with an extraordinary ear for music. He loved the sounds drifting from phonographs and the rhythms of ragtime that were sweeping the nation. Summers were spent playing baseball and fishing along the Spokane River, but music was always close by. He sang in school plays, harmonized with friends, and absorbed every note he heard.

No one could have guessed that this boy, born in a modest home in Tacoma, would one day revolutionize the art of singing. Bing Crosby’s birth marked the beginning of a journey that would lead to radio dominance, Hollywood stardom, and recordings that sold in the millions. His easygoing style and intimate approach to the microphone would change the way America listened to music—and the way singers performed it.

From that quiet May morning in 1903, a legend was set in motion. The world didn’t know it yet, but the voice that would define an era had just taken its first breath...

GARY CROSBY: GROWING UP IN THE SPOTLIGHT

Gary Crosby was born on June 27, 1933, in Los Angeles, the first son of Bing Crosby and Dixie Lee. From the very beginning, music was woven into his life. While other kids grew up with bedtime stories, Gary grew up with jam sessions—his father’s voice drifting through the house, rehearsals echoing from the living room, and visits from stars who defined an era.

By the time Gary was a teenager, it was clear he had inherited more than just a famous name. He had a voice, a sense of timing, and a natural ease in front of the microphone. Along with his brothers—Phillip, Lindsay, and Dennis—he formed The Crosby Boys, a harmony-driven group that performed on radio and in nightclubs during the late 1940s and early ’50s. Their appearances were a hit with audiences who loved seeing Bing’s sons carry on the family tradition.

Gary’s first big break came through duets with his father. In 1950, they recorded “Sam’s Song” and “Play a Simple Melody,” two playful tracks that captured the charm of father and son trading lines. The records were a sensation, becoming the first double-sided gold record in music history. Suddenly, Gary wasn’t just Bing’s son—he was a star in his own right.

Radio soon beckoned. Gary appeared on programs like The Bing Crosby Show, where his easy banter and smooth vocals made him a natural fit. In the summer of 1955, he even hosted his own program, The Gary Crosby Show, on CBS—a bold step that showed he was ready to carve out his own space in entertainment.

Film followed quickly. Gary made his screen debut as himself in Star Spangled Rhythm (1942) when he was just a boy, sharing the screen with Hollywood’s biggest names. Later, he appeared in musicals and comedies throughout the 1950s, bringing his laid-back charm to the big screen. These early roles weren’t just cameos—they were proof that Gary had the charisma to hold his own in front of the camera.

Those early years were a whirlwind of radio microphones, studio lights, and family harmonies. Gary Crosby grew up in the glow of fame, but he didn’t just stand in his father’s shadow—he stepped forward, sang his own songs, and began writing the first chapters of a career that would span music, film, and television...

BING CROSBY - THE BRUNSWICK YEARS

 

BING AT BRUNSWICK

In the early 1930s, Bing Crosby was standing at the edge of something big. He had already made waves as part of Paul Whiteman’s Rhythm Boys, but the world was about to hear him in a way it never had before. The stage for this transformation? Brunswick Records.

It was 1931 when Bing walked into the Brunswick studios, a young man with a voice that felt like velvet and a style that broke all the rules. At the time, most singers were belting out tunes with theatrical flair, but Bing did something radical—he sang as if he were speaking to you alone. His tone was warm, intimate, and conversational, and the microphone became his closest friend.

The first notes of “Out of Nowhere” drifted into the studio air, and suddenly, the future of popular music shifted. That recording wasn’t just a hit; it was a statement. Bing wasn’t going to shout over the band—he was going to glide through the melody, letting the rhythm carry him like a lazy river. Soon came “Just One More Chance,” a tender ballad that captured hearts across America, followed by the playful “I Found a Million Dollar Baby (In a Five and Ten Cent Store)” and the dreamy “Good Night, Sweetheart.” Each song was a brushstroke in the portrait of a new kind of star.

Brunswick’s engineers loved him. The label’s cutting-edge technology gave Bing’s voice a clarity that made listeners feel like he was singing in their living room. And in a way, he was—radio was booming, and Crosby’s relaxed croon was the perfect antidote to the hard edges of the Jazz Age. His records spun on phonographs from New York to Los Angeles, and suddenly, everyone wanted to sound like Bing.

But the Brunswick years were just the beginning. In 1934, Jack Kapp—who had championed Bing at Brunswick—founded Decca Records and brought Crosby along for the ride. That move would lead to “White Christmas” and a career that defined an era. Still, those early Brunswick sides remain a treasure: raw, intimate, and full of promise. They capture the moment when Bing Crosby stopped being a band singer and became the voice of America.

Even now, when you listen to those recordings, you can hear the quiet revolution taking place. A man and a microphone, rewriting the rules of popular music—one smooth phrase at a time...

BING & CONNEE BOSWELL: A HARMONY BEYOND TIME

The year was 1937, and the airwaves were alive with the sound of swing. Bing Crosby, already a household name with his warm, easygoing baritone, was redefining popular singing. Across the country, Connee Boswell—formerly the heart of the Boswell Sisters—was stepping into her own spotlight. Her voice carried a jazz-inflected elegance, a playful lilt that could turn even the simplest melody into something unforgettable.

When Bing and Connee first met in a Los Angeles studio, it wasn’t just another session. Bing, ever the gentleman, greeted her with that trademark grin and a casual, “Ready to make some magic?” Connee, seated in her wheelchair—her disability never dimming her spirit—shot back with a mischievous smile: “Only if you can keep up.”

The microphone crackled to life, and the band struck up the opening bars of “Bob White (Whatcha Gonna Swing Tonight?)”. What followed was pure chemistry. Bing’s voice flowed like a calm river, steady and reassuring, while Connee’s danced around his lines—syncopated, teasing, full of swing. The duet soared to #2 on the charts, and listeners couldn’t get enough of their playful banter woven into melody.

Over the next few years, their partnership blossomed. They recorded “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”, a spirited Irving Berlin classic that hit #1 and even raised funds for polio research—a cause close to Connee’s heart. Then came “An Apple for the Teacher”, a cheeky tune that had audiences grinning from coast to coast. Each song was more than a recording; it was a conversation between two artists who understood each other’s rhythms.

Offstage, Bing often spoke of Connee as one of his favorite female vocalists. “She’s got something no one else has,” he told a reporter. “That phrasing—she swings without trying.” Connee, in turn, admired Bing’s generosity in the studio. He never overshadowed her; instead, he created space for her artistry to shine.

Their collaborations weren’t confined to records. Radio listeners tuned in to hear them on programs like Kraft Music Hall, where their duets brought warmth and wit into American homes during uncertain times. For many, those broadcasts were a lifeline—a reminder that joy could still be found in harmony.

As the 1940s dawned and musical tastes shifted, Bing and Connee’s paths diverged. Yet their recordings remain timeless, echoing an era when music was intimate, playful, and profoundly human. Today, when you hear “Basin Street Blues” or “Between 18th and 19th on Chestnut Street”, you’re not just listening to notes—you’re hearing a friendship, a shared love of song, and a moment in history that still swings...

KEN TWISS AND THE BING CROSBY HISTORICAL SOCIETY

In the decades following Bing Crosby’s death in 1977, few individuals have done more to preserve his legacy than Ken Twiss, founder and president of the Bing Crosby Historical Society (BCHS). Established in 1978 in Tacoma, Washington, the BCHS began as a passionate fan club but quickly evolved into a vital institution dedicated to chronicling the life and career of one of the 20th century’s most influential entertainers. 

Ken Twiss was more than a fan—he was a steward of Crosby’s memory. Under his leadership, the BCHS published quarterly newsletters titled The Crooner, which featured articles on Crosby’s life, career milestones, and updates from the society. These newsletters became a cherished resource for fans and historians alike, offering insights and anecdotes that might otherwise have faded into obscurity. 

Twiss also organized annual gatherings that brought together fans, scholars, and even individuals who had known Crosby personally. These events were more than celebrations—they were forums for storytelling, remembrance, and community building. One notable tribute in 1983 featured Carolyn Schneider, a relative of Crosby, and was praised for its heartfelt execution by Twiss and fellow organizer Frank McMahon. 

At its peak, the Bing Crosby Historical Society operated a small museum that housed memorabilia, photographs, correspondence, and other artifacts related to Crosby’s life. Though modest in size, the museum served as a tangible connection to the crooner’s legacy. Visitors could explore items that spanned Crosby’s career—from his early days in Spokane to his Hollywood triumphs. 

Unfortunately, due to lack of funding, the museum closed in 1993, marking the end of an era. However, Twiss ensured that the society’s archival materials were preserved. He personally transferred the BCHS records to the Northwest Room of the Tacoma Public Library, safeguarding them for future generations. 

While the BCHS itself is no longer active, its impact endures. In 1993, Gonzaga University—Crosby's alma mater—received the entire BCHS collection, which now forms part of the world’s largest public collection of Bing Crosby memorabilia. This includes gold and platinum records, photographs, awards, and even a duplicate Oscar for Going My Way. 

Ken Twiss’s dedication laid the groundwork for ongoing efforts to honor Crosby’s legacy. Organizations like the Bing Crosby Advocates in Spokane continue this mission, hosting events and maintaining Crosby’s childhood home as a museum. 

Ken Twiss’s work with the Bing Crosby Historical Society exemplifies how one person’s passion can preserve cultural history. Through newsletters, events, and archival preservation, Twiss ensured that Bing Crosby’s contributions to music, film, and American culture would not be forgotten. His efforts remain a testament to the enduring power of fandom, memory, and historical stewardship...