...Fun Him'l A Matone,

Bistu Mir Tsugeshikt _[1]
By Denise Larin, Canada

 I. Early 1950s : My First Exposure To Connie Francis 

I have always been one of Connie Francis' greatest fans.  Although she may not know it, she was also a member of my family. Let me tell you a little about Connie's secret life in Verdun and later, in Brossard, a suburb of Montreal on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River. You will see how she became my secret sister and an inspiration in my life.

 I am a French-Canadian born November 25, 1945 in Verdun, a part of greater Montreal now. I am the daughter of Rodolphe Larin, a professional photographer, and Marie-Blanche Caron, a teacher in grammar school for the Verdun English Catholic School Board. I have a brother, Pierre, born in April 1950. He is a cardiologist.

 I was a very active and very talkative child. I used to ask for reasons to reasons, sources to sources. I also had neurological problems and absolutely no coordination in my movements. I was always tripping on something, even in my own two feet, dropping things, opening doors directly on my mouth etc. Our family doctor advised that playing the accordion would help me gain control over my muscles and coordination in my movements so I received my first accordion and started music lessons at age seven. 

 That new accordion was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I slept with that 12-basses accordion in my bed each night until I got a bigger one a few months later. Mabel Brennan, my first accordion teacher at Marazza School of Music in Montreal told my parents that I really had a gift for music.

 I was raised surrounded by music. My grandfather played the cornet in the Montreal Symphonic Orchestra and in different bands, and all of his children were good musicians, including my father who was a very good trumpet player. I felt like one of the gang playing the accordion and dreamed of the day when I would be as good a player as my uncle Marcel was.

 One day, my aunt Madeleine, who is my father's sister and my godmother, came to visit us from Schenectady, NY where she was established with her husband Joseph L. Abare and their two daughters. As usual she had a big bag full of surprises for me. When I finished going through all the things that were in that bag, custom jewels, story books, stuffed animals, perfume, you know, all the stuff that little girl’s love, I saw that there was a newspaper in the bottom of the bag. Aunt Madeleine said:

 - “Search in there, Denise, there is a young girl who is a singer in the New York area and she also plays the accordion. There's a picture of her in there with her accordion”.
 
When I saw that picture of Connie Franconero as a child holding an accordion, I felt that we were so close. That picture of the little girl she was reminded me so much of myself with my own accordion. I tried to imagine what were the songs she played and sang. Was she practicing scales and chords during long hours like I was?

That was my first exposure to Connie Francis. I asked my aunt Madeleine to send me whatever she could find on Connie and she did. Sometimes it was just a clip in a local newspaper; sometimes it was a record she had bought for me. That's how I started my collection. I had a scrapbook of all sorts of things related to Connie even before she really became famous. Aunt Madeleine and Uncle Jos had a huge TV antenna on their roof and they could catch the Startime Kids Show and other programs from the New York area. They used to take screen pictures when Connie was on and mail them to me.  The pictures were not very clear being taken directly from a TV screen but I was ecstatic every time I received a package from Schenectady. It was really Mail Call!

 II. My Secret Sister, Connie Franconero 

Connie had a cleft chin like everybody in my family except my mother, and she and I both played the accordion. That was enough for the child I was to imagine that we could be sisters. I remember telling my parents that I was sure they were also Connie's parents. They had known each other since 1938 but they only got married in 1943. I assumed that my mother had given birth to Connie in 1938 and had given her for adoption and that explained how she landed in the Franconero family in New Jersey!

I suspected aunt Madeleine having taken a part in that adoption process because she lived in the States not so far from where Connie lived. I resented my parents for having done such a horrible thing. They protested but finally surrendered and decided to let me think what I wanted to think. They probably thought it would be easier than trying to convince me that I was wrong and that I would come back to my senses and get over that "stupid idea". But that "stupid idea" as they said, lasted a very long time. Many years, in fact; I told my best friend Françoise about it and she believed me, and she told her other best friend who told a couple of her own best friends who also told... In a matter of a few days, all the kids in Verdun knew about my secret sister. Some of them teased me a lot about this at the time and still do when we meet after all these years.

It did not matter what the whole world was thinking. I did not care and went on with my fantasy. Every time I was practicing the accordion I was talking to Connie in my mind:

 - Do you know this song, Connie? Can you play it too?

 - Listen, Connie, I will do a special intro for this one.

 - Hey Connie, see how fast I can play this one?

I became a fairly good accordion player over the years, played classical and popular. My Flight Of The Bumble Bee was quite good and I even gave a shot at Perpetual Motion and many other finger daring classics. My best was Carnival Of Venice with all its variations and La Campanella (Liszt). I played both of them at the Canadian Accordion Championship in Windsor, Ontario and got a second place in my category and a standing ovation. 

Tony Michetti, my new accordion teacher, wanted me to work my way towards the world accordion solo championship but I did not want to.  I just could not picture myself running for championship in Europe or elsewhere. Playing the accordion was great as long as it stayed a hobby and I had no intention of making a career in music. I wanted to go to med school and become a psychiatrist.

I also took great pleasure in playing most of Connie Francis' songs, especially her Italian, Spanish and Jewish Favorites. During my high school and college years I used to teach accordion at Do-Re-Mi school of Music, owned by Antonio "Tony" Michetti, my own teacher and a great accordion player. My students were mostly all Italians and I had a few Polish and German guys.

When I was not practicing the accordion, my record player was delivering Connie's songs all the time, again and again and again. It caught on fire one day after I had played her songs nonstop during hours. There was smoke coming out at the rear and I just had time to unplug it and take the precious record off.  That's how I got to receive my 9th grade graduation present before the end of the school year: a brand new stereo radio/record player with a BIIIIIIG loudspeaker. No need asking what came out of that new music box: Connie's songs!  My new record player was playing so loud sometimes that I even introduced Connie to other families in our neighborhood. One evening, my mother opened the door to my room while Connie was singing loud and clear. She looked at me and asked:

 -“ You still think Connie is your sister, don't you?

 - Yes, maman...

 - If Connie is your sister, that makes her my daughter, doesn't it?

 - Yes, maman.

 - OK then....”

She stared at my record player and at all the pictures of Connie hanging on the wall right behind it and said softly:

 -“ Listen to me Connie dear, this is maman speaking...”.

And suddenly, louder:

 -“ Will you SHUT UP for tonight! Enough! Go to sleep and let your sister sleep, she has school tomorrow! And let your parents and brother and neighbors sleep too! Understood?”

I lowered my voice and made it sound like it was coming out of the loudspeaker (I had real talents as a ventriloquist) and said without moving my lips:

 -“ Yes maman! But only if you let me sing again tomorrow! I am a star, you know!”

She did not expect that. There was a pause for a couple of seconds then she replied:

 - “YOU will see stars if you don't go to bed RIGHT NOW!”

And she immediately stepped out of my room and closed the door behind her. Then I heard her laugh almost hysterically, trying to cover her mouth with her hands.

But I really think that Connie got her message... She stopped singing much earlier at night after that evening and she kept the volume of her voice a little lower.

Life went on and my mother never confronted me again on this "secret sister" thing.  She became a silent accomplice although sometimes I felt she was a little jealous of all the attention that Connie was getting. Sometimes she would say when I was reluctant to do something she had asked me to do:

 - “Look at you! You can't help your mother but if Connie Francis asked you to do something you would break a leg running to her to do it right away!”

Or if I was asking for something she did not want to give me:

 -“ Go ask Connie! I'm sure she'll be happy to give it to you.”

And one time when she found out that I had pasted more pictures of Connie on my wall:

 -“What’s wrong with you? You have pictures of Connie Francis all over the walls in your room but you have no place for even one single picture of your family!

 - But, maman, Connie IS family to me!”

In those occasions my father would nod and give her a very odd look but would not say a thing in front of me. I remember him saying to her when he thought I was out of sight:

 -“Don’t say that to her... Let her be.” 

III. The 1960s: A Connie Francis Homemade Fan Club In Montreal 

One day, I think it was in early 1960, I decided to start a Connie Francis Fan Club. I did not know at the time that there was already an existing official fan club. In fact, I knew very little about stars, singers and fan clubs. Connie was the first and only singer I really cared about.

I designed a membership card with Connie's picture pasted on it. Then I had my dad make a copy of it and reproduce many on the same photo sheet, I cut them out and I started a campaign to recruit members. I even put an ad in the Corriere Italiano, an Italian newspaper in Montreal. A couple of weeks later the Connie Francis Montreal Homemade Fan Club was born and already had 242 members I had personally recruited. I organized meetings every Friday night at my house to discuss things with some members and listen to Connie's music. Sometimes there were too many people in our living room and we had to go out on the balcony.  Each new member had to contribute a record to the Club. If we had doubles, we did a raffle at the end of the month. We invented and played games like The Connie Francis Name That Tune game, where we played a few bars of the intro or a few bars in the middle of a song, and the Connie Francis Quiz. I designed a deck of cards with questions like: Who was playing the guitar in...? Who wrote the lyrics of...? Where did Connie sing on...? (date) We had so much fun!

My "slightly" jealous maman commented one day:

 -“ You're turning our house upside down for Connie Francis. How does that pay you? She's the one making all the money, not you!  At least she's doing something out of her life. Why don't you do something useful too, like concentrating on your studies?”

 -“ Com'on maman! I DO concentrate on my studies too, you know that! My studies, my music and Connie Francis. I concentrate on all three of them. What's wrong with that?

 - Well..”.

Before she could say anything else, I wrapped my arms around her neck and started to sing softly to her ear:

 - “Mamma, solo per te la mia canzone vola, mamma, sarai con me, tu non sarai più sola...

 - You know something, Denise? I don't want to hurt you but I like this song better when Connie is singing it..”.

Bingo! She liked Connie Francis more than she wanted to admit!

The meetings of the Connie Francis homemade fan club continued without further problems or comments at our house each Friday night.

A few weeks later I decided to write Connie a letter to tell her about this new fan club and send her copy of the membership card I had designed. After my letter was written I searched for an address to send it to and one of my friends said she had seen something in some magazine.  The address she came out with was the one of the Connie Francis "official" fan club. Was I ever disappointed...There was a Connie Francis fan club, probably better organized than the one I had set up. Instead of sending my letter to Connie, I sent a request to become a member of her official fan club. I also wrote a letter to all the members I had recruited to tell them the truth, apologizing for misleading them and giving them the address of the official fan club. Many answered back or called to tell me that it was all right and that they wanted to stay in my Connie Francis fan club instead of joining a group in USA that was so far away. They said my group was fun and many of them kept coming to my place to listen to Connie's music and discuss. I had every single song Connie had recorded since the beginning; well... at least I thought I did. Sometimes my father drove to Plattsburgh/NY or Burlington/VT so that I could shop to buy records that were not yet available in Canada.

Forty-five years later, a cousin of mine, Gilles, still addresses me as: "Denise, president of the Connie Francis fan club" whenever he sends me an e-mail or a birthday card.  Gilles was one of the pioneer members of my own Connie Francis Fan Club. 

IV. Waiting For A Phone Call From Connie 

After becoming a member of the official Connie Francis fan club, I received pictures, postcards and a charm bracelet with the letters in Connie's name and which I was very proud to wear.

There was a contest during that period, I think it was in one of the US magazines but I just can't remember which one. The winner would get a personal phone call from Connie Francis! I did whatever had to be done in order to be the winner. I spent a week writing and sending entry forms.  I wanted this phone call more than anything in the world but it never came. I was not the lucky winner.

Daddy used to tease me all the time about this.  He would say, when he came back from work at night:

 - “So, tell me Denise, has Connie called you today?”  

Or, if the phone rang while he was at home:

 - “Pick up the phone Denise! Maybe it's Connie!”

And even years later when I lived away from my parents, he used to ask me every now and then:

 - “So? Any sign of Connie Francis? Don't tell me she hasn't called you yet!”

 V. Connie Singing On Our Roof

In 1963, shortly after we moved from Verdun to Brossard on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, my father made a cartoon drawing of our house and family. It was one of Connie's songs that could be heard from the roof that day on my father's drawing.

 VI. How I Became An Italian Just Like My Secret Sister

About three years before we moved to Brossard, I took a major decision. I wanted to understand the lyrics of Connie's Italian songs so badly. I asked my accordion teacher, Tony Michetti, to teach me how to BECOME an Italian. I said:

 - Tony, will you help me become an Italian?

 - You can't become an Italian, Denise, you're a French Canadian!

 - I know that, Tony, but let me tell you this: by this time next year you won't recognize me because I will have become a real Italian. I know there is more to it than just the language. I want it all! So please, no more French speaking to me! From now on, you talk to me in Italian only.

And he did. We were in the middle of my accordion lesson and his first words were: Alza il pollice!

But Tony's help was not enough although he always treated me like an Italian and assigned me many young Italian students to whom I taught the accordion. I needed more practice so I started visiting all the stores in what is still called Little Italy in Montreal. I was there every Saturday morning and afternoon, buying fruit, vegetables, mortadella, capicollo and cheese from Italian sellers at the Jean-Talon market, and Italian records, books, dictionaries and newspapers in several Italian boutiques. All conversations were in Italian, all the time. All the money I earned teaching the accordion was spent that way during that period.

I also called all the Italian families that I could find in the Montreal phone directory. I must have said the following at least a hundred times:

 - Mi chiamo Denise e voglio imparar' l'Italiano. Mi può aiutare Lei? (My name is Denise and I want to learn Italian. Can you help me?)

Most of them invited me to their homes and helped me learn the language. In fact I became the most popular French girl among the Italian community of Montreal.  In a matter of a few months I spoke Italian fluently and with a perfect accent. I joined Il Coro Folclorico Abruzzese and sang with them during a couple of years and accompanied them at the accordion. So many memories there... I also took contracts to play the accordion during weekends at Italian weddings and other celebrations, discovered Italian cuisine and customs.  My father drove me to the reception hall and helped me install and picked me up after it was finished. I had a huge repertoire of Italian songs, including the ones Connie was performing which were very much in demand during that period. I used to play for four hours almost nonstop at these weddings. I was one of those zombie players that never get tired.

The first time I came back from an Italian wedding reception, my mother asked me what I had eaten.

 - I don't know, maman, but I ate a whole lot of it! I'll pay more attention and take notes next time!

I felt like a stuffed turkey and I skipped a couple of meals at home after that memorable gargantuan Italian meal. I also noticed that everything was so quiet at home after that reception. I realized that we French Canadians were far from the Italians as far as communication is concerned. Our family could sit around the table for an hour or more during meals and very few words were said, only the necessary. Mom used to say: 

 - Do not speak with your mouth full. You'll choke.

But at my Italian friends' houses, everybody was talking with a mouth full and nobody choked! They were talking loud and gesticulating as if they were arguing or as if they were going to jump at each other's throat. I got used to it but could never practice this behavior around our family table... The first time I tried, my father and my brother stared at me and my mother said:

 - What's going on with you? Have you taken some pills or anything? Why are you so hyper?

During that period, I was probably the only French girl in town who said "Pronto" when answering the phone, who knew how to prepare and hand cut fresh homemade pastas, who knew what La Befana was, who knew the lyrics of the Inno di Mameli, who could read  Il Corriere Italiano and later Il Cittadino Cana-dese from cover to cover each week, who bought a Capodimonte for her French maman on Mother's Day.

Although I looked more like a Fräulein than a Signorina, I had become a real Italian and I enjoyed it. Connie would have been proud of me. Those were my best years. Thanks to the Fabrizi, Capolupo, Turani, Michetti, Iaizzo, Maiello, Biscotti, Battista and Pucci families and others whose names do not come to my mind at this moment. And thanks to my Franconero segreta sorella (secret sister)!

All these families adopted me.  They trusted me. Many Italian girls from these families were allowed out at night only if I accompanied them.  Two of them were allowed to go to their prom because I pleaded for them! I had the responsibility of walking them back home safely after the movies, the choir practice, etc. Can you imagine? The T. family for example, had two unmarried daughters still living at home: Maria was 18 and Tina, 26. I was only 16 – 17 at the time and their parents let both of them go out at night because I was with them. If I could not be there, they had to stay home! I used to wonder if Connie had that same treatment in her family. Was she allowed going out, dating, etc?  The answer to those questions came many years later when I read Connie's autobiography book.

I dated a few Italian guys during that period and I had two marriage proposals but I declined them. As much as I wanted to live and behave like an Italian, I was not ready to become an Italian wife and mamma. One of them, Carmine C., later proposed to Maria T. and she accepted... and so did her parents!

A few years ago I received a phone call from Maria. She was still happily married to Carmine. We talked for quite a long time about old times and suddenly she said:

 - You know what? I always wanted to thank you for helping me go to my prom night! You and Connie Francis really did it for me that night!  Because you liked her, you learned Italian and came into my family's life and you changed all of us in a way. It wouldn't have been the same without you. You even introduced me to Carmine! By the way, do you still like Connie Francis??

 - You bet, I do, Maria, but in a different way, maybe. I do not listen to her music all day long like I used to back then but I really like the mature woman she has become and I still follow her career and enjoy seeing her on TV and I still buy her records.  I cry when something bad happens to her and my heart is filled with joy when I see her bouncing back. She is a real survivor! I just saw her on Larry King Live a couple of weeks ago. She was great! It's been over forty years now since the last time I told someone that she was my secret sister, but believe me, Maria, I still feel that she is... I wish I could go to one of her shows one day and I wish I could tell her how important she has been in my life and in the life of all my family.

 VII. Connie In My Classroom 

After my Italian teenager years, I went on with my studies. I also learned German, Hungarian and some Yiddish but I did not push it the way I had done with the Italian language although I used the same techniques of calling people out of the phone book and visiting the German, Hungarian and Yiddish neighborhoods in Montreal. I attended German classes at Goethe Haus during 3 years when I was in college.

I graduated from college and University with high grades. First I wanted to go to med school but I finally decided to become a teacher. I became a chemistry and physics teacher in 1966 at age 21, a few months after having moved out of my parents' house to live on my own.

In my classroom I made it a habit to always write Happy Birthday on the blackboard to any student born that day and when December 12 came, I used to include: Happy birthday Grandma Victorine (my paternal grandmother was born Dec 12, 1888) and then Happy Birthday Connie Francis.

In the early years of my teaching career, my students all knew who Connie Francis was and many of them could sing a few of her songs but as time passed and music styles changed, very few of them knew much about her besides her name and the fact that they had seen some of her records in their parents' collection.

They would ask me:

 - What did she use to sing? Is she still singing?

I told them that I would bring some of Connie's records at the next class lunchtime meeting or on the last day of school before Christmas break.  And they got to know Connie. I did the same thing year after year after year. I introduced Connie, her beautiful voice and her songs to new generations of teenagers. Some of my fellow teachers often predicted that they would boo me if I made them listen to any music that was out of their immediate likings. But, against all odds, most of them liked it. It was my way of paying back the joy, the color and the fantasy that Connie had brought to my life during my teenager years.

During the mid 80's I was assigned to a French High School where there were at least 45 percent of Italian students. That was in the northern part of Montreal, called St. Michel near Montreal North, where there is a large concentration of Italian families. I was so happy because I thought I was going to practice speaking Italian a lot. But it came out that those Italian students did not want to speak Italian outside their homes... They were speaking English among themselves and were very reluctant to speak Italian. In fact they spoke three languages, French, English and Italian, but could not speak or write any of them correctly. I was very disappointed and made it a commitment to help them find the way back to their Italian culture and language. I took the lead of an after school class called Origine. I organized discussions and activities for them during the three years I was in that school. I asked our school librarian to buy a few Italian books and three copies of Connie Francis' book "Who's Sorry Now". In those three years, Connie's book was borrowed over 250 times by Italian students from my after school group!  We had discussions on many parts of Connie's book and they were very interested by everything that touched the Italian culture that Connie had so brilliantly described in her book. They related and it helped them open up and speak about themselves and their families.

VIII. The Loss Of My Precious Connie Francis Record Collection 

There was a flood in Montreal on July 14, 1987. There was 27 inches of water in my basement. Among many other things, all of my records, sheet music and scrapbooks were ruined; they were covered with mud, the jackets were almost unrecognizable. I did not care much about all the other records I lost but the loss of my Connie Francis collection came in as a real disaster. I was devastated. I picked up my records in the mud. All the jackets and sleeves were ruined and had to be thrown away. Most of the vinyls were warped and all were indescribably dirty. I tried to clean them the best I could without much results. Then I called my parents and cried. My father told me to bring all my Connie Francis records to him and that he would try to do something to give Connie back her voice. In the next few days he did more cleaning with a special liquid he had saved when he closed his photography studio and he transferred all the songs on... VHS tapes!  He came to my house the next week with a gift bag full of VHS tapes and a small card with these words: 

“Pour que Connie retrouve la voix et pour que tu ne pleures pas en attendant son appel. Papa”. (So that Connie will have her voice back and so you won't be crying while waiting for her phone call. Dad.)

What a sweet man! I think I must have been the only one with a bunch of Connie Francis songs on VHS tapes! At least I could still listen to them sometimes while I was replacing what I had lost, bit by bit in the years that followed.

In fact it took me almost 20 years to replace all that I had lost in that flood. I bought some LPs in yard sales, others in Records Shows until I discovered the auction sales on the Internet. This was a real breakthrough. I discovered that there were so many Connie Francis records out there, some that I didn't even suspect existed, with different pictures on the cover, issued in foreign countries and I went on a real shopping spree on eBay. 

I must have spent over 15,000 $ on records, magazines and other Connie Francis memorabilia items between 2004 and 2006. I recently bought another copy of Connie's book to replace my original that was ruined in the 1987 flood too.

I also discovered that there were a lot of Connie's fans out there on the Internet. I made friends with many of them, all around the world. At last I had people with whom I could share my devotion to Connie Francis.

The only thing missing to make me happy was a real encounter with Connie. I wanted to see her onstage and get to meet her.

 IX. 2004: Finally Getting To Meet Connie For The First Time In Montreal 

All these years of silent adoration of someone I had never met... Then I learned that Connie was coming to Montreal! I just could not miss this opportunity. I had missed her in 1977 when she came to Montreal while I was out of the country; I was not going to miss her this time. I bought a Meet and Greet ticket for the October 2004 concert at the Place des Arts over three months before the show. It was the only one left! My two best friends, Ghislaine and Françoise could not get any. They had to buy a regular ticket and they would be sitting together many rows behind me.

Those three months were quite hectic. I wanted to find a way to tell Connie all she had brought to my life so I spent hours and hours writing her a long letter. I knew I was going to be like a zombie in front of her because I always freeze when I have too much emotion so I was counting on my letter to reach her somehow. I never wrote such a long letter in my life, especially not in English. I'm still wondering today if Connie had the patience to read it all... To her, it was probably just another fan letter, maybe longer than the average, but having the chance to tell her exactly how I felt about her and how she had enhanced my life meant a whole lot to me.

I scratched my head during the last few weeks before the concert trying to think of a special gift to offer Connie.  I visited many fancy shops and boutiques but found nothing that appeared to me as the perfect gift I should offer Connie. One evening, as I stood outside watching the sky, the first four lines of Shein Vi Di Levone came to my mind and suddenly I knew what that special gift for Connie would be:

Shein vi de levone,

Lichtik vi di schtern,

fun him'l a matone,

bistu mir tsugeshikt [2] 

(Beautiful like the moon,

Bright like the stars,

            As a gift from heaven,

            You were sent to me) 

What could I possibly offer a star like Connie if not A STAR? So I decided ch'vel a shterndl brengn tsu ir (I will bring a star to her).  I contacted Star Registry International and had a star registered to Connie's name. Her star, concetta franconero 12-12-1938 is Star RA19h55m55s  D-29°1'36.73" in the Sagittarius. I chose the Sagittarius because both Connie and I are Sagittarius. I also chose that star because it is in an area of the sky visible from Florida where Connie lives.

I was very nervous all the time it took for the star registration to arrive. I was afraid I would not get it on time.  It finally arrived three days before the concert. I wrapped the large frame and documents of ownership and I put them in a fine gift bag with my long letter.

I was ready to meet Connie!

Finally, the magic moment arrived.  I arrived early at La Place des Arts.  I was sitting at the extreme left of the second row with my big gift bag between my feet. There was a huge loudspeaker about 5 feet away from me and I thought I would go crazy when the orchestra and Richard Abel started to play in the opening part of the concert. I usually run away when I hear music that loud but I did not feel like running anywhere that night.  I discretely put my hands on my ears to block some of the sound and I tried to enjoy the music of Richard Abel who is a very good pianist.

There was a long intermission after Richard Abel's performance. It seemed like an eternity for I was more and more anxious to finally see Connie. I socialized a little with another of Connie's fans sitting just in front of me in the first row. His name is Raynald B. and he is a very nice guy. He had already seen Connie a few times in the past but he said he could never have enough of her. There were two empty seats besides him and he suggested that I moved next to him in the first row, which I did hoping to gain a couple of feet to see Connie from closer.

Then the lights went out and Connie's orchestra started to play an intro. My heart was pounding and I felt very numb when I saw Connie walk on stage. The music seemed to come from very far away; in fact I became completely deaf for a few minutes. Connie was there and I just couldn't get my eyes off her. WOW! Finally! I had a knot in my throat and I could feel cold tears slowly rolling down my cheeks. The crowd was standing and clapping hands, some were wolf-whistling but I just couldn't move at all and then I realized that I had my left hand in a fist, gripping on something. It was Raynald's jacket sleeve, which I immediately released from my grip. I felt thankful to him for not having pulled his arm back and for not giving me any noticeable sign that he had been aware of my strange behavior...

I remember back then in the 60s when fans were screaming, wolf-whistling and sometimes fainting in front of their idols. I never could understand that because all I could ever do was to freeze when confronted to a strong emotional situation. This is exactly what I did during Connie's whole concert. I gained my hearing back after a few minutes but the rest of my body refused to move. I did not even clap hands after each of her songs although I was enjoying every second of her performance, every word she was saying during those monologues between her songs. It was like an out of the body experience. A part of me was sitting on that seat but my spirit was following Connie's every movement, every single note she was singing and every bit of memories she was so generously sharing with her fans. It was cosmic and I felt very privileged to be there.

At the end, Connie had a long standing ovation. Everybody, including myself, was standing and clapping hands. For the very first time I felt part of a crowd of fans. I even yelled a strong BRAVO a couple of times. What a concert! What a presence on scene! What a woman! 

X. So Close To Connie

There was already a long line of people waiting to meet Connie when I reached the top of the stairs and walked across the hall were the meet and greet was taking place after the concert. Connie was sitting near Richard Abel behind a table and she was already very busy signing pictures, CDs and other items. There were people behind and near her. Her assistant Pat Niglio was controlling the line of people and letting the fans approach Connie a couple at a time behind the table.

I decided to wait a little before taking my place in line. I can't stay very long on my feet so I sat at a distance near a piano and started adjusting my camera and sorting the things I wanted Connie to sign.

My parents came to my mind. I could feel them beside me.

My beloved father died in 1996 at age 85. I knew that wherever he was, he smiled when I  whispered to him: 

 - “No, Connie hasn't called me yet, but watch me, papa, I am going to shake her hand tonight, and I'm going to tell her about our little family secrets!”

My dear mother died in 2001. To her I felt like saying: 

 -“ No, maman, your daughter Connie did not shut up.... she's still singing after all these years, thank God, and tonight she sang close to our home. I hope you were listening... She sang  mama for you too. She is still a great star, you know!”

Raynald B. took me out of my daydream. He offered to carry my bags and to take pictures of my meeting with Connie if I did the same for him so I handed him my Nikon digital camera and took my place in the line.  

It took quite a while before my turn finally came to meet Connie. I was standing beside her, to her left behind the table. Connie asked me what my name was and then she concentrated on every piece of memorabilia I had before she signed them. It seems there were some items she had never seen before. Her assistant commented on some of them. When all my items were signed, I pulled the gift bag from under the table and presented it to her. She turned and looked at me with the sweetest smile I had ever seen and her eyes were incredibly soft when she said:

 - “Well, thank you!”

Raynald took a couple of pictures of Connie and I during that special moment.

Connie did not unwrap my gift immediately. She handed the bag to her assistant who put it aside near the wall behind the table as I slowly moved away, on a cloud.

It took me a long time before going to sleep that night. The magic of Connie was still surrounding me. I went through all those items that she had signed for me, transferred my pictures to my computer and wrote a long email to my friend Attilio in Italy who was eager to get my comments on my meeting with Connie. I finally hit the pillow around 4 a. m., happy and with absolutely no idea of the wonderful surprise I would get the next morning.

XI. "Hi, This Is Connie Francis Calling For Denise" 

I am absolutely in no shape to answer the phone in the morning. I cannot even talk. But that day, the phone woke me up around 9:15 with that particular long distance ringing sound and I thought it was my brother calling. By the time I reached the telephone, the answering machine had already started to deliver my outgoing message. I looked at the caller ID monitor and saw that the call was not identified so it was definitely not from my brother. And then suddenly I heard:

 -“ Hi, this is Connie Francis calling for Denise. Will she call me back at....”

I picked up the receiver in a state of shock but could not even pronounce a word so I let my answering machine go on recording Connie's message with the information on where I had to call her back... so I thought.

I hung up after Connie finished leaving her message and I stayed there near the phone for nearly an hour. I just couldn't move. I couldn't even think straight. Was I dreaming? When I finally got out of my daily coma, I pressed the play key on my answering machine to listen to Connie's message and write down the phone number of the hotel where I could reach her.

All I heard again was

 -“ Hi, this is Connie Francis calling for Denise. Will she call me back at..”

Nothing else.  I suddenly realized that because I had picked up the phone, the answering machine had stopped recording! The other precious pieces of information were lost forever. I thought I would go out of my mind. How could this be happening? All my life I had been dreaming of this phone call but it seemed it was just not meant to be.

Then a little voice inside said:

 - Come on Denise, you can do this. Search your memory. Try to remember what Connie said. What was the name of that hotel she mentioned?

I felt like a medium trying to connect with someone's spirit and then Transcontinental or Intercontinental hotel came to my mind. But in which city? Where was Connie???

I searched the Internet for ...continental hotels in the area and found the Intercontinental Hotel in Montreal. That was a local call and what I had heard was the sound of a long distance call...  But, said the little voice, what if Connie called from her own cell phone with a Florida phone number? That could explain the long distance ringing tone. I had nothing to lose trying it.  So, around 11:30, I called the Montreal Intercontinental Hotel and simply said:

 - Can you transfer me to Miss Connie Francis' room, please?

They did and I could finally talk to Connie for a few minutes.

Connie thanked me for the gift I had given her. She said she was going to hang it in her den. She also said she liked the gift bag very much. I did not really know what to say. I asked her if she had found my letter in the bag and she said yes and that she would keep it among the precious items she had from her fans. She did not elaborate on the content of my letter and that left me under the impression that she had not had the time to read it all. Then I asked if she was flying back home that same day and she told me she was staying in Montreal for a couple of days and that she would do some shopping and then go directly to Buffalo, NY for her concert the next weekend. I wished her good luck for the Buffalo concert and thanked her for calling me.

Now that I think about this short conversation, I wonder how that same girl who had written Connie such a long letter just a few days before, could feel so insignificant and helpless on the phone. At least Connie had my letter...

I kept that truncated message from Connie for a very long time on my answering machine and finally transferred it to an audio file in my computer when it was just about to be bumped out of the answering machine. This is one of my dearest souvenirs. She has been so gracious and generous to call me. I feel that I have won that GET A Phone Call From Connie Francis Contest after all!

 XII. 2005: Meeting Connie Again In Toronto 

I had the privilege of meeting Connie again in Toronto in November 2005, just two days before my birthday. It was a gift I offered myself and I took the train alone from Montreal to Toronto in the morning and came back the next day. I stayed at the Novotel just a block away from the Toronto Centre for the Arts and walked, I should say limped through some buildings across the street to the concert hall.

Richard Abel opened for Connie again. Connie's performance was awesome and although that time I did not lose my hearing and could applaud after each of her songs, I felt the same magic bond with her.

Again, through Connie's monologues and confidences, we were treated to the rare enchanted bonding with an artist that usually can only be formed in intimate surroundings such as those found in very small theaters. As a consequence, the audience was dedicated and devoured every moment of the show even though the Toronto Centre for the Arts is quite a large concert hall. This is the true magic of Connie Francis and I was still all wrapped up in it when Connie took her last bow.

I was one of the last ones to meet Connie after the concert. I had a couple of gifts for her among which there was one that came from my friend Attilio in Italy.

I did not have any one to take a picture of me with Connie but I stayed for a while at the other end of the table near Richard Abel after I passed in front of Connie and this gave me a chance to take a couple of pictures of her before stepping aside and going to the buffet area. 

It was very late when I finally left the Centre for the Arts after the meet and greet. In fact I was one of the last ones out after the buffet. The girl at the cloakroom was outside her booth sitting on a table with my windbreaker on her lap waiting for its owner to claim it so that she could finally leave the place.

It was snowing heavily when I got outside. It was freezing cold, and I could see across the street that the two buildings through which I had come from my hotel were now closed and locked. I would have been forced to walk all the way around the block in the night not knowing exactly how to get back to the hotel, with no boots, no hat and no gloves on, wearing only a very light windbreaker. I had left my heavier winter clothes at the hotel because I only had to cross inside those two buildings to get to the Centre of the Arts.  I am handicapped and cannot walk very far without the use of my electric scooter which of course was at home so I wanted to call a cab but the Centre for the Arts was locked from the inside letting people out only, but not in anymore.

I waited almost 20 minutes in the cold for someone to finally come out of the Centre so that I could slip back in and call a cab. There was no phone book and the only phone number I had available was my hotel's as it was written on my room key. So I called them, explained the situation and asked them to send me a cab. It took another 20 – 30 minutes before the taxi arrived in that snowstorm and it was past 1:00 AM when I finally got back to my hotel room. The stem of the red rose I had received at the meet and greet had broken short while I was in the taxi and I was now sitting on my bed, shaken and worn out but incredibly happy to have seen and met Connie again.

 XIII. Thinking Back  

I can't imagine how different my life would have been without Connie Francis.

There is not much left of my "Italian teenager life" except the fact that I still speak Italian, that I am a member of an Italian bulletin board on the Internet (La Rete Civica Milanese) and that I own an Italian Greyhound called Rosina. 

I retired from teaching in 1994, two years after being diagnosed with fibromyalgy and chronic fatigue syndrome but, like Connie, I am a survivor. I bounced back and built my own home-based business doing genealogy researches and restoring old pictures. In fact I perform miracles on old and ancient pictures and documents and I find my reward when I see people smile or shed tears of joy when they find out that my art has given some sort of life back to their loved ones.

I can't play the accordion the way I used to. My damaged muscles do not allow me to but my Cordovox is still in my office near my computer and sometimes I can't resist playing a tune or two. Besides my classics, I always play a couple of Connie's songs. 

There are no more pictures of Connie Francis on my walls but there will always be a large place for her in my heart and there is not a day that I don't put on a CD and listen to some of Connie's songs.

Deep inside, I still feel that special bond with my 'secret sister' and I will remain…

… her devoted fan forever.

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