Happy birthday, Kid Crocett

Once a fighter, always a fighter; he was just smart enough to switch from his fists in the ring to his voice on the stage, his peerless straightman routine in the nightclubs, his smooth silliness on the screen, his practiced skill on the golf course, and especially his deadly charm in the company of women, beating all contenders with a flurry of stylistic punches that were uniquely his own.

Not to bad at all for a boy from Steubenville. How is it again that his birthday isn’t a national holiday?


In celebration of what would have been Dino Crocetti’s 91st birthday, I’ve pulled all my vinyl and am working my way through the stack pictured above this afternoon. If I didn’t have pressing plans tonight, I think I’d be chilling out with a nice bottle of red and the Matt Helm Collection, but two of my other favorites of the small screen and the local punk honkytonk are drawing me out into the rainy night, so I guess the celebration will just have to continue tomorrow. Shucks. Such tough choices for a girl to make.

In any case, raise a toast today, please. Mr. Martin would surely appreciate it.


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