Like Mossadegh

Johnny Ray, a 25-year-old Oregon lad with an inordinate love of salt water in small quantities, has just set something of a record in the music business. In eight fast weeks, his recording of Cry (with The Little White Cloud That Cried on the other side) has sold 1,000,000 copies. Singer Ray's gimmick: tears.

Ray drops tears as easily as Mossadegh. His Columbia recording is flooded with them, on both sides. Ray admits that "I don't have a voice, I've got a style. I can't read music. I don't even like to listen to my own voice." In night club performances, his stentorian sobbing sometimes so unhinges him that he has to rush offstage to compose himself.

Johnny began fulfilling himself as a professional singer when he was 15, working on a Portland radio show. After that, he played smalltime nightclubs from coast to coast, developing his new style ("It's like wine that mellows with age"). His first big splash came last fall in Cleveland. Later on, in a Buffalo club, Johnny really made headway: two women fainted. In six months, his asking price jumped from $90 to $2,000. Other income: a percentage of record sales plus composer's royalties on Little White Cloud, which he wrote himself.

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