Mitty Ditties

The songs of Cole Porter, George Gershwin or Jerome Kern are all very well. But what man does not believe in his heart that the songs he makes up and sings to himself are best of all? Most men do just that: make them up and sing them to themselves. Not Bob Friedman of Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Bob is passionate enough about his ditties to dream of taking over a commercial recording studio, bringing in top name musicians, and cutting an LP to give to 1,000 or so of his best friends and relatives. As the retired millionaire president of Ohio's National Machinery Co., he happens to be in a position to realize that dream--and to pick up the $250,000 tab.

Recently, for example, Friedman stuffed 48 of his latest songs into his attache case and hopped a jet for Hollywood. There, after hiring a Capitol Records studio, he gathered together his arranger-conductor (Jazz Great Benny Carter), a crack 49-piece band (including Saxophonist Bud Shank, Drummer Louis Bellson, Guitarist Barney Kessel), Vocalists Carmen McRae and Joe Williams, and a chorus of twelve. Then for the next few days he sat back and listened to the best that the music profession can do with songs like his Look What I Found:

. . . Happinessvillee,

What a fantabulous thrill,

I thought thai I'd been through the

mill.

But look what I found.

This week Friedman will be at it again. Carter and his forces will record three new compositions that Friedman wants to include in a new vanity album, his second in seven years. "I think I've written a lot of very good songs," he says. "But with what each one is costing me, I'm not sure I can afford to write any more."

Friedman's lyrics celebrate family, home, patriotism and brotherhood. Many of his songs are dedicated to one or the other of his five children, like Jenny:

I was longing, sweet Jenny, Longing for the time, When you hear the love song, That's in my heart for my girl.

As for Friedman's melodies, Benny Carter diplomatically says: "He doesn't refine them the way a professional does. If he spent just a little more time, he would have a great song instead of a good song."

None of Friedman's songs has ever been published commercially, though he would not object if a record company or publisher took an interest in them. Basically, he is just a Mittyesque amateur who has always been surrounded by music at home, and probably always will be. He was playing ukulele by four, guitar by six, and classical and pop piano by eight, plus studying harmony. At Tiffin (Ohio) High School and at Cleveland's Case Institute, where he earned a degree in mechanical engineering, Friedman kept on playing in his spare time. At Tiffin he even headed up his own band--an idea he carried over years later when he organized his children and wife into a group called the Sharps and Flats.

It was in 1962 that Friedman wrote his first song, and in 1965 that he made his first album (with the help of Arrangers Matty Matlock and Billy May). Nowadays he often works through the night, laying a lyric like the following on his wife's breakfast tray:

All my hope is beginning to crumble I'm afraid that I'll soon take a tumble.

Friedman is as lavish in his hospitality to musicians as in his admiration for them. After a hard session in the studio, he might take all 49 members of the band to dinner. Back at his Fort Lauderdale home, he has been known to fly in combos from New York to play the night away--with his music.

All of which is trifling compared with his gesture in 1968, when he paid Billy May $40,000 to arrange 47 of his songs for such combinations as concert band, marching band, men's glee club, women's glee club and brass ensemble --then presented the whole package of sheet music to Ohio State University. "There's nothing cheap about Mr. Friedman," says May. "When in doubt, add more. He's really a sweet guy."

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