Courting the King of Romance : To Share a Moment With Englebert Humperdinck, Fans Sacrifice Cash, Gifts and Innocence

It seemed like such a simple request.

Ronny Hornstein, an unmarried nursery school teacher from Brooklyn, N.Y., said she didn’t expect a marriage proposal. Although, she had to admit, it would be the answer to her every dream. Debbie Doyle, a happily married mother of four from Burlington, N.J., said she didn’t want to change her life.

All the pair wanted, they said, was to meet Englebert Humperdinck.

And for those whose memory of the British singer ne Arnold George Dorsey melds with that of archrival Tom Jones, it wouldn’t seem like a tall order. Humperdinck hasn’t had a major hit since “After the Lovin’ ” in 1976, although he continues to cut albums.

But no. Having become one of the heirs to that vast female kingdom once dominated by Elvis Presley, he has at least 240 fan clubs nationwide, according to his publicist, each with 30 to 200 members.

‘67 Hit Bumped the Beatles

About 230 members converged last weekend on Southern California for the 20th anniversary celebration of “Release Me,” which in 1967 knocked the Beatles’ “Penny Lane” out of front running on the pop charts and indelibly printed Humperdinck--mutton-chop sideburns and all--in the minds of shy women.

So Hornstein and Doyle hired a Los Angeles outfit called “Dreams Come True.” A for-profit company modeled loosely on a nonprofit organization that grants wishes to the dying, “Dreams” offers a menu of “prearranged” dreams such as “Fly a 747 jumbo jet” (in fact, a simulator is used) and arranges customized fantasies. The meeting was set for Saturday.

Neither Doyle, Hornstein nor the company will divulge the cost of the fantasy that included two $19 tickets to local Humperdinck appearances. (The two women bought tickets to a third concert on their own). Company president John Alexander would only say, “Most customized dreams cost at least $1,000.”

Alexander, however, couldn’t make the dream come true for all seven of the members of their Englebert Humperdinck Love Boat Fan Club. Club president Jackie Cannella, in town to represent the organization at an anniversary party aboard the Queen Mary on Friday, had to wrangle a ticket to the concert on her own.

Dressing for Success

Then there was the matter of Cannella’s shoes. After spending the better part of the afternoon dressing for Saturday night’s concert, the women decided at the last moment that the white patent-leather belt that she chose to wear with her red gauze dress didn’t precisely match any of the heels she had brought for two concerts at the Universal Amphitheater and one concert at Irvine Meadows.

“You feel like you’re going on the most important date in the world,” Cannella explained good-naturedly.

Getting out of their hotel’s lobby was difficult too. Loaded down with bouquets, a sweater and a hat for their idol and trailed by a television crew and photographer, they created a stir. “Must be a wedding,” one bystander observed.

Getting to the concert wasn’t any easier. “Dreams” had mentioned a limousine. But the women ended up having to walk up a tall hill, taking care to avoid a bush that had been sprayed by skunks.

Hornstein, 34, and Doyle, 29, were almost in their front-row seats when a woman wearing a badge that identified her as a member of the “Just The Way You Are” Fan Club planted herself in their path.

She glared at the hat that Doyle hoped her idol would take from her during his last number. “He doesn’t do that anymore,” the woman taunted.

But for the pair who marched through the ‘80s resolutely oblivious to Michael Jackson, Prince and Sting, no sacrifice is too great for the singer also known for the 1967 hit “There Goes My Everything.”

Hornstein, a serious woman who dresses sensibly, estimates she has already attended 25 concerts this year and expects to attend another 25 before year’s end, for a career total in the neighborhood of 100. Still living with her parents to keep down expenses, she also lavishes him with gifts.

Doyle, who resembles a grown-up cheerleader, says she manages to make “only 12 or so” concerts a year. She says she would attend more but she doesn’t want to “push it” with her husband of eight years, Michael.

No concert is too distant. Each show gets a new outfit.

Doyle once baked him 42 pounds of cookies. Their fan club helped raise $3,500 for one of his favorite charities.

Doyle’s affection even extends to her third born. “When she was 4 years old, Lindsay was hit by a car and knocked unconscious,” Doyle said. “When she came to, she asked for me, my husband and Englebert Humperdinck. . . . All my children like him, but Lindsay is one of us .”

A drum roll and strains of “Welcome to My World” announced Humperdinck, who flew on stage in a white tuxedo and boots, his pelvis gyrating like a U-joint.

Two scantily clad dancers relieved him of his coat and tie. He unbuttoned his shimmery, synthetic shirt to reveal a large, gold crucifix.

His hair, which hung down to his shoulders, appeared to be on the last leg of a permanent. His mustache and eyebrows looked darker than his hair.

“Not bad for 51,” Doyle remarked approvingly.

She voicelessly mouthed the words to every song, rising ever so slightly from her seat whenever Humperdinck doubled over under the weight of a high note. “I just love it when he scrunches like that,” she said.

Hornstein, meanwhile, gently swayed to the music, a dreamy far-off look in her eyes. Cannella, one row behind, shrieked approval. A song with a refrain that ran “Bumpty, bump, bumpy,” for instance, elicited an enthusiastic “Yow!”

Volunteer Sought

Midway through the show, Humperdinck asked for a volunteer from the audience. Doyle stood up and waved her hand madly, but the singer’s eyes settled on a younger woman in a black midriff T-shirt and tight skirt.

Hoisting her onto a stool situated center stage, he burst into “Great Balls of Fire.” The performer opened his shirt even farther and invited her to rub his chest, which glistened with sweat.

Doyle clutched at her heart and, twisting around in her seat, shot a significant look at Cannella. “You relive it each time,” she explained.

Another exciting moment came toward the end of a lively rendering of “There Goes My Everything.” The star’s orbit wound within arm’s length of the front row. A storm of bouquets rained stage left.

As the singer stooped to gather the flowers, a motherly woman with her hair in a bun bolted from nowhere, shrieking and reaching for his leg.

“Please have this,” she begged, holding out a single blue rose. “Please, please have this.”

After the concert, the women refreshed their makeup and headed backstage. Hornstein clutched her purse. It contained smelling salts. “I’ve fainted before,” she said darkly.

An awkward 10 minutes followed as the pair stood on the threshold of a sliding glass door. A lively party roared within. Fans, eager for a look, pushed from behind.

“My daughter stood here for an hour waiting for Madonna,” a tall, heavy-set woman told them. “Then someone came out, and said, ‘What are you doing here? She’s home asleep.’ ”

Their faces dropped.

Suddenly, an arm waved to them from the crowd, and they sailed past a throng of jealous fans. “They’re not even from his generation,” one objected loudly.

Close to 11:30, approximately 1 1/2 hours after his concert ended, Humperdinck emerged from his dressing room and took his place between the two women. They thanked him for living and breathing. They gave him gifts.

Then he bundled them in his arms, giving Hornstein a quick peck and lingering longer on Doyle. Her knees buckled, but, she later said, his hand caught her by the waist.

Mood Lingers On

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, Humperdinck was gone, leaving behind ripped wrapping paper and two bouquets. Hornstein stood transfixed, her jaw slightly open. Doyle propped herself against a wall.

“I can smell him all over me,” she said, drawing her hands to her face. Hornstein nodded: “Pino Silvestre.”

“Let’s go,” Cannella said. “I want to get something to eat before everything closes.”

The pair acknowledged that they hadn’t eaten all day, but they wouldn’t budge. They had to get one more glimpse.

Cannella protested. She said her feet hurt. The temperature dropped, and Doyle’s teeth chattered. Humperdinck’s crew filed by with flower arrangements the size of small children. And still the women waited, periodically checking to see that Humperdinck had not been spirited away in a Rolls-Royce parked behind the theater.

“You think we’re crazy, don’t you?” Doyle asked.

“A lot of people do,” said Hornstein. “But we don’t care--it’s a lot of fun.”

“This,” said Cannella, producing a photograph of her 40 pounds heavier, “is what Englebert Humperdinck can do for a person . . . . The more I see him, the more I lose.”

At 1:49 a.m. the King of Romance emerged one more time from his dressing room. Again, he dished out kisses, then he asked Doyle if she wanted more children.

Though earlier in the evening the mother of four had talked of having “closed down shop,” she looked as though her mind could be changed.

Then he was gone.

“What a letdown,” Hornstein moaned. “You plan a long time, and then it’s over.”

They tackled the hill in silence. But when they approached the skunks’ warren, Cannella turned on the tape recorder she had sneaked into the concert. “Bumpty, bump, bumpy,” a familiar voice wailed.

Hornstein perked up: “There’s Irvine tomorrow night. The Garden State Art Center in July, and Brown’s Hotel in August.”

She proceeded to tick off appearances in five more locations through December.

“There are rumors he may go to Hawaii,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see Hawaii.”