A Happy Little Blighter

When I first meet Gerry Robinson he is carrying a guitar. Even before we can shake hands, he strikes a note, flashes a blinding smile and sings, “Al Martinez is a very good wri-ter and no doubt a happy little bligh-ter.” Then he says, still smiling, “What is it you write?”

We are in the middle of a busy television studio and I am not expecting anyone to suddenly jump in my face and start singing. I feel as if a fly has just landed on my nose.

Also, how can the guy say I’m a very good writer when he doesn’t know what I write? And even if I am a pretty good writer, I am sure as hell no happy little blighter.

Nevertheless, I am intrigued enough by Robinson to ask, with some hesitation, what it is he does. I asked that of a murder suspect once and he replied, “I kill people.” Actually, he was a plumber, but he killed people on the side. A plumber-killer.

Robinson says: “You could say Gerry is the fastest song-writer in the world. You could say Gerry makes people feel good.”

I haven’t quite caught his first name and think he is talking about someone else.

“No,” I say, “what do you do?”

This perplexes him, and the megawatt smile dims slightly.

“That’s it,” he says. “Gerry writes songs. He’s an instant song-maker.”

I suddenly realize, My God, he is talking about himself in the third person! Does Martinez have a column here or what?

Robinson, as it turns out, not only writes instant personalized songs about anyone who happens to be around, but also composes motivational music for businesses like the May Co.

They are happy, bouncy little tunes often piped through the store before it opens. Their lyrics admonish the company’s employees to be proud, friendly and . . . well . . . perky.

“It pumps ‘em up,” Robinson says eagerly. “It gives ‘em spirit.”

As an instant song-maker, he performs at conventions and celebrity parties. A promotional brochure includes photographs of him with people like Bob Hope and Ronald Reagan.

“Those are just some of the celebrities Gerry has strolled for,” he says. He sees himself as a strolling troubadour. “Don Rickles is another. You can say Gerry has roasted a roaster.”

The brochure says, “Call me, I’ll make up a song for you right on the phone!” It lists testimonials from those who have hired him, including this modest tribute from State Farm’s Dal Eisenbraun: “No end of fun.”

“That’s pretty good,” I say, studying the brochure.

Quick as a striking cobra, Robinson sings, “Martinez says it’s pretty good and he ain’t playin’ Hol-ly-wood.”

“Gerry doesn’t talk,” he says cheerfully. “Gerry sings.”

We are in his Marina del Rey apartment a few days after our initial meeting. Robinson is a small, compact man of 38 who combines the ebullience of a chipmunk with the smile of a game show host.

He began making up songs on the toilet at about age 12, he says, while his mother shouted “What’s going on in there?” from another room.

It was a long trip from the toilet to the spotlight, but Robinson made it. Now his favorite place to make up songs is in bed. A bachelor, he occasionally hosts overnight guests of the opposite sex.

“Sometimes after making love,” he says, “Gerry feels so good he sings!”

But, hey, wait. It isn’t just singing sex Robinson wants to be famous for. Think of him as a Master of Motivational Music.

“Made-up songs are gone in two minutes,” he says, speaking through his smile. The man is all teeth. “But motivational music is forever.”

He plays a tape of the tune he and colleague Steve Duboff wrote for First Federal Savings & Loan. You could polka to it. “At First Fed-er-al we’re proud to say the best is yet to come, yes, the best is yet to come . . .”

As the music plays, Robinson lifts a finger to indicate a No. 1 standing and pumps it up and down to the beat.

He is wearing an electric blue polo shirt, blue jeans and shiny black jodhpur boots. There is something about him that reminds me of a manager I had when I sold men’s clothes for J.C. Penney.

He would gather us together just before the store opened and do a retail version of Knute Rockne. Win this one for men’s apparel. Afterward, we prayed.

I ask Robinson to make up a song about the L.A. by God Times. He does, but can’t think of anything that rhymes with Metro, which is the department I work for.

It’s just as well. We’d probably have to sing it every morning and Martinez can’t take perky tunes in the workplace.

He’s a fussy little blighter.