Many Tears Ago, Her Angel Left

I don’t know what it is, but I must have some kind of guardian angel who watches over me. It must be, because nothing bad ever happens to me.

--Connie Francis, from an interview with a fan magazine in 1958

If only that angel had stuck around a little longer . . .

Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero could craft a life composed of if onlys. But the ill-fated singer--dubbed “Connie Francis” early on by “Talent Scout Show” host Arthur Godfrey--has decided yet again that enough is not enough. Now 52, she is back on tour in the most recent of several comeback attempts; this one will bring her to the Celebrity Theatre in Anaheim tonight.

Last summer, when she performed at a Massachusetts theater, vestiges of the once immensely popular singer still remained, but decades of heartbreak, health problems and mental instability had undeniably taken their toll.

But before one can understand what Francis has become, one needs to know where she has been.

It was at age 3 that Concetta, of Newark, N.J., set single-mindedly upon the path of becoming a performer. Her overbearing, fame-hungry father strapped an accordion to her shoulders and began the tutelage that he hoped would catapult her to stardom. Then came the voice--the one that every girl with a heartache thought went out to her alone.

“The tears I’ve cried for you could fill an ocean,” this voice nasally intoned. “But you don’t care how many tears I cry. And though you only lead me on and hurt me, I couldn’t bring myself to say goodby.”

Sappy lyrics and sentiments that set women’s lib back nearly a glacial age. But reason has nothing in common with the whirlwind of adolescent emotion known as puppy love. If we could harness it, we wouldn’t need Kuwait.

Something in Francis’ voice tapped into that wellspring. Beyond the saccharine verse and commercially crafted rhythms, her torch songs were the musical equivalent of crying with a roommate. As with a Barbra Streisand or a Brenda Lee, you felt Francis’ voice more than you actually heard it. And in Francis’ case, the songs were eminently singable for any girl/woman with limited range and half a mind to commiserate.

As a singer in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, she ruled the pop charts, racking up 16 gold records and a list of awards that included five “Best Female Vocalist” titles on Dick Clark’s “American Bandstand.”

Beginning with “Who’s Sorry Now?” in 1958, her string of hits included “My Happiness,” “Lipstick on Your Collar,” “Among My Souvenirs,” “Mama,” “Jealous of You,” “Many Tears Ago,” “Stupid Cupid” and “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool.” At the height of her career, she received 5,000 fan letters a week.

Francis is perhaps best remembered for the song and movie that immortalized Fort Lauderdale, Fla., as a mecca for spring-break libidos from across the nation. “Where the Boys Are” was a typical teen romp in an age when Hollywood thought romping was twisting (upright) on the beach and relationships were timid question marks in the sand. The one girl in the movie who did not abide by the propaganda of the times--opting instead for the fast track and the fast guys--wound up being raped and, the implication was eminently clear, forever scarred.

That girl wasn’t the character that Francis played, but the singer/actress would come to understand the girl’s plight better than most. In 1974, Francis was beaten and raped in a New York motel room after an appearance at the Westbury Music Fair.

It wasn’t the first tragedy she had suffered--far from it, in fact--but it was an enormous blow for the voice that once roared.

According to Francis’ 1984 autobiography “Who’s Sorry Now?” (St. Martin’s Press), heartbreak had begun early when her father effectively nipped a budding romance with her first and only true love, singer Bobby Darin. (It was after one gun-wielding tirade by Francis’ papa, so the story goes, that Darin’s instincts of self-preservation compelled him to marry actress Sandra Dee.)

In 1967, Francis’ “Aunt” Rose--a close friend whose name the Roman Catholic singer took at Confirmation--was strangled and bludgeoned to death in her home. That same year, an operation to narrow the singer’s nose resulted in a condition that made it impossible for her to sing in air-conditioned rooms.

There were two failed marriages (one to an alcoholic who beat her), one miscarriage and a nervous breakdown before the terror of her night in Westbury ever happened. After the rape, things got only worse and worse.

In 1977 Francis underwent nasal surgery to correct her problems with air-conditioning. Instead, she lost her voice entirely. It would be several years and three more surgeries before she would sing again.

Meanwhile, her third marriage collapsed, and she suffered another miscarriage. Then, perhaps the most crushing blow of all: Her only sibling, George, was murdered gangland style in the driveway of his New Jersey home in 1981.

A manic-depressive Francis bounced in and out of psychiatric hospitals, reportedly committed by concerned parties ranging from her father to friend and mentor Dick Clark.

That night in Massachusetts last summer, a familiar nasal power rose through the theater in the opening number. But any fan’s delight proved a bit premature. The weight of the years was brutally evident, even in Francis’ speaking voice, which quivered with raspy breathlessness. Her manner on the stage was surprisingly gruff, even beyond the Italian temperament that is her acknowledged pride and joy.

Still, in a show that lasted more than two hours (with intermission) and ranged from early hits and vintage film clips to ethnic favorites and a Judy Garland tribute, Francis--one leg in a cast, the result of a “very minor accident” at the outset of that tour--elicited several standing ovations from a capacity crowd of more than 2,000 people.

It apparently didn’t matter to them that her voice had lost much of its seamless execution, or that it shook and wavered when asked to sustain a note for any length of time. It didn’t even matter that the notes delivered weren’t always on key.

Connie Francis was back and, for many, that was all that counted.

Connie Francis sings tonight at 8 at the Celebrity Theatre, 201 E. Broadway, Anaheim. Tickets: $27. Information: (714) 999-9536.