One Last Singalong

Yesterday an icon of my childhood died: Mitch Miller.



About a year ago I introduced my daughter (who'd never heard of him) to Mitch, and there were not many videos that I could show her. Now, since his death, I see a lot of closet Mitch-o-philes have come out, dragging their videos behind them.

The Times has all the requisite elegiaic info. For me, he brought back memories of my father whistling and singing along with the radio as he painted my room, and of nights in front of the TV when Dad and I would sing together, watching for the lyrics as they appeared across the bottom of the screen. In my mind he is inextricably linked to my dad, who loved him, and the happiest I ever recall him being was when he was enjoying Mitch.