Posted on: Sunday, March 6, 2005

By Bob Krauss
Advertiser Columnist

Let's spend a quiet moment in memory of our mutual friend, Martin Denny — the musician, gentleman and wit who died Wednesday night. A sure test of talent is its staying power and Martin Denny had it. His exotic music has made a comeback after 30 years. But that's not the best reason to remember him.

Martin Denny was, above all, a decent human being. He had every reason to be jealous of Arthur Lyman, his star performer who left the band to make a similar brand of music.

Lyman went to the hospital for the last time in 2002. Denny regularly visited him.

"I can say that musically Arthur was the best in the Islands and maybe in the world," said Denny. "He had a keen ear for music and a great imagination."

Martin didn't try to hog the credit. Another key member of the original group was Augie Colón, the bongo player, who died last year and who may have started the "jungle-sound and bird-call" phenomenon. Denny once remembered that they were inspired by croaking frogs outside the Shell Bar at the old Hawaiian Village where Denny's gang got together.

He credited Colón with first imitating birds and a wild boar. "He contributed so much to my career by just being part of it," Denny said.

You have to respect Martin Denny for his marriage. June was a barmaid at the sidewalk bistro where Martin was playing the piano when the jungle sounds propelled him to the Hit Parade. Theirs was a love affair that lasted until she died.

A story Martin loved to tell about himself is the way he was introduced to Hawaiian music. This was during Prohibition, about 1930. Martin was 15 years old, a precocious piano student in New York. He earned $5 playing for an Irish wake, then was hired through a small-time theatrical agent to play at a stag party for the Borden Milk Co.

Martin had never attended a stag party. He said an aging koochy-koochy dancer in a leopard skin came in and said, "Hey, kid, where's the piano player?" Martin confessed that he was. She handed him the sheet music to "On the Beach at Waikiki" and said, "Play it fast."

"I had never seen the piece but I read it at sight at a fast tempo when she went into her act," he said.

As the dancer's finale approached, Martin played

"On the Beach at Waikiki" as fast as he could. Just at the critical moment, whistles sounded and police officers burst into the room shouting, "It's a raid!"

Borden Milk Co. salesmen ran in all directions. The police handcuffed the koochy-koochy dancer. Martin remained at his post, bewildered. A big Irish cop looked at him in disbelief.

"Who the hell are you?"

"The piano player."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen," Martin lied.

"Get the hell out of here."

Martin said he never got the $5 the theatrical agent promised him and he never forgot "On the Beach at Waikiki."