NIXON'S THE ONE
The Story Behind The Song
by Vic Caesar

It was in April of 1968, a typically bright and sunny day in Phoenix, Arizona, the kind of day everyone hopes for if you happen to be from back East. April is the best time to visit Phoenix, and if you should spot a cloud in the sky, consider it another rotten day in paradise. At that point in time I was part owner of a beautiful and exciting supper club in Phoenix, Caesar's Forum, at 4041 N. Central Avenue. It had a seating capacity of about three hundred, plus it featured excellent food, service, and more importantly, great entertainment.

One afternoon, my wife Cheri accompanied me to the club where I was to attend a meeting with my business partner, Owen Smith, regarding future bookings of other acts to be appearing at the Forum. We had already featured the great Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, followed by the equally great Count Basie and his Orchestra. Scheduled to appear next was a personal favorite of mine, the legendary jazz guitarist, Wes Montgomery. That afternoon, sitting at his favorite table was the chief counsel for our club, Richard Kleindienst, who later went on to become Attorney General of the United States with the Nixon administration. One of the nicest men I've ever known, Richard had a way about him that made strangers feel as if they'd known him all their lives. He motioned for Cheri and me to join him at his table, and during the course of conversation he informed me that Richard Nixon would be coming to Phoenix on May 29th to announce "throwing his hat in the ring" for President of the United States of America. The announcement would be made at Del Webb's Towne House, a magnificent hotel in the downtown central corridor of Phoenix. He asked me if I'd be interested in doing a performance with my band on that evening which was being hosted by the prestigious Arizona Trunk and Tusk Club. I said I'd be happy to, and asked Richard if he knew what Nixon's campaign slogan would be. "I might write a jingle for the occasion." "Nixon's The One," he replied.

The Towne House was located directly across the street from the Forum. I thought we would do a few numbers and return to the club in time for my eight o'clock show, but let's jump ahead to the 27th of May, an easy date for me to remember, my birthday. I came home after doing two shows at the club that evening. Our daughter, Julia Cielo Babaji Cesario, was just about two years old and waiting up for some playtime with dad. I felt like the luckiest man who ever lived. I was blessed with having a loving wife, and beautiful daughter, a home, and a very successful club. (A ten day advance reservation was required.) Add to that, a gracious partner, a band to be proud of, and a combination of some wonderful friends. In fact, everything was going so great, I kept thinking what could possibly top this? A song from the movie "The Sound Of Music" kept going through my head at that time, "Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."

On the evening of the 28th of May, as I was getting ready for bed after spending some daily playtime with the Baj, Cheri turned to me and asked, "Where do you think you're going?" I replied somewhat quizzically, "Bed?" Her response was, "Oh no you're not! You promised Richard you'd write a Nixon campaign jingle for the show tomorrow night. Remember?" "Tomorrow," I replied, "I'll do it tomorrow," remembering my somewhat busy schedule, rehearsing the band, taking care of business, etc... "You promised," she chided. "You're not going back on your word to Richard are you?," she asked while pointing her decisive finger at me. I might also say that Cheri is the kind of person who'll hold you to your word. I agreed to do it and she started to leave the room. "Where're you going?" I asked as she begins heading in the direction of our bedroom. "To bed, of course," she replied. To this day, I can still hear her giggling as she left me sitting at the piano with a blank sheet of paper staring me in the face at 3 o'clock in the morning.

That's how the song had it's beginnings, simple as the Good Lord intended it, but with a measure of warmth and humor. It might also be worth remembering that Mr. Nixon had made a bid for the Governorship in California, and lost to Edmund Brown. So you can readily imagine what "dark horse" Nixon's odds were in his race for the presidency. I remember some people saying, "He doesn't have a chance."

On the evening of the 29th of May, the band and I showed up at the Towne House. No one mentioned that I was to share the program with another singer and his accompanist. When we arrived they were already performing, so the band and I sought refuge in the kitchen. You know the kind of kitchen - huge. The kind that caters to a grand ballroom. A kitchen with those huge swinging doors where waiters come flying in and out carrying food for about three thousand people. Well, as the singer was winding up his last song, it occurred to me that the song he was singing, "The Impossible Dream," wouldn't be what one might consider the hit of the evening. When he finally finished the song, he walked directly toward me, all the while sweating profusely and repeating to himself, "I think I sang the wrong song." I looked at him and said rather compassionately, "Not a very good choice." Considering a man is about to throw his hat into the ring for the highest office in the land, one would at least prepare the program of music accordingly.

Now it was our turn to perform, and as I was walking into the grand ballroom, I scanned a sea of faces accompanied by a very loud bussing noise that came from the crowd. I knew we were going to have one hell of a time settling this crowd down, but we did our thing, playing and singing, and nothing was happening. It was as though no one was listening, nor wanting to. We did another song, and still nothing. They were still talking about the choice of song performed by the other singer. I looked over to Danny Long, my musical director, and said, "Let's do it." He readily agreed, as did the rest of the band. I made a short announcement about the song over the microphone, and it sounded like a scene from the movie "Pride of the Yankees" - the scene where Gary Cooper is giving Lou Gehrig's farewell speech in Yankee Stadium about being the "luckiest man on earth." That should give you an idea about the sound system as it reverberated throughout the great hall.

We began to sing and play, "Nixon's The One." Slowly but surely, the crowd began to come around, and before we could sing another verse, everyone, but everyone, was on their feet singling it with us. Our guitar player, Joe D'Orio, told me quite prophetically, "You made history tonight, Victor." It was sheer and delightful pandemonium! I looked over to the dais where Mr. Nixon was sitting to get a reaction, and I watched as his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Nixon, caught up with the crowd's enthusiasm, jumped to his feet, ran across that great empty expanse of dance floor between the dais and the stage narrowly missing waiters as they were exiting the kitchen with their trays of coffee and desserts, and then proceeded to jump onto the stage with us. He was alive. He was ecstatic.

He grabbed my arm, raised it high into the air with that victory salute he and President Eisenhower should have patented, and began saying to me in a loud yet excited voice, "By gosh, it's like a revival!" I agreed and told him I wrote the song based loosely on "Bringing in the Sheaves." He smiled. I think he liked that. Then he bounced back with, "You know, I play the piano." I responded with, "Good. If things don't go well for you in November, give me a call. I can use a piano player with a big name." Well, he roared at that one, and that's when I came to realize that this guy had a sense of humor. He turned to an aid who had escorted him onstage and said, "I want his name, address, and phone number."

All the while, the ballroom was jumping wildly. Even the waiters were singing. It was one of those magical moments never to be forgotten by anyone who was there. When it was finally over, I stayed behind to catch a bit of his speech. He was beaming throughout his speech, and at one point spotted me off to the side and said, "Contrary to the song the gentleman sang before Vic Caesar came along with his moving campaign song, this is NOT the impossible dream. Nixon is the ONE! I can win, and I will win!" The crowd roared, and so did I.

That same evening at the club, a few of the reporters who were covering Mr. Nixon, and some Nixonettes came by. They insisted we play it again. We did, and a conga line was formed on the dance floor led by our Arizona Republican Committee Chairman, Frank Middleton.

Later, I was to learn that the song would be sung to Nixon wherever he went, on the plane, in elevators, etc... Little did I realize what a ride that little song that took me twenty minutes to write would eventually take me on. It was at the last rally, in Buffalo, New York, shortly before the election itself that Mr. Nixon pulled me aside and said, "Vic, do you know that song has only seven words in it?" "Lucky seven," he smiled. I wrote that song, and I didn't know how many words were written. Yet, with all that must have been going on in his mind at that time in history, he took the time to figure that out. I was told by someone close to him that he never left a stone unturned.

It was at the Memorial Auditorium in Buffalo, New York, that something very strange and personal happened to me with the future president. It was shortly after finishing his speech for about 25,000 people when he walked directly over to me while waving his hands to the crowd, and saying loudly over the din of the crowd, "One hell of a bunch, eh Vic?" The next thing I knew, and to this day I can't explain why, I looked directly in his eyes and said with as much seriousness as I could muster, "Do for the young men in Vietnam what you and the General did for me in Korea. End it." He looked me in the eyes, and without as much as a blink said in a flash, "I will do the very best I can to end it, Vic. I believe it to be an unjust war." That was the first time I ever heard the phrase "unjust war" regarding the conflict in Vietnam, and it came from him. Now it seems fashionable for everyone to write a book about the "unjustness" of the Vietnam war.

Slowly he began moving away from me, glancing over his shoulder, giving me a knowing wink, and a smile while proceeding to greet other people on stage, shaking hands before disappearing into the crowd. The next morning, the Buffalo newspaper referred to me as, "A purpled-suited singer out of Las Vegas." The purple suit I was wearing was cut in the fashion of the day. It had a Nehru collar, and Nixon commented on that to me. He asked if what I was wearing was called a Nehru jacket. I answered affirmatively, and shortly afterward I remember reading in the LA Times a small item stating, "Nixon sports Nehru jacket." I smiled. He knew what he was doing, and he was a master at it. He reached out to the younger generation in an attempt to heal the generation gap. He also made a guest appearance on the hit comedy show, Laugh-In," which starred Rowan and Martin, where he said his now famous, "Sock it to me." This was truly his time. Time and Nixon finally meet.

My supper club came to it's own conclusion in Phoenix, and Cheri, Baj, and I moved to Las Vegas where I was to appear at the Flamingo Hotel for eight months. After that engagement, we moved to Los Angeles where I was scheduled to perform at the Playboy Club on Sunset Boulevard.

It is now January 16th, 1969, just four days before President Nixon's inauguration. A young brash comedian who was also appearing at the Playboy Club, and who obviously didn't like Nixon, said to me facetiously, "How about that? You wrote his campaign song and he didn't even send you an invitation to his inaugural ball." I paid no heed to the remark, but the very next afternoon, a Thursday, I received a call from Harvey Shotz of the Ashley Famous Theatrical Agency in Beverly Hills. Harvey sounded very excited and said, "The White House has been looking for you. You're a hard guy to find. Stay by your phone. They need to speak to you, and for Pete's sake, don't tie up the phone." Sure enough, the phone rang. It was the White House. A man by the name of Bob Haldeman said, "the President-elect has been looking for you." Mr. Nixon is in Puerto Rico and he had just called to say, "I will not attend the inauguration if Vic Caesar isn't there to share it with me." Bob continued, "You'll come?" I replied, "With bells on," and then I added, "Thank the President-elect for the wonderful gesture."

I was sporting the largest grin I ever wore. Cheri and a dear friend, comedian Simmy Bow, who was visiting us that afternoon, were both listening in on our extension telephones, and they were as thrilled as I was. The agent then added that all the arrangements for the trip would be handled through the Ashley Famous Agency, plane tickets for the band, instruments, accommodations, ground transportation, etc... A telegram would serve as confirmation.

That evening at the Playboy Club where I was performing, word had gotten out that we were going to Washington, D.C. to personally perform for the President. I saw neither hide nor hair of that comedian that night. Perhaps he may have fallen ill eating crow. That same evening, two friends of mine, Jo Jo D'Amore, and Sally Marr, Lenny Bruce's mother, came to the Playboy Club at the tail end of my show and excitedly said, "Vic, you're on the Carson show." I looked around the room, "How could I be on the Carson show when I've been here all night?" "No," they continued, "Ed McMahon announced that if anyone knows the whereabouts of a singer named Vic Caesar, they are to call him at NBC." It soon became apparent that no one informed Ed McMahon, who was Chairman of the Committee for the Entertainment of the Inauguration, that I had been found.

To say it was an unforgettable day would be a gross understatement, but wait, the story gets even better. I asked the White House aide if he wanted me and my band to wear tuxedos for the event. He said to wear what we were wearing the night we introduced the song to Mr. Nixon. Now that might prove interesting, I thought. We were all wearing our hair very long in those days and our clothes were of the hippie type fashion; jeans, beads, headgear, etc... I asked him again, "Are you sure?" He replied, "I'm positive. Don't change a thing." That Friday, I received a telegram with instructions as to who to see and what to do when we got to D.C. The inauguration was on a Monday, the 20th, and we were directed to stay at the Holiday Inn in Roselyn, Virginia, and scheduled to perform at the Sheraton Park Hotel in Maryland. Believe me, we looked anything but conservative.

Can you imagine what it must have been like to get a room during inauguration week? How about six individual suites? I wanted the original band that played the song in Phoenix to perform it in D.C. Most of us were scattered throughout the country, but I did manage to get the corps of us together. We were all given first class round trip airfare, and upon our arrival in D.C., a limousine and a station wagon with drivers were waiting for us right there on the apron. All the musical instruments I requested were in the West Virginia Room at the Sheraton Park Hotel. I was instructed, according to the telegram, to report to a Secret Service agent in the grand ballroom of the hotel. I brought along the telegram and Ray Cork, Jr. Ray played bass guitar in the band, and Ray was also dressed in the style of those days. Ray had a somewhat Lincolnesque look about him with the exception of very thick black sideburns, John Lennon type glasses, and colorful beads around his neck.

Together, we casually strolled into the grand ballroom, while everyone was giving us a once over, in search of the Secret Service agent, and we found him. The agent was wearing a very formal black tuxedo with tails. He took one long look at Ray, and another at me, and then said in a bewildered, yet angry tone, "How in hell did you guys get in here?" One could cut the animosity of his voice with a butter knife as he once again looked us over. Even the air around him was permeated with it. You could see that it wasn't going to be one of his better days. Ray continues, "He's Vic Caesar, and he was personally invited to be here by the President of the United States. Personally," he adds. Ray was not about to be intimidated by anyone. One of the reasons I brought him along with me in search of the agent. The agent then repeated his question, but in a somewhat gentler, and slightly exasperated tone, "How did you guys get in here?" Before I could respond, Ray quickly said, "Easy, we walked in through the front door." The agent replied, "You did WHAT? The front - WHAT?"

He immediately pulled his walkie-talkie out from his hip pocket and screamed to someone on the other end of the device saying something like, "Who the **** is watching the front door? Do you know that a bunch of hippies walked right in through the front door?" He was yelling at this point. I finally spoke, and added, "With instruments." That seemed to infuriate him even further.

I was to learn later that many of the hotel's employees, some of whom had been working at the Sheraton Park for thirty years or more, were being held up at the employees entrance for hours waiting for their security clearance, and here we just up and walked right in through the front door. So much can be said about security. The Sammy Kaye Orchestra was also held up for three hours that evening. As I previously stated, we were scheduled to appear in the West Virginia Room at the Sheraton Park Hotel. The room is a very large banquet hall with no stage nor lighting. In fact, it was nothing but four walls and carpeting. In a far corner of the room, I could see all the instruments I had requested. There were two wet bars, one placed at each end of the room. We set up our instruments in preparation to play, and waited. We played a few songs to relieve our boredom, and it seemed as though no one would be coming into our room. It was apparent to everyone that the action was going to be in the main ballroom where the new President would appear along with Bobby Vinton and the Sammy Kaye Band. Or so we thought.

People stuck their heads in the door of our room, and I overheard one of them say, "Hey, this band's great, let's tell our friends." Well, we were certainly the musical opposite of what was happening in the main ballroom. We played with a more contemporary jazz-rock feel of the day. Suddenly, as if like magic, the room was filled to capacity. At one point in the evening, I couldn't see what all the commotion was at the back of the room, but I could certainly hear it. The crowd directly in front of me started to spread out. They were parting like one giant wave, each going opposite to the other. It was almost biblical. Coming toward us was not only the new President of the United States, Richard Milhous Nixon, but with an entourage the likes of which I had never seen before nor since. With the President was his new Vice President, Spiro Agnew, Senator Jacob Javits of New York, Nelson Rockefeller, Ronald Reagan, Senator Barry Goldwater from my State of Arizona, and Senator Bob Dole of Kansas. There was also Dr. Henry Kissinger, and a host of other senators, congressmen, news people, and television people with cameras, light, etc... In fact, someone in the band called out from behind me, "Here comes the power, Vic, and they're coming at you!" The President approached me with his arms extended, and gave me one of his now famous bear hugs, saying quietly in my ear, "You're one hell of a guy to get a hold of!" Before I could respond, he held me out at arms length and added with a beaming smile, "Well, Vic, we did it!," he said loudly so everyone could hear. "You and your song played a great part in the two of us being here today." He aimed that statement at the myriad of reporters armed with pads and pens. "I want you to know that," he continued. All I could think of saying was, "Thank you Mr. President. It's an honor for me and my band to be here today, and thank you for asking us to be with you and to share your victory." One of the few times in my life I was at a loss for words, and I come up with a cliche, but somehow I felt that he knew what I was feeling. At that moment, a Secret Service agent quietly came up to him and said, "Mr. President, we must leave, this is an unscheduled stop." He looked at the agent, and with a mixed expression as if to say, "I'd like to stay here," but agreed with the agent, and nodded, "Right, right, we'll leave now." The President then gave one more farewell to the band, a final look at me, and once again disappeared into the crowd.

Although most of the band members were Democrats, you could see the immense pride in their faces as they beamed right back at the new President. I think a few converts were born that day. Myself among them.

That evening, I couldn't help but reflect back to that night at Del Webb's Towne House when that singer sang, "The Impossible Dream." I just witnessed a very memorable moment with a very happy man who went chasing after a dream, and caught it, because in his heart of hearts he knew it was not an impossible dream. And, if you stop and think about it, all dreams can come true if you want them bad enough. A young man born in a home in Whittier, California, and another born in the second floor rear apartment at 830 South Miller Street in Chicago, and somewhere in the great scheme of things, their paths crossed in Arizona, sharing a moment in time in our nation's capitol. Indeed, all things are possible.



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