Till I Waltz Again With You

It was sometime in the early 90s, for me a typical Sunday of early evening piano at the Cavalier Restaurant in Jackson Heights -- old songs, at an old piano, for an old audience.

Presently a non-descript-looking gentleman, perhaps in his mid-sixties, wearing a ratty gray jacket, appeared at the piano, asking me to play “his song”. And What Song is That, I asked.

“Till I Waltz Again With You” he said, and I apologized for not knowing it. Not only could I not play it, I had no clue how it went, and had never even seen the title in print. This was an uncomfortable situation because….

….this man was the AUTHOR of “Till I Waltz Again With You”. His name was Sid Prosen, and he went on to say that his song was a #1 hit for Theresa Brewer, and any competent piano man should know it. He wasn’t angry, but a tad condescending, and I instantly disliked him.

I said something like OK I’ll research the song, and Is There Something Else I Could Play For You Instead, Sir? But he had no second choice, and I went home that evening dismissing the incident, thinking that this Mr. Prosen, whoever he was with his ratty gray jacket, would hopefully not turn up again.

But turn up again he did, a few weeks later. This time I had no excuse for not knowing “Till I Waltz Again With You”, and his condescension was double. I swore I’d learn it very soon.

My day job at ASCAP did have some good research avenues, and the next day I listened to the original Theresa Brewer recording. It turned out that Mr. Prosen was on the level -- “Till I Waltz Again With You” was indeed #1 on the Billboard charts on 1952, for quite a few weeks. I had considered myself very knowledgeable on 1950s #1 songs, and was fascinated that this song had done such a disappearing act. Ironically, the tune was not a waltz, but rather a moderate shuffle beat, quite easy to play on a piano. It was as simple as Yankee Doodle, and it was the ONLY thing Mr. Prosen ever wrote that went anywhere.

I was reminded of the movie “Amadeus”, which featured a mediocre 18^th century Classical composer, named Salieri. He lived long enough to see all of his music go completely into oblivion, while the divinely-inspired works of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart steadily increased in popularity long after his untimely demise. Here in the 20^th century, Sid Prosen’s One Big Tune was only 40 years in the past, but this point the only person who seemed to remember it was Sid himself.

I learned the tune in no time, and was delighted and ready to “make Sid’s Day” (maybe even get him to throw a buck into the tip jar?) when he walked in a few weeks later. I teased him, made him wait while he dined, once again alone, once again in the ratty gray jacket. Of course he finally approached the piano, and I proudly gave him a knowing smile as I played the first few bars.

Sid smiled, sang along with his own tune, waved his arms in the air like a conductor. Then he walked from table to table, saying “that’s my song” to anyone who would listen. I was happy that Sid could strut and brag, but I was a little sad that he felt the need to.

This little friendship of piano man and “hit composer” lasted a few more months, but eventually he stopped showing up. Many years later he came to mind, and I did some sleuthing. He had in fact, passed away a few years after I last saw him, and his meager airplay royalties were going to some small publishing company.

I wish I had spoken to him more. Perhaps there was more to his story. But I blew the chance, assuming that he’d keep showing up. As it stands now, this is the brief story of a man whose biggest showbiz triumph happened when he was a very young man, a triumph he would cling to for the rest of his life. At least that’s how it appears, in the eyes and ears of this piano player, who just might be the last piano player on earth to perform “Till I Waltz Again With You”