Then one foggy Christmas Eve: remembering Johnny Marks

This is Johnny Marks’ time of year.

From the upper reaches of the North Pole to the shores of the Orient, boys and girls gather to celebrate the season and sing Marks’ songs.

I was in high school and working my first real job when I got to know Marks. And although nearly 20 years have come and gone since Marks passed away, he will be forever remembered for his accomplishments that one day in 1947.

The then-aspiring songwriter sat down at a piano and banged out seven notes to match the syllables of the poem ‘Ru-dolph the Red-nosed Rein-deer.’ Marks’ actions on that day guaranteed that he and Santa’s beaming navigator would go down in his-to-ry.

Marks was in his early 70s when I first met him. He was a regular customer where I worked -
in a smoke shop/magazine store in Manhattan.

Shaped like a long, thin shoebox, the store sat on a northeast corner of a Greenwich Village street. And small as it was, every inch of the joint was packed with eclectic periodicals,
from high fashion to underground fetishes that reflected the diverse tastes of the Village.

This was a neighborhood where Oscar Wilde had lived in the 19th century;
where the radical Weathermen group accidentally blew themselves up in the early 1970s; where the smallest cemetery in all of Manhattan held Spanish and Portuguese markers
from 1805.

Artists, musicians and models whose images would stare back from the covers of the magazines were among the regulars. Occasionally, you would spot Cher, leafing through a copy of Billboard magazine, Elizabeth Taylor glancing at the glossy magazine covers, Lou Reed reading about motorcycles.

Cramped as it was, the shop had a small space allotted for a coffin-sized humidor. This was filled with dark, leaf-wrapped stogies labeled with south-of-the-border names.

Johnny Marks, with tufts of white hair on an otherwise balding scalp, smiling and rosy-cheeked, came in for the cigars. Of all the celebrities who paraded through the narrow aisles on a daily basis, the one who provided the most awe was Johnny Marks. Celebrity fame was temporary,
fleeting. Marks was immortal.

Marks was born in November 1909 in Mount Vernon, N.Y., just north of Manhattan. He went to college at Columbia University, then headed to Paris to study music. His brother-in-law, Robert May, lived in Chicago at the time, and worked as a copywriter for Montgomery Ward.

When asked to create a Christmas character for a holiday brochure, May came up with the story of a reindeer whose bright nose made him into a hero.

After dabbling with names that ranged from Rollo to Reginald, the young copywriter decided on Rudolph, and the reindeer was born in time for the holiday season of 1939.

Marks, meanwhile, returned home and worked as a radio producer after a stint with the Army in World War II. He was approached by his brother-in-law, who introduced Marks to his fictional reindeer, Rudolph.

The reindeer was a popular figure in department store holiday brochures,
but he held higher aspirations.

In 1947, Marks reworked May’s original lyrics and set them to music. Twoyears later, Gene Autry was brought in and recorded Marks’ tune.
In 1964, NBC premiered a TV version that featured Burl Ives, and added a number of Marks-penned tunes.

Marks went on to a career as a songwriter of holiday songs. ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,’ was his. So was ‘A Holly, Jolly Christmas.’ His ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ has
sold more than 30 million copies.

The last time I saw Marks was just before his passing in 1985. He collected his cigars and,
with a rosy-cheeked smile, walked out the door, and into history.
Just like Rudolph.

by Thomas Dimopoulos
published in The Saratogian