STORY TIME WITH MIKE DUNGAN

me and my best friend Glenn Lindahl. We probably sold more music than anyone in Cincinnati. I was 17. Then, we moved to Sight & Sound and built a monster bigger than Swallens. Some of our best customers were Bootsy Collins, Mike Reid, Joe Morgan and Ken Griffey, who always held the hands of his two boys – Craig and Ken Griffey Jr, who were about five and seven at the time. Of course, I had no idea one of them would grow up to be one of the most feared batters to ever step into the box.

I loved all music and had what some described as an old soul. Someone returned a copy of Sinatra At The Sands accompanied by Count Basie saying it was scratched. We put it on the turntable of our in-store sound system. Good god! That record boomed in the store – Sinatra at his finest. From that moment on, I became a massive fan.

Fast forward a couple of years. I’m 19, and my Sinatra obsession makes me the subject of some loving ridicule from a few of my too-cool friends. Sinatra un-retires and is bringing his tour to my hometown. I applied every bit of pressure I could as a part-time record buyer to get tickets – fifth row. Six rows in front of Johnny Bench. Yeah, I was a bit of an oddball in the room with long hair and a healthy beard. There was an empty seat beside me, right on the aisle. After the opening act, a little old bald guy sits down. “How ya doin?” “Doing good.” “Gonna be a great show, isn’t it?” “I can’t wait.” “Me too.”

Four minutes later, Sinatra jumps onstage – black tie, Nelson Riddle orchestra behind him. Oh my God. Without saying a word, the man and the band go right into it – “Come Fly With Me.” Four songs with barely a pause in between – no talking. When he finally breaks, Sinatra talks about how happy he is be there. Then