I so vividly remember watching the Jackie Gleason show with my family as a kid. I always loved the finale when Gleason would do the Joe The Bartender sketch and Frank Fontaine’s Crazy Guggenheim would come out. (Seemed like all the boys in my grade school class watched Gleason because we’d all take a shot at impersonating his signature laugh thereby driving our supervising teachers — what else? — crazy.) The inebriated Guggenheim would tell some wacko story, get a lot of laughs and then, at Gleason’s request, sing an old-timey ballad in the most beautiful baritone around.
What always got me – even as a youngster – was watching Gleason’s face during Fontaine’s songs. It was as though he’d suspended his bartender characterization, climbed off the stage and become a rapt audience member. The sadder the song, the deeper he listened with a myriad of emotions registering on his face. And when Fontaine would finish, Gleason would lead the audience in thunderous applause stopping only to give Fontaine an enthusiastic handshake. And then Guggenheim would leave, the camera would pull back and another episode starring the Great One would shortly come to an end.