I'll never smile again
Until I smile at you;
I'll never laugh again,
What good would it do?
For tears would fill my eyes,
My heart wouldrealize
That our romance is through.*
These rhymes were not written in Tin Pan Alley's crocodile tears. When her husband died last summer, grief-stricken, 24-year-old Ruth Lowe meant every word.
She could not help giving her song a professional veneer; for eight years she had drudged along at a keyboard, plugging pop tunes in music shops, accompanying Canadian crooners over radio hookups, playing in the all-girl band of curvaceous Ina Ray Hutton. An insatiable itch to scribble notes...
