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T Rhymes with P. Preston's rapid-fire recitative, backed only by orchestral chords, is a heady showstopper. Weaving in and out among the townspeople, flipping his hands, posturing like a slicker, flicking his toes as if they were Satan's tail, he sows the seeds of Trouble.
The first big step on the road to the depths of deg-re-day—I say first—medicinal wine from a teaspoon, then—beer from a bottle! And the next thing you know, your son is playin' fer money in a pinchback suit. And list'nin' to some big out-a-town Jasper hearin' him tell about horse-race gamblin'. Not a wholesome trot tin' race. No! But a race where they set down right on the horse! Like to see some stuck-up Jockey-boy settin' on Dan Patch? . . . Trouble—oh, we've got Trouble, right here in River City. Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool.
Mothers of River City! Watch for the telltale signs of corruption. The moment your son leaves the house does he re-buckle his knickerbockers below the knee? Is there a nicotine stain on his index finger? A dime novel hidden in the corn crib? Is he memorizing jokes out of Capt. Billy's "Whiz Bang"? Are certain words creeping into his conversation? Words like "swell" and "so's your old man"? If so, my friends—ya got Trouble . . .
Soft Shoe & Music Lessons. By song's end, River City knows that it has trouble all right, and the audience knows that Bob Preston is the hottest performer on Broadway. Gliding tirelessly through scene after scene, he sings in an unpretentious, mellow baritone, turns Seventy-Six Trombones into as rapturous a piece of high-stepping bravura as ever brought down a house. His portrayal of a likable cad is a fine job of acting, but he does more than act and sing. He kicks a mean one-step, dances the Castle Walk. And in an inspired number that has already made Choreographer Onna White a big name on Broadway, he joins the dancing company in a softshoe, tippy-toe library ballet that is a triumph of precision and gaiety.
To sharp-eyed critics watching his performance, it was incredible that Actor Robert Preston Meservey should have spent a dozen years as a second-string Hollywood leading man. Bon of a French Huguenot and Irish line, Robert was two years old when his parents moved from Newton Highlands, Mass, to the going-to-seed Lincoln Heights section of Los Angeles. He grew up, among Italian and Mexican families, in a neighborhood dotted with rundown homes. But the Meserveys were a close-knit unit. Bob's mother fed her family on music, and as a small boy Bob learned to play piano, drums, guitar, trumpet and harmonica. Neither Bob nor his younger brother Frank Jr. ever got into trouble, even though they ran about and made mischief with the neighborhood Mexican boys twice their ages.