At 8 PM on a recent Saturday six women are sitting at the best table in Crooner’s on Clark. They’ve earned their spot; after all, they come to Andersonville on most Fridays and Saturdays and always on Mondays, which is banjo night, from places as far away as Palatine.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Reynolds, who was raised in Kansas City, moved to Chicago after the war and started playing various north-side joints. For several years he manned the piano at the Astro near Clark and Diversey, where he met his wife Harriet. “She irons all these creases,” he says, pointing to his red tuxedo shirt, “presses in between the frills. She always makes sure I look nice when I go to work, and I love her for that.” Reynolds idolizes Liberace. “I always thought he was one of the greatest,” he says, and though he doesn’t quite match Liberace’s sartorial style, he does wear several large rings.
He only plays on Fridays and Saturdays these days, although he does weddings occasionally and makes special trips to nursing homes. He is, he says, a musical ambassador to the people. “I love it, really I do. I think people are great, God bless ’em. They sing their hearts out, and I try to get them to get rid of their troubles once in a while. Nobody is supposed to be that great a singer. They go up there and they try. It’s hard sometimes putting it in their key, but I try to work it out somehow.”
“I never liked her much.”
“Who was that fellow Bette Davis was married to?”
Reynolds starts playing “Memory,” and Blanchard hums along. “Dick knows everybody’s favorites,” says Sharon Rodriquez, “from Millie’s ‘Mack the Knife’ to Donna’s ‘Autumn Leaves’ to mine. It’s a little country number called ‘Slippin’ Around.’”
“Oh, you have,” says one of the men.
