CHAPTER 12

The First Teen Star of Rock ’n’ Roll

Frankie Lymon

And the Making of the “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” Movie

There were good reasons for making a movie about 1950s teen idol Frankie Lymon, but I never dreamed that a movie would actually be made. Frankie was an exceptional singer and personality whose records deserved to be heard. We now owned the master recordings, but as our best of album only sold 17,000, we would only see a notable increase in sales if a movie was produced.

Frankie Lymon was really the first teen rock ’n’ roll star. He was only thirteen years old in early 1956 when his group, the Teenagers, catapulted to number six on the charts with “Why Do Fools Fall in Love.” Teens responded strongly to them and bought their records because the singers were also teens. Other rock ’n’ roll performers who scored their first hits around the same time were much older: Bill Haley, twenty-nine; Chuck Berry, twenty-eight; Fats Domino, twenty-seven; Carl Perkins, twenty-four; Little Richard, twenty-three; and Elvis Presley, twenty-one.

George Goldner, who was born Jacob Goldman, was an important record man in the early days of rock ’n’ roll. He wasn’t a lawyer or an accountant, but a garment dealer who had a passion for dancing and Latin music. He left his job to promote dances, and later formed a label, Tico, to record Latin music. This led him to recording R&B and doo-wop vocal groups on subsequent labels. These groups described themselves as vocal harmony groups. Later, in the 1960s, the style acquired the descriptive name doo-wop because of the common repeated phrase that was first widely heard in the Turbans’ hit “When You Dance.”

Richard Barrett was a member of one of those groups, the Valentines. His first encounter with the record business was when he sold a song he had composed in the army to music publisher Morris Levy for $100. That song, “Creation of Love,” later occupied the “B” side of Frankie Lymon’s hit “Goody Goody,” credited to “Levy.” In addition to being a performer, Barrett worked as a musician and producer. He produced several of the Chantels’ records, and played piano on their hit “Maybe.” His solo single, “Some Other Guy,” never made the pop charts, but was a favorite of Liverpool groups in the 1960s. The Beatles played it in the only known film of them performing at the Cavern Club.

In uptown Manhattan’s Washington Heights, on the corner of 165th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, Frankie’s group sang outside of Barrett’s apartment and the market where Frankie had worked since he was ten. Barrett, having worked late-night sessions, used to be awakened by their singing, and he chased them away. One day he heard a song that made him want to talk to them.

Calling themselves the Premiers, the group was composed of three blacks, Frankie, Sherman Garnes, and Jimmy Merchant; and two Puerto Ricans, Joe Negroni and Herman Santiago. Frankie, a soprano, was thirteen. The others were a couple of years older. Negroni was the leader, Santiago sang most of the leads, and Garnes had an exceptional bass voice, especially for someone so young. Together they presented a strong vocal blend.

Barrett made a deal with Negroni: the group would stop singing outside of his window if he could arrange a recording session for them. He rehearsed with the Premiers in a music room at Stitt Junior High. He thought the combination of a Spanish-accented singer in a rock ’n’ roll song could take advantage of the mambo craze. He set up an audition with Goldner. After hearing a number of songs, Goldner focused on “Why Do Birds Sing So Gay.” On the night of the audition, Santiago’s voice was hoarse from a cold. Merchant and Negroni couldn’t sing the song because they didn’t know the lyrics, and Garnes was the bass singer. Frankie piped up that he knew the words, so he sang it and impressed everybody.

Vocal groups liked to rehearse in hallways and vestibules to take advantage of the natural echo. Quite often the Premiers rehearsed in a doorway in Garnes’ apartment building. A tenant, Richard White, got sick of hearing the group singing the same five songs over and over again, so he gave them poems and love letters written by his girlfriend Delores, suggesting they use them as lyrics for a song. During the audition, Goldner suggested a new title and lyric change to “Why Do Fools Fall in Love.” It’s difficult to know who contributed what: how much of the lyric came from Delores’s poem, how much Goldner actually contributed to be credited as the cowriter along with Lymon and, initially, Santiago. Merchant, who came up with the “De doom-wop a doom-wop a doom-wop a doe-doe” intro, also claimed he contributed, but Goldner told him there wasn’t room on the label for a fourth name.

It was not unusual for a record label head, or someone with influence, to end up with a writing credit without having made any contribution. Mostly, a young songwriter was all too willing to share credit if he could get a hit: disc jockey Alan Freed received credit—and remuneration—as a writer for playing Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene,” Dick Clark for giving exposure to an artist on his American Bandstand TV show, and Elvis Presley for agreeing to perform a song for one of his records.

The song was recorded at Bell Sound in Manhattan. Sax player Jimmy Wright was Goldner’s music director. He suggested the group change its name to the Teenagers. Barrett’s contribution was important, as the group was inexperienced in the studio. More specifically, he worked with Frankie’s enunciation and phrasing. The song was a smash for the new Gee label. The composers were listed as Lymon-Santiago-Goldner. Soon thereafter, the credit was revised to just Lymon-Goldner. What could these unsophisticated teens know about royalties? They had no point of reference. The anticipated results of having a hit record were impressing your friends who heard it on the radio, playing more live dates with increasing audience reaction, and being able to charge more for public appearances.

The group followed with “I Want You to Be My Girl,” which made it to number twelve. They were a sensation live. Frankie was a bundle of confidence, personality, and energy. Richard Barrett said of Frankie, “I never saw a kid with so much dynamite.” The group’s dancing was choreographed by Cholly Atkins, who later did the same for Motown’s many acts. A highlight was Lymon and Santiago doing the splits in tandem. New York dates were followed by national tours, and appearances in two quick low-budget teen movies, Rock, Rock, Rock and Mister Rock ’n’ Roll. The Teenagers were a phenomenon. In their first year the group had four Top 50 hits, which was all the more remarkable as Goldner’s small, independent company was not well funded. The members wore a fashion-breaking sweater that had a large “T” on the front. Tommy Hilfiger later used a group photo to introduce the “Classics” chapter in his All American style book.

With his high tenor, Frankie was the Michael Jackson of his day. The impact that Frankie and the Teenagers had was comparable to that of the Jackson 5. They inspired such a fervent reaction from their young teen fans that many formed doo-wop groups of their own. Billy Vera holds the distinction of being the only artist with whom Rhino had a hit, “At This Moment,” which made it to number one in January 1987. As a twelve-year-old R&B fan, he witnessed Frankie’s performance at the Brooklyn Paramount: “Frankie was, bar none, the best kiddie performer and singer there ever was. I make that statement having also seen performances by Frankie’s only real competition, Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson, when they were kids. Great as they both were, and they both were amazing, neither could touch Frankie Lymon at that age.” Veronica Bennett (later Ronnie Spector) heard the group’s records when she was twelve years old and thought Frankie had the greatest voice she’d ever heard. Inspired by Frankie, Ronnie racked up a handful of hits as the lead singer of the Ronettes.

The group was even more successful in England where “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” hit number one in the summer of 1956. The next year they sold out the London Palladium twice and had three big hits: “Baby Baby,” number four; “Goody Goody,” number twenty-four; and “I’m Not a Juvenile Delinquent,” number twelve. This last song, which was written by Bobby Spencer of the Cadillacs and then sold outright to Goldner, belied the group’s nature. As effective as Frankie was in conveying the thrill and exuberance of being an innocent teen, by the time his first record was released, he had been introduced to the ways of the world: he had run errands for pimps, had sex with women twice his age, smoked pot, and drank alcohol. In London, fourteen-year-old Frankie took to smoking six-inch cigars.

In the 1950s version of rock stars destroying hotel rooms, the Teenagers were kicked out of the Park West Hotel for shattering beer bottles in their suite. They were asked to leave the hotel where they were booked in Manchester for unruly behavior. Back in the States, Frankie’s drinking caused him to become unreliable and he missed more than a few dates. On those occasions the Teenagers used Jimmy Castor as a replacement. Castor scored a top ten hit in 1972 with “Troglodyte (Cave Man).”

For these young teens it was a matter of too much success too soon. The other members became jealous of Frankie because he got most of the attention. When they started out Frankie hadn’t been the lead singer, and they were all equals. Because of the dissention, Morris Levy, who was managing the group, split them into two acts that he thought could both be successful, but neither was. While in London, Frankie alone recorded an album, Frankie Lymon at the London Palladium.

Frankie’s voice began changing the following year, and more dramatically towards the end of 1959. It was still a good voice, now deeper and smoother, like that of a pop crooner’s, but lacked the magic it had before. He had one more charting record, a cover of Thurston Harris’ 1957 hit “Little Bitty Pretty One,” but it only made it to number 58 in the summer of 1960.

He was introduced to heroin at a party in 1959 and became a junkie for most of the remainder of his life. He got into scraps. Once on tour with Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley, pint-sized Frankie jumped on a chair to punch a promoter in the face. He was convicted of stealing and for narcotics possession. In 1966, in order to avoid a heroin charge, he went into the army rather than serve time in jail. In December 1967 he received a dishonorable discharge from the army. On February 27, 1968, in his grandmother’s apartment in New York, excited about a comeback recording session scheduled for the next day, he accidentally overdosed on heroin and died. He was twenty-five years old.

Within the following decade, George Goldner, Joe Negroni, and Sherman Garnes—who served time in prison—also died. George Goldner was a big gambler. He borrowed money from Levy to pay his debts, and Levy ended up owning Goldner’s label when he couldn’t pay him back. Goldner would start another company, he would have hits, and the pattern continued. As part of Roulette Records (of which Goldner was an original partner), Levy bought Tico, Gee, and Rama in March 1957. Later, he also acquired Goldner’s subsequent labels, End and Gone. In 1964 he supplanted Goldner’s name with his own on all of the songwriting credits. In 1984 Levy testified under oath about how he helped to write “Why Do Fools Fall in Love”: “We really more or less wrote poems or put words together. You get a beat going, and you put the music and the words together. I think I would be misleading you if I said I wrote songs, per se, like Chopin.” Morris Levy passed away in 1990. He had been convicted on two counts of conspiracy to commit extortion, but due to ill health never served a day in prison.

La Bamba, a feature film of 1950s rocker Richie Valens’ life, was released in 1987 and became an unexpected box office success. The Hollywood studios reacted by developing similar biopics on Chuck Berry, Eddie Cochrane, and others, only to pull the plugs when a movie on Jerry Lee Lewis’ life, Great Balls of Fire!, tanked. After Rhino bought the Roulette Records catalogue in 1989, it was always in the back of my mind to create feature films that could expose the music to a new audience and increase album sales. Roulette had neglected promoting its catalogue, diminishing the awareness of Lymon and the Teenagers to the extent that most people associated “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” with Diana Ross, who had a top ten cover in 1981.

I thought a movie could convey the appeal of the Teenagers’ records and Frankie’s immense charm and talent, as well as provide a glimpse into his tumultuous life. Many people had tried to make a movie about Frankie, including Martin Scorsese, but none had gotten past the script stage because of the problem posed by the final part of Frankie’s life—a downward spiral that ended when he overdosed on heroin. The music he made with the Teenagers is so joyous, it contrasted sharply with the depressing last third of the scripts we had read.

Philadelphia-based writer Stephen Fried wrote an excellent article on Rhino that appeared in the April 1992 issue of GQ. When he came to interview Richard and me, he gave me a copy of the July 1989 issue of Philadelphia magazine that featured his lengthy piece on Frankie Lymon’s three ex-wives battling it out for the windfall in songwriting royalties due from Diana Ross’ hit. Drawing mostly upon transcripts from the court cases, Fried wrote a compelling account, peppered with colorful language and conflicting testimony.

It wasn’t as if Morris Levy was easy to pry royalties out of. With his connections to the Genovese crime family, and his intimidating nature, artists and songwriters were fearful of suing for their money. The original twenty-eight-year term of the copyright was expiring, and Levy had to strategize in order to renew it. Because of Frankie’s death, that right fell to his heir. Wife number three, Emira Eagle, initiated a lawsuit. In order to counter her claim, Morris Levy dredged up Elizabeth Waters (aka Mickey), who was serving time in prison for shoplifting. He offered to cover her legal expenses and pay her $15,000 if the court determined she was Frankie’s rightful heir. In order to hedge his bet, Levy cut the same deal with ex-Platter’s singer Zola Taylor, who the opposing lawyers referred to as his “bullpen wife.”

Elizabeth Waters also had served time for prostitution and, like Frankie, had problems with drugs. She married Frankie in January 1964, but hadn’t gotten a divorce from her first husband until the following year. In October 1965 Frankie married Zola Taylor. She was the only female vocalist in the Platters, who were extremely popular in the 1950s. In court, Zola couldn’t furnish the divorce decree to her second marriage or the marriage license with Frankie, blaming their disappearance on when Frankie “trashed” her house. She said that she tried to get a duplicate of the license from the courthouse in Tijuana, but that it had burned down. Opposing lawyers submitted newspaper articles, one reporting that the marriage took place in Las Vegas and another quoting Zola claiming the marriage had been “a joke.” This left Emira, a schoolteacher with no previous marriages. She met Frankie while he was in the army in Georgia and married him in June 1967.

By the time Fried’s article appeared, the case still hadn’t been settled. Subsequently, as the trial was in its final stages, Waters and Taylor, who hadn’t spoken with each other for most of the trial, empathized with each other and decided to share their take if they won. A Pennsylvania judge ruled in Waters’ favor, recognizing a common law marriage, but the New York Supreme Court prevailed in ruling Eagle the winner. The court cases involved five judges and nine lawyers.

I resolved the problem in dramatizing Frankie’s sad story by making his former wives a prominent part of the movie by having each of them tell their own story of Frankie’s life. I was thinking low budget, $1.5 million, something Rhino could handle (with partners). I envisioned a movie that would focus on the trial, with his ex-wives played by colorful character actresses. When Frankie’s ex-wives would reminisce about him, I would cut to a performance by the group from one of their movie appearances. This way, viewers could see Frankie’s real talent instead of an interpretation by an actor. I also thought of recreating scenes, without dialogue, similar to what is used to bolster documentaries.

I liked Fried, and I liked his writing. I offered him the opportunity to create the screenplay. As he’d never crafted one before, I told him I would work with him. He had optioned his book Thing of Beauty: The Tragedy of Supermodel Gia to Paramount Pictures. (In his book he coined the term fashionista, referring to a person devoted to the latest fashions.) Gia, an HBO movie, debuted on the cable channel in January 1998. It won an Emmy Award and two Golden Globe Awards, one for Angelina Jolie’s performance in the title role. I thought that it would be an opportunity for him to learn how to write a screenplay in case he wanted to control that stage in the future for any of his stories that might interest Hollywood. I also thought we could get a screenplay written for far less than if we hired an experienced writer. Initially he was interested, but then opted out. He suggested I do what he did: get a copy of the court transcripts.

In 1996, when Steve Nemeth met with Warner Brothers movie executives Bruce Berman, Billy Gerber, and Gary Lemel, I was surprised to hear that they loved the concept. Waiting to Exile, which was released in December of the previous year, had been an unexpected hit and a big moneymaker for Twentieth Century Fox. It, uniquely, starred a black female cast: Whitney Houston, Lela Rochon, and Angela Bassett. Thinking Waiting to Exile had shown that there was an audience for such a cast, Warner was looking for a similar vehicle, and our movie fit the bill. Lemel, Warner’s head of music, also saw this as an opportunity to establish his Warner Sunset imprint to produce music-based movies.

Tina Andrews loved Frankie’s music so much that she wrote a script with hopes of selling it to Michael Jackson. Early in 1983, she got the idea when she saw Michael performing in his “Billie Jean” video on MTV. Making the connection between him and Frankie—their singing, their dancing—she was moved to write a script. She interviewed numerous people, including Zola Taylor, Richard Barrett, and Little Richard. When she submitted it to Jackson’s representatives, she was devastated that they refused to look at it. Studios were impressed by her script, but thought the tone was too dark. She was influenced by Lenny, the film on comedian Lenny Bruce directed by Bob Fosse.

Tina contacted us after a friend read of our interest in producing the movie in Variety and notified her. Her script, like others we read, did not depict the trial. Of Lymon’s three wives, Andrews only included Zola Taylor. She seemed like the perfect person to write our movie. Steve and I both thought she had a great attitude and we enjoyed working with her. I got her the transcripts from the trial. Consequently, much of the movie’s dialogue, including some of the humor, was derived directly from those transcripts.

Gerber was a music guy and made many of the talent suggestions, including the director, Gregory Nava. Nava had impressed the Warner execs with Selena, starring Jennifer Lopez, which he wrote and directed. They gave him a production deal. They figured that as they were paying him anyway, they might as well absorb some of the costs with having him direct our feature. Gerber never sought my opinion, which I found surprising as the vision for the project originated with me. Especially in contrast with Terry Gilliam and Patrick Cassivetti on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Nava and his producer, Paul Hall, were civil, personable, and even likeable. In addition, they were both Rhino fans. We could talk to them, but it didn’t necessarily mean they valued our input.

In addition to Lela Rochon (Emira Eagle), who had costarred in Waiting to Exhale, Warner was considering the biggest black actresses of the day, including Diana Ross and Oprah Winfrey. I was excited when singers Toni Braxton and Queen Latifah were suggested for Zola Taylor’s part. Nava put off Latifah with comments about her needing to lose weight for the role. Braxton initially committed, but then reconsidered. She felt the role would be too demanding for her acting debut. Eventually the starring cast was scaled down a notch or two, with ex-wives Zola Taylor and Mickey Waters played by Halle Berry—who hadn’t yet become a star—and Vivica A. Fox, respectively. Larenz Tate portrayed Frankie.

I had some problems with the casting, and it was not because the actors didn’t perform well. In films it’s not uncommon to have a number of characters combined in order to make the story easier to follow. Even though George Goldner was important to the group and their records, he was incorporated into the Morris Levy character. Levy was physically imposing and intimidating. Paul Mazursky, who played him, is short. The opposite held true for the 1950s Little Richard character. Richard was short, that’s why they called him Little, and Miguel A. Nunez, Jr. is tall.

In September 1965, a month before he married Zola, Frankie made his last TV appearance, on Hollywood A Go-Go. I suggested the scene to show how far he had fallen professionally. Lip-synching to “Why Do Fools Fall in Love,” a song from when he was thirteen years old, he was grimacing as though he were in pain, and he was missing his two front teeth. In the movie, during this time period, Frankie was visiting Zola Taylor in Los Angeles. Andrews and Nava wanted a triumphant scene to represent Frankie’s comeback, of him singing on the Hullaballoo TV show. I suggested it be changed to Hollywood A Go-Go, but it was filmed as Hullaballoo, even though Frankie never appeared on that show and it was taped in New York. In the movie the Kinks preceded Frankie, miming “All Day and All of the Night.” The McCoys— and not the Kinks—performed their hit “Hang On Sloopy” on the Hollywood A Go-Go show on which Frankie appeared.

The location for Zola Taylor’s house was the Case Study House #22 (aka Stahl House) in the Hollywood Hills. It was designed by Pierre Koenig and was the site for a famous photo taken by Julius Shulman. In actuality, she lived in a very nice Spanish house typical to Southern California. Nava liked the view from the backyard, and thought the modern house looked more photogenic. I would have gone for authenticity. Unlike in the movie, wife number three, Emira Eagle, initiated the lawsuit, not Mickey Waters.

Newly produced movies require a dynamic sound. Rather than use tapes recorded in the 1950s, which were lacking, film producers usually had new recordings made. For 1978’s The Buddy Holly Story, Gary Busey, who starred as Buddy, sang on new recordings of Holly’s songs. For La Bamba, Los Lobos recorded new versions of Richie Valens’ originals. Unlike in those two films where the subject was dead—having died in the same plane crash—Jerry Lee Lewis was alive. He recorded new versions of his records for Great Balls of Fire! He was now in his fifties, however, and the difference could be heard.

The reason for the movie—to me—was to have the music of Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers heard, and I’m referring to the original recordings that people loved. I felt as though I were the caretaker of their music. Frankie’s vocals were so unique I didn’t think anybody could duplicate them. While he had a certain musical quality, it was his personality that made him effective. He was only thirteen years old; he had a narrow range and was not a technically good singer. In the early days of rock ’n’ roll, all records were in monaural, which was a problem when using the original tapes. Yet, they were in good shape and had fidelity. Lemel could understand the dilemma, so we came up with the idea of enhancing the existing tapes by adding to them. He hired noted arranger Arif Mardin and had him duplicate some of the harmony vocals and instruments—like saxophones—that were already on the recordings and split these additional tracks into stereo. I conferred with Mardin, but he grasped what was needed and did a fine job. The music in the film was used during the group’s live performances, so the addition of the crowd cheering added to the stereo effect.

I’m open to suggestions, and a good suggestion can come from anywhere. I was visiting my uncle in New Jersey when we pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. He was familiar with the parking lot attendant, and he mentioned the movie I was producing. The attendant asked me if I knew “Out in the Cold Again.” He thought it was a great record. It wasn’t a hit, so I wasn’t considering including it. When I came home, I listened to it again, and he was right. It was worthy of the soundtrack and I made it one of the group’s six songs. I also included three of the Platters’ hits: “The Great Pretender,” “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and “Only You (And You Alone).”

The movie was shot in the Los Angeles area. Downtown substituted for Manhattan, with the Orpheum and other theaters for those in New York. Santa Paula, which is located in Ventura County, filled in for Augusta, Georgia. Moss was draped over the tree branches, and the paved street was covered with dirt to make it look like the South.

I didn’t have much to do with the production, so I only attended a couple of the shoots. I recommended the actors playing the Kinks wear the red hunting jackets the group favored in that period, and supplied photos to the costume department to recreate the coats. Paul Hall promised me an outfit, but I never got it. I thought it would be fun to see the performances of Frankie and the Kinks at the Hullaballoo set, which was filmed at CBS Television City in the Fairfax district. The stage had been home to numerous TV shows and, for many years, American Idol. It was a return visit for me; Richard and I had performed in the Temple City Kazoo Orchestra on The Mike Douglas Show in 1979. I offered to choreograph the Kinks, but Nava declined. While there I chatted with Halle Berry. I was surprised that she didn’t know much about Frankie, so I explained the impact that he and the Teenagers had. Paul Hall introduced Steve and me to the director John Singleton, who is best known for Boyz n the Hood. Later, John contacted us about making a miniseries for HBO about Stax Records, the seminal Memphis-based soul label of which Rhino controlled a majority of masters. Universal Publishing was less than workable, and the miniseries never got off the ground.

The other time I visited the set was for a courtroom scene. I helped negotiate Little Richard’s deal, and I wanted to welcome him to his first day of shooting. Richard, Gary Stewart, Bob Emmer, and I met with Little Richard and his manager at the Hyatt on Sunset, where Little Richard lived in two adjoining rooms. He came downstairs in full makeup, talked with gospel references, and was as nice as can be. Although he agreed to record a Christmas album for us, the project never happened. Little Richard wasn’t a natural actor, and Nava had difficulty directing him. In a moment of frustration, Richard exclaimed, “I’m playing myself!” It was hard to disagree with him. He energized every scene in which he appeared.

Rhino, as part of the Warner Music Group, reported to Bob Daly and Terry Semel, who were coheads of Warner Brothers Pictures. It was frustrating for Richard and me as they didn’t understand the record business, and shouldn’t have been given those responsibilities. I felt completely different about them after I attended a meeting to discuss a rough cut of the film. Also in attendance was noted editor Dede Allen. All three were in accord, and had astute comments. Nava had a good grasp on the artistry and symbolism of film, but he went a bit too far, incorporating elements that an audience wouldn’t grasp. One scene featured a galloping white horse, which represented heroin—horse is slang for heroin—that they rightly had a problem with and thought should be deleted.

I chose the six songs performed by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers that appeared in the film, for which the Rhino label received a licensing fee of $170,000, netting far less than half after paying artist royalties and our foreign partner. For our role in producing the movie, Rhino Films received a fee of $250,00, reduced to $191,250 after paying agents’ and lawyers’ commissions.

Shortly after filming was completed, I wrote a letter to Mark Reina, Warner Brothers’ vice president of publicity, with some marketing ideas: producing a documentary film, commissioning a biography that would be published by a Warner Books company, packaging a tour with the surviving Teenagers as well as other artists featured in the movie like the Platters and Little Richard, and a promotion with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, to which the group was inducted in 1993.

In 1986 a group of doo-wop fans held a concert to raise money to pay for a proper gravestone for Frankie. Even though Frankie’s brother Louis gave his support, there was a problem with the estate at the time, so the completed gravestone sat in a record store in New Jersey. I thought a renewed effort to install the gravestone would provide a unique news story that could draw attention to the movie. Reina never responded to my ideas.

I disagreed with the approach that Warner Brothers’ marketing department took, which deemphasized the music. In a report from a test screening at Magic Johnson Theaters in Baldwin Hills, the consensus of the audience was that “the musical performances were the real stars of the movie.” The colors of the poster were washed out, and the ensemble grouping looked like the attractive cast of a black soap opera. To coincide with the movie’s August 1998 release, Oprah Winfrey based a show around it, but the theme was “Have you been a fool in love?” The cast were guests, but the discussion elicited confessions from audience members about their relationships rather than emphasizing Frankie as a character, the drama of the movie, or the music.

I had a problem with our Rhino Films credit as part of the credit block, which is the listing of those who are credited on the poster and in the initial printed ads. Our logo was included on the credit block for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a Universal Film, but not on this Warner film. The presence of the Rhino logo is good branding as it increases awareness of the company that Warner now owned—and it didn’t cost any extra money to do so. I spoke to Daly about it. He said that it was usually applied for production companies that contributed to the funding of a film, which we hadn’t. I felt he could have easily had our logo included, and thought this was another call he got wrong.

Realizing the value of contemporary artists in marketing new releases, Sylvia Rhone, the president of Elektra, wanted to issue an album with artists and tracks her label could promote. She hired Missy Elliott to put it together for a release on the East/West label. As a music fan, I was offended that it was misrepresented to the public as the soundtrack, as most of the songs on their album weren’t in the movie. Only Little Richard’s “Keep a Knockin’” was in the film; songs by En Vogue and Missy Elliott ran over the end credits. There were no songs by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers on the East/West album.

Even though our album was the genuine soundtrack, I was prevented from using that term, so I came up with Original Versions from the Movie. All of the fourteen songs were in the film, but I was disappointed that we couldn’t include “Keep a Knockin’.” Rhone was correct in speculating that her album would sell more than Rhino’s, 127,000 to 41,000. Given that Elektra spent over $1 million to produce the album, it lost a significant amount of money. Ours made between $150,000 and $200,000 for the Rhino label. Our Best of Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers sold 9,000 in the five years we were working on the movie, and an additional 10,000 after the movie was released. Because stores ordered larger quantities of a new release rather than a catalogue title, we issued the Very Best of Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, which sold 34,000. We were hoping for significantly more sales, but the movie wasn’t a hit.

The big loser was Warner Brothers Pictures. The $12.4 million at the US box office distilled down to $5.2 million for Warner. They banked $7 million from pay TV and $1.7 million from home video sales. Usually there’s additional money generated overseas, but when I finally talked to the person in the international department, I was rendered nearly speechless when she told me that the only country outside of North America where the film made it into theaters was Trinidad. Warner spent $34 million making the movie, and $17 million on marketing (mostly ads). The other main expense was the cost of the prints, which totaled $2 million. I estimate that Warner Brothers lost $40 million on the film.

Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, the Platters, and Little Richard were all inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” was ranked #307 on Rolling Stone’s “500 Greatest Songs of All Time” (in a poll of 172 musicians, critics, and music industry executives in 2004). The Beach Boys, who had recorded the song on a 1964 album, performed it on their 2012 reunion tour. Emira Eagle Lymon made over a million dollars on the song.