Tuxedo Bob is a musically talented young man with a unique sense of humor, and an extraordinarily optimistic view of life. His classic black tuxedo illustrates his dedication to good manners and respectful behavior. His instinctive ability to make decisions based on what is right instead of what is convenient astounds the most hardened skeptic. His honesty bewilders the agents, bigots, producers, mobsters, and pessimists who come into his life; the kindness of his heart inspires his friends.

Armed with a number of his father’s axioms and some off beat songs, Tuxedo Bob travels beyond the horizon of his hometown to seek employment as a songwriter. His demeanor makes him seem naïve, but his special way of dealing with the obstacles and situations he encounters on his twenty-three year journey from New York to Las Vegas and Hollywood will make you laugh, and will warm your heart. You will never forget Tuxedo Bob.

As an added bonus to this edition, and for your enjoyment, the authors have included all of Tuxedo Bob’s song lyrics, and the complete version of his musical screenplay, THE MIRROR OF MR. MOORE.

TUXEDO BOB, was born from a two-page fictional biography that Rob wrote in 1997 about a quirky singer/songwriter. Susan thought Tuxedo Bob was an interesting character, and suggested they use the bio as the basis for a novel. Rob thought she was kidding. Four years and many reams of paper later he realized that she wasn’t.

They live in Southern California with their four cats, and are currently discussing the theme of their second novel.

Rob’s songwriting credits include "JUST AS I AM" for AIR SUPPLY, "(LET’S) DO IT FOR OUR COUNTRY" for the movie GREASE 2, "SINNERMAN" for SARAH DASH, and a number of songs for short-lived television shows. His recordings include the cult classic "TOMMY, JUDY & ME" for RCA Records, and an instrumental dance version of "IN A GADDA DA VIDA" for Kama Sutra Records.

solo

I am wearing my last clean tuxedo. My other five "After Six" ensembles are packed inside the road worn Samsonite suitcase that is also providing additional service as a chair. Sitting atop my dependable traveling companion I only need to perform an occasional adjustment to the placement of my feet to prevent myself from tipping over. The bouncing motions of the train might make my journey less comfortable than most traditional means of transportation - even the slightest bump gets emphatically announced within the walls of this baggage car - but I’m forever happy.

Part of my happiness comes from remembering, "Any situation in life is better when experienced in formal attire." My father (God rest his soul, and pass the potatoes) used to say that. He was a tuxedo dealer, and he used to say a lot of things. Many years ago, at the funeral of my piano teacher, he told me that if I remembered something about a person who had passed away, then that person would always be alive inside me. As I ride the rails in the direction of Schulberg, North Dakota, a number of hearts are beating among the musical notes in my mind.

Schulberg is the town where I was born, and where my twenty-three year career in the music business started. I know I have a modest bank account waiting there, but since I have no hard currency on my person – other than a quarter that I’ll never spend – traveling in a boxcar is a necessity. Had it not been for a guitar player named Deke (God rest his soul, and may I have another napkin, please?) I wouldn’t have known of this economical conveyance, and instead I’d be walking or hitchhiking my way across the northwestern states of America. Neither option is black-patent-leather-shoes-friendly.

While I bounce on my possessions a concerto for flute and violins begins to play in the part of my mind that composes music. The percussive quality of a properly tongued flute is a pleasant accompaniment to the rhythm of the rails. A soaring swell of strings adds lightness and breath to my cramped accommodations. For a moment a baggage car filled with crates and boxes and me becomes a symphony hall. It is in this moment that I notice the wooden coffin directly to my left, and my mental music yields to thoughts of my mother (God rest her soul, and can I get you another canapé?)

My mother was a mortician, and she taught me a lot about coffins. This one looks to be on the higher end of the pine family, and some of those can be quite plush on the inside. I don’t know who’s in there, but I’m certain he or she is much more comfortable than I presently am.

My mother’s career choice was the reverse of her initial desire to be a doctor, but as my father used to say, "Someone has to take care of the dead." It was indeed her calling. I once remarked to her that she seemed to love her job so passionately that, had she actually become a doctor, she probably would have killed her patients for the sheer joy of preparing them for burial. Much to my surprise she found this observation profoundly unfunny, and out of respect I never repeated the remark. My father, however, used variations of the line on several occasions in mixed company. "Margaret’s spending so much time with Mr. Norton, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s really dead," was one of my favorites. Her usual response to his teasing was a curt but loving, "That’ll be just about enough now, Orville!" Everyone knew when Margaret said, "just about enough," she meant, "far more than necessary."