LARRY V.: THE SONG WILL NEVER DIE
By Toney Atkins
Larry V. passed away doing what he loved most: Singing.
When I received the e-mail from Marie F. notifying me of Larry V.'s passing in Daytona Beach, a sense of undefinable loss flowed through my mind, body and spirit.
Marie told me that he was singing a duet at a karaoke show when he noticeably began perspiring profusely as the heart attack struck him, and he suddenly fell to the floor. His death was apparently instantaneous, and whatever pain he suffered was apparently -- and hopefully -- short-lived.
Friends -- and he had many -- planned to stage a memorial for him at the Eagles Club in Holly Hill this Tuesday night.
I had known Larry V. since I caught karaoke fever in the early 1990s. His demeanor was usually quiet, and the stage seemed to come alive whenever he took the microphone and sang his heart out with a smooth, yet powerful voice.
I got to know him even better after I was asked to step in as DJ/karaoke host at what was then known as Bootleggers in Daytona Beach. That part-time job was to quickly become a full-time part-time job, and I loved it. Getting to know new people as well as those in the karaoke cliques that developed was a never-ending thrill for me. Larry V. became a regular, and I could always depend on him for a song, and for a good one at that.
To those who might not be in the know, many die-hard karaoke singers established their own stage names. That's mainly how we knew each other inside and outside the clubs. On stage and in public, I usually called him Larry V., and even though he once told me his last name, to this day, I can't remember it. But I never forgot -- and never will forget -- Larry V.
Our paths crossed many times over the next few years as I did shows at different venues in the Daytona Beach area. His favorite entertainment seemed to be karaoke, andyou could usually catch him at one of the numerous shows that began to pop up all over town. He could sing a Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett song with the best of them, and he dabbled in other genres as well, even coming up with a great routine to sing with Donna Summer's recording of "Last Dance." He never failed to generate enthusiastic applause, and he was known to grumble, even into the mike, when he didn't think the audience was listening to him as he sang.
It was almost like we'd known each other forever when I began my last -- and possibly favorite -- several year gig at the Key Largo Lounge in the Silver Beach Village complex in Daytona. He worked the front desk, and it was rare for him not to show up in the lounge when he turned the duties over to the security guard at 11 p.m. There were times that he and Marie F. entertained with mini-concerts when audience members had taken a break from singing.
He had quite a following. Silver-haired ladies would come into the lounge and ask me if Larry V. was going to be singing. They literally waited impatiently until he finally made his appearance, and I would immediately call Larry V. to the stage to satisfy his "groupies," who naturally wanted more.
To say Larry V. was a bit eccentric would be the understatement of the decade, but that merely added to his positive qualities. I've always said I march to the beat of a different drummer, but I could never quite determine which drummer Larry V. was marching to. He was definitely his own man -- gentle, yet capable of angry outbursts; very particular, especially when it came to his singing and the sound quality of the equipment; generous, often to a fault; and overall, a good, decent man.
He and I carried on countless conversations, usually with a few drinks at the bar after a show. He had a habit of taking a tidbit from something I said and sending the conversation in a completely different direction. For the life of me, I can't remember the topic that started one night's discussion, but I recall that one of us brought up a subject that led to an around-the-world trip in the mind of Larry V., and I would urge him on. Remarks about nearly everything under the sun were made that night, but his closing comment nearly made me fall off the barstool withlaughter. After about an hour or so later, he answered the question that had started the conversation which, by then, I had almost forgotten.
I haven't mentioned his age because he appeared to be ageless. He seemed to be the same in the entire time I knew him. He was at least in his 60s, I know, but his attitude, his smile and his talent seemed to defy any particular age group. He had a dry sense of humor, and it usually appeared unexpectedly, making whatever he said even funnier.
Larry V. loved the ladies, and they loved him. He didn't talk much about the loves of his life, but he indeed was a lover at heart. That became glaringly factual when those who cleaned his home after his death reportedly found many, many condoms. All right, Larry V! That'll be one of those wonderful and funny legacies that will find everyone who knew you wondering who and how many. Obviously, you did more than sing well, and you left us with yet another unsolved mystery in your mysterious life. (And I have to admit it: I'm more than a little envious.)
Larry V. died with a song in his heart. There's an empty space in the audiences and stages where you should be. But for you, any problems and heartaches in life that you might have are gone, and you are singing with the angels.
God bless your spirit, Larry V. It was an honor an privilege to have known you. You will be missed.
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