Soupy Sales used to have a radio program on WNBC in New York in the mid 1980's. In his third hour every day, he would have a talent contest, where listeners would call up and sing, recite, belch, tell jokes, or play an instrument. The segment always opened with Ethel Merman singing, "There's No Business Like Show Business", Irving Berlin's paean to the entertainment industry. They say that once you're hooked on performing, that's it, forever.

They're right.

One summer afternoon, on my lunch hour, I called Soupy from the art room where I worked and entered the talent show. I played "Oh, Susanna!" on the harmonica. People who don't know any better think all you need to do is blow into a harmonica, and you're playing it. Not so. Real playing involves the technique of holding your tongue over the holes in your mouth, except the hole that has the note you want to play. This takes practice. It also involves knowing how to "bend" notes so that they sound with feeling.

So, when I say that I can play the harmonica, I mean it. When I played it for Soupy's talent show that afternoon, I had to gointo a room without a radio (or suffer feedback from the delay) to play. My friends were in the art room, listening.

When it was over, they came in and got me, all enthused. "You were great! Paul DeVere accompanied you on the piano, and Soupy was ringing a table bell!" I won first prize; I forget what it was. But I do remember that the real rush was the applause I got from my co-workers. They're right; you never get over your time in the spotlight, however short it was.

Many years ago in the early 1990's, the temple I belonged to put on a fund-raiser. My wife was on the committee, and they decided on a doo-wop extravaganza. I illustrated and designed the poster, which appeared in store windows all over town. The poster promised The Belmonts (sans Dion), Cleveland Still and the Dubs, ("Could This Be Magic") and the Duprees ("You Belong to Me"). At the last minute, the Duprees had to cancel. They were replaced by Vito and the Salutations ("Coney Island Baby").

The way the bookings worked were like this: We had an early and a late show, and - meanwhile - these three groups were also playing at another fund-raiser in Northern Jersey.

So, while the Belmonts were playing in the north, and the Dubs were playing at our local high school auditorium, Vito and the Salutations were heading south to our concert.

Forty-five minutes later, the Dubs left the stage and were headed north on the Garden State Parkway. Vito and the Salutations took the stage in our town, while the Belmonts left their north Jersey stage for our stage.

Forty five minutes after that, the Belmonts took our stage, while Vito headed north, as the Dubs began singing on the stage for the northern fund-raiser.

Forty-five minutes later, we had our intermission as the Belmonts headed north, as Vito and the Salutations started their portion of the concert on the other stage, and the Dubs started south to open our second show.

Sounds hectic, doesn't it? Was this any way for these legends to spend a Saturday night? Apparently so. I didn't know how they were employed during the week. Maybe they were bakers, or grocers, or maybe they were still involved in the music business, but this was obviously a good way to cash in - no matter how small - on their former fame.

Or, was it? Because each group put on a hell of a show. They sang like they meant it. They sang like they enjoyed it. Vito even did a handspring across the stage - not bad for a then-fifty-something. It was obvious that - with the passing of the years and the changing of musical styles - these professionals were still capable of presenting an exciting show.

The Belmonts, in particular, were in good voice. They sang, beautifully, Richard Rogers' "Where or When" - a song I had never heard before that night. (It was a hit for them after Dion left. Too bad the original Beach Boys never recorded a version of it.)

It got me to thinking about some of other entertainers. Can you imagine an aging Ray Davies, or a Stevie Wonder, or a Brian Wilson, or a Seal or Brittany Spears zipping up and down the Garden State Parkway on a Saturday night for a little extra spending money? Or maybe a sixty-something Beethoven reduced to riding through the back roads of Austria in a wagon with a piano in the back?

I'm glad that they don't have to, just as I'm glad that the Dubs, the Belmonts and Vito and the Salutations were able to continue singing. Once you're hooked on performing, that's it, forever.