RIP Tony Romeo

The trials of sharing a name with the late, great king of schlock.

By Tony Romeo

It is with mixed emotions that I note the passing of Tony Romeo.

As a first name, Romeo may be a tad unusual, but as a surname, it's actually not that uncommon among Italians. It's not as common as some others, like "Rossi," which I understand is sort of the "Smith" of Italian surnames. Still, it's neither ubiquitous nor unique.

But thanks to Shakespeare, going through life with a name like Romeo is like being permanently tethered to a flashing blue light on a pole. Attention K-Mart shoppers! Actually, considering how they react to it, people have an amazing propensity to butcher the eminently familiar spelling. I get all the variations you could imagine, and some you couldn't. Who is this "A. Romero" who may have already won $10 million from Ed McMahon? He's a lucky guy — too bad he doesn't live at my house.

Compounding the problem is that Romeo is one of those names that conjures up a whole host of expectations, the kind that can either make one's life a charmed existence or something of a cosmic joke. As for me, I've always been convinced that somewhere out there is a guy named Dante. His socks always match, his Beemer is paid for, and he never goes anywhere without a pair of babes in tow. We were switched at birth.

The great irony here is that the name has come to mean something in common language that bears little relation to the guy who popularized it. The colloquial "Romeo" is a wanderer and a philanderer. But the Romeo of Literature is antithetical. He was a monogamous fellow who had eyes for only one girl — and what did that get him? With that Romeo, I actually have something in common, but nothing compared to that guy who wrote and starred in The Inferno. I don't know any Juliets, but I can show you a Beatrice or two.

It is my firm belief that roughly half of all male Romeos are named Tony, even if a quick check of the Philadelphia white pages reveals a mysterious dearth of them locally. (And to you whitebread wiseasses who say "Half of all male Italians are named Tony," all I can say is... yeah, SO WHAT?) Undaunted by the lack of facts, I would suggest that my own family more than makes up for the local phone book. There's my late grandfather Antonio (Tony); my uncle Anthony (Tony), and my father, Anunzio (for lack of a better alternative, also Tony).

But at long last, we've arrived at the point of this little treatise, namely the most famous Tony Romeo who ever lived, the ultimate burden that is the deep dark secret of all of us who share this moniker: The guy who wrote "I Think I Love You" for The Partridge Family.

Now, this is not to disparage the fellow as a person, especially since it's that Tony Romeo who went to the great yellow tour bus in the sky this past June. But every now and then, at the most inopportune moments, I've had to confront my worst nightmare: some '70s music weenie who'd make the connection between my name and the guy who wrote this leisure suit lullaby, this ballad of banality, this paean to pop pap. Oh God, you can't imagine the hours I've spent scouring Joel Whitburn books and rummaging through the bins of singles at Tower Records, trying to find something redeeming by this guy. "Geez, there must be an 'Ohio'or a 'Main Street' in here somewhere! Please! How about 'San Francisco' or 'Country Road?' Help me! I'll settle for 'Allentown' or 'Expressway to Your Heart!' Lord, I'll go as low as 'Indiana Wants Me.'"

Now wait a minute. I won't. Come to think of it, Tony Romeo didn't write "Indiana Wants Me," a disgusting 1970 hit about a guy who's on the lam from the cops 'cause he wasted some dude who dissed his wife. Yeah. That's the ticket. So now, for no truly defensible reason, here's a list of songs I'm proud to say that Tony Romeo did NOT write:

"Timothy," by the Buoys. A deceptively bouncy melody belies lyrics about cannibalism in a coal mining accident.

"Na Na, Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye." This song is not only puerile, but the story behind it is appropriate (and also apocryphal, but I'll tell it anyway). It seems the record company execs had another song picked out to be the group's first hit. So they deliberately had the group record a nonsense tune to put on the B-side, one so silly and mindless that disc jockeys would not even be tempted to play it and... well, the rest is history. For the record, "Kiss Him Goodbye" is indicative of the kind of thing that HAPPENS to Tony Romeos, NOT of the kind of song they would write.

"Billy Don't Be A Hero." Needs no explanation. Not written by Tony Romeo.

"Run Joey Run," by David Geddes. The only people who think "Billy Don't Be A Hero"is the worst song of the '70s are people who've never heard "Run Joey Run." This reprehensible recording is about a teenage girl who's just told her father that she's, um, in a family way. Dad chases the dad-to-be around with a gun while she pleads for reason. Princess takes a slug intended for Joey. With her dying breaths, she bleats the refrain: "Daddy please don't, it wasn't his fault..." No kidding. Could I make this up? Makes Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods sound like Jim Morrison and the Doors. This song, I'm proud to say, was not written by anyone named Romeo, and certainly not anyone named Tony Romeo.

Also, to my knowledge, Tony Romeo never wrote a disco tune, and is not associated with the theme from the 1980s sitcom Who's The Boss?,which has no lyrics but is the most insipid title tune in the history of TV.

So, RIP Tony Romeo. And although the man is gone, his music lives on in the current wave of '70s nostalgia on TV and radio, so I'm sure I'll still have lots of explaining to do in the years to come. In lieu of flowers, please send money to a Tony Romeo near you.

The Tony Romeo who wrote this article (yes, that's his real name) is the City Hall Bureau Chief for KYW Newsradio.