The Column: The melodies and memories linger on

The career of the Mello-Teens was launched — and went into rapid decline — on the same Saturday evening in spring 1958.

Nervous but resolute, the four young fellows were prepared for their doo-wop debut at a church talent show in the Sunset Park section of Brooklyn.

They had spent weeks practicing a brief repertoire and even more time putting together what they considered the requisite rock-and-roll ensemble: black chinos, red button-down shirt and white buck loafers, a rare but essential accessory finally located at a shoe store somewhere in the dim reaches of Queens.

The outfits were consistent with groups whose success had inspired the Mello-Teens — Danny & the Juniors, Dion and the Belmonts and, of course, the great Mello-Kings, whose impact was evident — but, as it turned out, apparel alone did not make the men.

Certainly, the Teens were genial, enthusiastic, devoted to their mission. They had practiced footwork and hand motions, the lead singer touching his heart with deep emotion while three backups, elbows bent, thrust arms back and forth as if imitating a locomotive. Next stop: "American Bandstand"!

Trouble was, the Mello-Teens couldn’t sing especially well — at least not the backup trio. The lead, Bill, had a voice and sense of style. The others found their notes often faltered or emerged in some foreign key that foreclosed every attempt at harmony. Even their doo-wops needed work.

Once, the group went to a studio in Flatbush to make a "demo" record. The owner, a small and impatient man, signaled from behind a piece of glass.

"Whenever you’re ready," he allowed.

The Mello-Teens stood before a microphone. Bill nodded. They began.

From a glassed-in booth, the owner, otherwise disinterested, looked up.

"Maybe start again," he advised.

Take 2 went no better, nor any take that followed.

At the end of the session, the studio man slipped a newly cut 78 rpm disc into a heavy sleeve. Having recorded any number of other rock-and-roll hopefuls, he could not be encouraging.

"You guys still in high school?" he asked. "Study hard."

No matter.

Maybe the talent show would be a breakthrough.

The Mello-Teens’ moment had arrived. Bill, the lead, knew he must clutch his heart as if it might otherwise be stolen and sold on the black market. Backup singers were set to pump their arms urgently as a steam engine hauling the old 20th Century Limited from New York to Chicago.

They opened with a Mello-Kings tune called "Baby Tell Me." It started with an intro from the bass singer, who, surprisingly, managed a couple of acceptable "Doo-wop-a-diddys."

Remarkably, the audience clapped, albeit politely.

Next, another Mello-Kings number, the 1957 hit "Tonite, Tonite." Bill crooned the beginning phrase nicely. "Tonight, tonight, while I’m holding you so near," he sang. The backups, arms cranking like the Windy City was in sight, had enough sense to avoid anything operatic and softly echoed, " … holding you so near."

Applause, some enthusiastic, and hasty exit offstage before anyone called "encore."

Also performing that night was an impressive instrumental group. A band member approached the Mello-Teens.

"Wanna’ jam?" he asked.

The Teens went blank with panic. Jam? How could they "jam" when — really — they knew only two songs and already had offered both?

Thinking quickly, Bill stepped forward.

"Thanks, man. Gotta' get to another gig."

Through a side door the Mello-Teens slipped and quickly agreed it would be imprudent to push their luck again. They had withstood the talent show, yes, but also been revealed. Two songs didn’t do the trick. In show business and, probably life, the minimum is seldom enough.

"Oh, well," said Bill, without complaint though, as the only Mello-Teen who knew a key change did not require the services of a locksmith, he was entitled. "Gave it a try."

Bill died the other day after months of struggle. At least two of the backups survive, the bass and tenor. The baritone, who knows?

Brave to the end, uncomplaining, Bill stayed a stalwart fellow. Long ago, he found the right notes. For those he leaves behind, the search continues.

"Thought of Bill all week," said the tenor shortly after hearing the news. "Been playing the music."

Me, too.

Doo-wop-a-diddy, dear lead man, the bass salutes you.