Mr. Cub Ernie Banks—A Long and Happy Life

Today would have been Ernie Banks 92nd birthday if he had made it.  But he didn’t.  He died in a Chicago hospital on January 23, 2014.

When news of his passing came it was a shock to many Cubs fans. It probably shouldn’t have.  After all he was nearly 84 years old.  It’s just that he seemed so ever youthful, not just in those memory pictures we had in our head of his days on the diamond, but in the frequent glimpses we would get of him on TV at fan events or in interviews.  No matter how gray or sparse his hair became, how lined that lean face, he seemed boyish, bursting with enthusiasm and, yes, ready to play two.

Banks was, bar none, the most beloved player in the long history of the Chicago National League franchise.  He was the only longtime Cub player not to draw contempt and scorn from hard core White Sox fans.  Beyond the playing field his gentle demeanor and graciousness to fans and the press endeared him to the whole city.  His status as an icon of a losing franchise almost obscured his real accomplishments on the field.

But as an obituary in the New York Times, hardly a Second City boosting cheerleader, pointed out, Banks was, “the greatest power-hitting shortstop of the 20th century and an unconquerable optimist…”

Banks was born on January 31, 1931, in Dallas, Texas, the second oldest of 11 children of a warehouse worker and his wife.  His father, Eddie Banks had played semi-pro ball and encouraged his athletically inclined son to take an interest in the game.  Ernie was not much interested and at first had to be bribed to play catch with the old man.  Part of it was that he had few opportunities to play organized baseball.  There was no Little League for Texas Black boys in those days and Booker T. Washington High School did not have a team.  Instead he lettered in track, basketball, and football.  The closest he could come to baseball was playing softball in summer church leagues, and for a season with the semi-pro Amarillo Colts.

Ernie Banks, second from right, with the 1953 Kansas City Monarchs.

Still after graduating he somehow managed to catch the attention of the Kansas City Monarchs, the most prestigious franchise in the Negro American League.  Some accounts give credit to a scout who was friendly with his father, others to legendary player Cool Papa Bell.  Maybe it was both.  But in 1950 he was signed and played for the Monarchs.

Bank’s fledgling baseball career was cut short when he was drafted into the Army in 1951.  He suffered a knee injury during basic training which would haunt him later in his career.  He was attached to the 45th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion at Fort Bliss where he was a sharp enough soldier to be made the unit’s flag bearer.  During his months at Bliss he was able to sub occasionally with the Harlem Globetrotters operation, usually appearing in the uniform of the perpetually losing Washington Generals.  After that he was stationed in Germany.

Upon his discharge from active duty, Banks rejoined the Monarchs.  His time with the team was his university of baseball.  He learned and mastered quickly all of the fundamentals of the game.    In no time at all he was a star player.  So good that he was attracting attention from Major League scouts who were finally ready to stock their teams with Black talent.  He finished the 1953 season batting for an impressive .347 average.  The Chicago Cubs snatched him up and he would wear the blue pinstripes for the final games of that season.

Despite the opportunity, Banks was loathe to leave the Monarchs which he considered his home.  He thought about asking the team not to sell his contract.   That is the kind of loyalty that in the end he transferred to the Cubs.

The Cubs, badly in need of talent, put Banks directly into the Big League game without any time in the minors.  His debut at Wrigley Field was on September 17, 1953 versus the Brooklyn Dodgers. 

Jackie Robinson crossed the field to greet Banks at Wrigley Field and gave him some advice. 

Before the game Jackie Robinson crossed the field to welcome the Cubs’ first Black player and give him some support and encouragement.  Robinson had also played for the Monarchs and was Banks’s idol.  Banks later recalled that Robinson told him, “Ernie, I’m glad to see you’re up here so now just listen and learn.”  It was advice he took to heart, maybe too much so. “For years, I didn’t talk and learned a lot about people.” 

His reticence to speak up on racial tensions and issues on and off the field would later draw accusations of being an Uncle Tom from some.  But it was not in his nature to be confrontational and he tried hard to make friends with everybody.  Robinson believed his early reticence in responding to abuse on the field when he first broke baseball’s color line earned him the right to speak out and became Civil Rights movement spokesman.  Despite their differences over this Banks and Robinson remained close.

In his first full season with the Cubs as shortstop he paired up with the team’s second Black player Gene Baker at second base to form a bang-bang double play combination.  The two also roomed together on the road.  Banks hit a respectable 19 home runs and had 71 runs batted in.  It was good enough to finish second in the National League Rookie of the Year voting.

                       Banks turning a bang-bang double play at short stop.

Banks really took off as a dominant player in 1955, his second full season, after he switched to a lighter weight bat increasing his bat speed.  Thanks to strong wrists and a sharp eye for a fast ball, the tall, slender (6’1”, 180 lbs.) shortstop became a genuine power hitter and slugger.  That season he slammed 44 round trippers and drove in 117 runs.  He earned the first of 14 consecutive All Star Game appearances.  His home run total was a single-season record for shortstops and he set a thirty year record of five single-season grand slam home runs.

It was the beginning of a parade of phenomenally successful seasons in which he was a shining star on miserable teams.  In 1956 despite missing 19 games with an infection in one hand that took the edge off of his power Banks still hit 28 home runs, had 85 RBIs, and a .297 batting average. In 1957, he bounced back with 43 home runs, 102 RBIs, and a .285 batting average. 

Banks slamming one home at Wrigley Field.

Then there were the back-to-back Most Valuable Player (MVP) Awards—a first in National League history—in ’58 and ’59.  He hit over .300 each year, led the League in RBIs both years, and knocked 47 homers the first year and 45 the next.  In 1960 he led the League with 41 homers, earned a Gold Glove at short stop and for the sixth time in his seven year full season career led the league in most games played. 

Banks was not only the star, but a consistent work horse on terrible teams.  The Cubs currently have a reputation for a fanatical fan base and the ability to fill the seats of Wrigley Field no matter how miserable the teams on the field.  But it was not always so.  In the early ‘50’s years of bad teams had slashed attendance.  The North Side ballpark frequently resembled a ghost town.  Banks gave fans something to plunk down money to see.  As Ernie got hot, the fans began to come back.  Not only that, he helped them bond with the team, especially with children for whom he always seemed to have time.  Banks was building a fan base for the team that would become multi-generational.

 Cubs owner P. K. Wrigley was meddlesome, eccentric, and most of all cheap.  Despite Bank’s value to the team, he was paid remarkably modestly.  He was paid only $27,000 for the ’58 season.  That did jump to $45,000 the next year and after that it rose by small increments annual so that by the time he retire in 1971 he was making $50,000.  While those were comfortable salaries in the days before big time agents and skyrocketing pay, they lagged far behind Banks’ peers in the top rung of baseball talent by as much as 50%. 

Yet the star slugger never publicly complained out of loyalty to the team and because he enjoyed an unusually close personal relationship with Wrigley.  The two often had lunch together and in the off season Wrigley entertained Banks and his wife at his California estate. 

As if to make up for the low pay he was handing out, the chewing gum heir advised Banks on investments and encouraged him to get involved in the business world.  Banks credited the advice for encouraging him to take classes in bank management and to enter into a variety of partnership deals in enterprises that included a car dealership.  Some of the investments worked out.  Some didn’t.  But Banks did make money.  And he discovered he was a personal asset to companies who wanted to polish their images and raise their public profiles.  If he never became the great executive he yearned to be, he did become a hugely successful public relations asset and company spokesperson.

In 1961 Wrigley made the oddest decision of his ownership.  Instead of hiring a new manager he put the team in the charge of his famous College of Coaches—management by a committee of 12 coaches who rotated between them to be field skipper on game day.  The system worked just about as well as you would expect. 

That spring the constant shifting from left to right, a necessary at shortstop, aggravated Banks’ old Army knee injury.  The College decided to rest him at short and put him in left field, a position he was totally unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.  “Only a duck out of water could have shared my loneliness in left field,” he later said.  But with the help of center fielder Richie Ashburn he quickly adapted and made only one error in 23 games out in the cow pasture.

The College then moved him to first base, the position he would keep the rest of his career.  By May 1963 he was good enough at his new position to set a record for most put-outs in a game by a first baseman. 

But Bank’s power began to taper off, as did his speed on the base paths.  In ’62 he had been beaned by Moe Drabowsky and was carried off the field unconscious with a concussion.  He missed three days and bounced back with a three homer game.  But there were lingering effects. The following year he was weakened by the mumps, a very dangerous illness in adult men, and finished the season with 18 home runs, 64 RBIs, and a .227 batting average.  But when he hit, it was timely hitting and the team posted its first winning season since his arrival.

The next year, however, the team was back in the toilet.  Banks was settling into homer production in the high 20’s and still good RBI numbers.  On September 2, 1965 Ernie thrilled fans by smacking his 400th career homer.

Things were not all peaches and cream between banks and manager Leo Durocher who had a history of making racist statement, once wanted to bench Banks during a slump but said he couldn't because "There would be rioting in the streets."

The next year, 1965, Leo Durocher arrived from Los Angeles as solo manager with a mandate to turn the bottom dwelling, money hemorrhaging team around.  Things did not go well.  Banks was having the worst season of his career.  He hit only 15 homers and his slowing on the base paths caused him to misjudge leads.  The Cubs finished the season with a dismal 59-103 record.

Durocher, who spent his evenings night clubbing, let the press who covered his colorful escapades know that he was dissatisfied with Banks who he considered washed up.  In his memoirs Durocher complained that he wanted to bench Banks but could not because, “there would be rioting in the streets.”  Since his past was checkered with racist comments and altercations, there was speculation, particularly in the Black owned Daily Defender that Durocher’s animosity was racially motivated.

Banks denied it and soldiered on.  In his memoirs he wrote sympathetically of Durocher claiming he wished he had a manager like that early in his career and maintaining that he learned a lot from him.  Despite the tense relations, Banks stayed at first base and his numbers came back up.  In 1967 Durocher even named him a player/coach.  He hit 23 home runs and drove in 95 runs that year. The next year his home run numbers were back up to 32 and he was awarded the Lou Gehrig Memorial Award for playing ability and personal character.  And the Cubs were finally building a decent team around him.

The following year the famous ’69 Cubs made their legendary run for the National League pennant leading through much of August until a long losing streak and a hot New York Mets ended their run.  It was the team with the most eventual Hall of Famers of any that never made it to post season play including Banks, his longtime best friend Billy Williams, pitchers Ferguson Jenkins and Ken Holtzman, and third baseman Ron Santo.  Banks chipped in 23 home runs, 106 RBIs, and a batting average of .253 to the effort.  It was also the last year of Ernie’s 14 year run as an All Star.

Banks hit his 500th round tripper before a home crowd at Wrigley on May 12, 1970.  But his career was winding down.  After the 1971 season he announced his retirement in December.  He remained on as a coach for three more seasons and then had turns as a scout and in the front office.  Durocher was fired midway through the next season.

Banks’s life-time stats speak for themselves—512 home runs, 277 of them as a shortstop, a career record at the time of his retirement; 2,583 hits; 1,636 RBIs; and a .274 batting average.  In addition he held the Major League record for most games played without a postseason appearance—2,528.  His Cub records include games played; at-bats, 9,421; extra-base hits, 1,009; and total bases, 4,706.

In his post playing days Banks divided his time between the Cubs and his business affairs.  He became a partner at the first Black owned Ford Dealership in the U.S.  He worked in banking, insurance, and was an executive at a moving company.  His investments paid off and he was worth an estimated $4 million when he retired.

But the Cubs were always closest to his heart.  In 1984 when the Tribune Company bought the team from the Wrigley family, Banks had a desk in the Front Office and a title as a Vice President for Corporate Sales.  The new management unceremoniously dumped him, which was the most disappointing, even heartbreaking moment in his life.  When fan reaction was uniform outrage, the company charged that Banks had missed some important Sales meetings and anonymously leaked comments to the press likening him to “your crazy uncle at Thanksgiving.”  That went over worse.  Within a couple of years the team kissed and made up.  Although Banks was never again given a front office job, he was employed as a team ambassador.

                                    Bank's Baseball Hall of Fame plaque.

After retirement honors just kept piling up.  In 1977 he was elected to the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility.  In 1982 the Cubs retired his number 14, the first player so honored, and flew a flag with the number from the left field foul pole.  It was five years before another player was so honored.  In 1999 he was named to the Major League Baseball All-Century Team and the Society for American Baseball Research listed him 27th on a list of the 100 greatest baseball players.  In 2008 Banks became the first Cub player to be honored with a statue outside Wrigley Field.

In 2009 Banks was named a Library of Congress Living Legend, an award in recognition of those “who have made significant contributions to America’s diverse cultural, scientific and social heritage.” On August 8, 2014 President Barack Obama draped the Presidential Medal of Freedom his neck in a ceremony that also honored former President Bill Clinton, Oprah Winfrey and 13 others.  Characteristically, Banks responded with a generous gesture that surprised and touched everyone.  He presented the President with a bat given to him by Jackie Robinson, Obama’s treasured boyhood hero.  Experts speculated that a bat of that provenance—Robinson, Banks, to Obama—instantly became probably the most valuable piece of baseball memorabilia in history.

Receiving the Medal of Freedom from Sox fan  Barack Obama.  In return Banks gave the President a signed bat that Jackie Robinson gave him..

All of these awards and honors paled against the love and affection felt for Mr. Cub by former teammates and fans alike.  When word of his death spread, fans flocked to Wrigley Field which was blocked by chain link fence for reconstruction, leaving flowers, candles, baseball cards, and other tributes in heaps and piles against the fence.  The Cubs had Bank’s statue, which had been removed during construction for repainting and restoration, moved to Daily Plaza where more came to pay their respects.

                            Posing with Mr. Cub at Wrigley Field.

The public funeral was at Chicago’s historic Fourth Presbyterian Church.   A memorial service was broadcast live on WGN-TV and a processional carried Ernie for the last time past Wrigley Field.

Giving Birth to the Mega Super Group Charity Song

Cover Art from the UK release of the Band Aid record.

On November 25, 1984 a good cross section of the musical glitterati of the U.K. and Ireland assembled to record a song to raise money for Ethiopian famine relief at Sarm West Studios in London.  They had assembled on short notice—many said they had been “commanded to attend” by a demanding Bob Geldolf the Irish leader of the  Boomtown Rats, who had conceived of the idea and was a co-writer of the song to be recorded.  Geldolf’s co-writer, Midge Ure of Ultravox did most of the heavy lifting as producer of the record over an epic 24 hour recording and mixing session while Geldof reportedly mostly got in the way and had to be thrown out of the engineering booth for interfering.

Four days later, on November 29^, a single of Do They Know it’s Christmas was rushed into the stores and instantly became a phenomena—shooting to #1 on the UK charts and staying there for a record shattering five weeks selling 3.7 million copies in Britain an 11.8 million copies worldwide in five years.

In late October the BBC had aired a stark documentary on the immense suffering caused by a multi-year drought and civil war in Ethiopia.  Geldolf was horrified.  He came up with the idea of an all-star band performing on a benefit record.  He contacted Ure and within a few days the pair had written the song—Geldolf being largely responsible for the lyrics and Ure the music.  The Geldof began calling the stars of the British/Irish music scene cajoling, begging, even threatening—“Do you want me to tell the press that you wouldn’t do it?” to get commitments to appear. 

In early November he used an appearance with Richard Skinner on BBC Radio 1, originally planned to unveil a new Boomtown Rats LP, to publicly announce the project.  The immediate press ballyhoo helped convince more artists to sign on to the project.  In the end, a quite impressive roster was assembled for the band Geldolf dubbed Band Aid.

There were some notable missing stars.  Paul McCartney was on board, but the other surviving Beatles were not—supposedly out of fear that if they were invited a frenzy for a Beatles “reunion” would overshadow the other artists and the project.  Only Roger Daltry was on hand from The Who.  No Rolling Stones were involved and neither were Elton John and Cliff Richards.  Also notable for their absences and uninvited were top female performers like Dusty Springfield or Annie Lennox of Eurhythmics and Black stars other than American Jody Watley.  The rest of the women were part of the Irish band Bananarama.

Studio owner, Trevor Horn was originally set to produce but had other commitments and was unable to be there.  Somewhat reluctantly Geldof agreed to allow Ure to handle the recording and mixes.  Horn did latter produce an extended 12 inch version of the song with spoken word greetings from many of the artists over a Feed the World groove on the B side.  Despite tensions between the two creative forces behind the event, Ure proved to be a brilliant choice.

Ure and Geldof arrived at the studio at 6 am. They brought with them two vocal tracks by Sting of The Police and Simon Le Bon of Duran Duran which were intended to be guides for the other singers.  Ure also had a background track including percussion from a drum machine he had already recorded at his home studio.  Pre-mixing and editing continued until 9 am when the other artists began to arrive at the studio, pushing through throngs of paparazzi and media swarming outside.

On hand early were Geldof’s band mates, and members of Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Kool and the Gang including Kool himself, Bananarama, and Heaven 17.  Culture Club, probably the hottest British act that year, were out in force—without Boy George, who was in  New York and had overslept and missed his flight.  A furious Geldof called him, reamed him out and got him to jump on the Concorde. He arrived late in the day but in time to lay down his solo track—and take verbal pot shots at Le Bon, who he despised.

Only one of Ure’s bandmates could be there, but Sting was on hand, Bono and a backing member of U2, Paul Young, Paul Weller of Style Council, Marilyn, and others.  Phil Collins of Genesis showed up a bit later with his whole enormous drum kit, and his work was stripped in over a now subdued drum machine track.  Some canned African drumming was also used in the introduction.

After getting everyone together to listen to the background track and samples, they were all herded together to record the refrain, “'Feed the world, let them know it’s Christmas time” over and over.  Select media were invited to video and photo shoot this part of the session, and before the day’s work was done snips were being shown on the BBC and across the puddle in the US whipping up interest in the project.

Then Ure began recording each of the solo tracks.  Each of the designated singers would run through the entire song, sometimes multiple times as Ure scribbled notes on how snippets would be used in the final version.  No one wanted to be first in the booth in front of so many of their peers.  Finally Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet agreed to be the first.

For Ure, it had to be something of a grueling assembly line and it did not go flawlessly.  Geldof kept coming into the production booth and trying to tell the singers what to do and how to sing, usually not as Ure envisioned it.  Some of the artists were not quite up to snuff, but nothing a deft producer couldn’t mask in the mix.  Until Rick Parfitt of Status Quo couldn’t hit key harmonies assigned to him with band mate Francis Rossi.  Eventually Sting, Weller, and Glenn Gregory of Heaven 17 sang the critical harmonies.  Le Bon asked to re-record his previously laid down track, saying that he was inspired and wanted to “be in the moment.”  Neither Geldof nor Ure sang a solo, although both were in the group chorus.

Although Parfitt flunked out of the recording booth, he did bring along a huge bag of cocaine, which he generously shared—hey, it was the ‘80’s, what did you expect?  There was also plenty of wine and other spirits and god-only-knows what other drugs of choice. As Uri sweated in the booth a major party broke out in the studio.

Boy George, in a bit of a snit, finally arrived early in the evening and laid down the final solo track.  The artists began drifting away, some carrying on the party in London hotel rooms.  Ure, with Geldof anxiously over his shoulder, began the complex job of editing and mixing.  They worked through the night, finishing up almost exactly 24 hours after they had arrived in the studio.   They both recorded spoken word greetings which were used along with words from artists who could not perform live including McCartney, David Bowie, members of Big Country and Holly Johnson from Frankie Goes to Hollywood which producer Horn layered over the Feed the World riff for the B side of the 12 inch version of record.

If Ure’s work was largely done, Geldof’s was just beginning.  Over the next three days he proved himself both relentless and a man not to be crossed.  When record label lawyers objected to the use of their talent and certain managers demanded star billing for their clients, he rolled right over them with threats of public shaming.  Some of the lawyers might have wanted to continue the battle knowing that they could easily win, but executives quickly saw a looming public relations disaster and quietly caved.

Geldof went on the BBC and announced that every penny spent on buying the record would go directly to famine relief.  The government of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher was not amused.  The Foreign Office fretted that money raised from the record would outstrip government contributions to Ethiopian relief—as indeed it easily did—making them look bad.  And Thatcher herself was no fan of “scruffy musicians” even if pop music was one of Britain’s biggest export industries and especially of all of the Irish musicians involved who she suspected were IRA sympathizers.  The government rushed out a statement that it would impose and collect the customary Value Added Tax on all sales which was invisibly imbedded in the cover price despite Geldof’s promise.  Geldof took to the airways with furious denunciations.  After a day or two the government announced that while the tax would remain in place, it would donate all proceeds back to the famine relief charity.  Geldof became one of the few to ever get the Iron Lady to blink in a public confrontation.

Geldof got BBC 1 to break tradition and feature an as yet unreleased single on it programing.  Station management ordered it be played at least once an hour, far exceeding the seven or eight plays a day usual for the biggest hits.  DJs began picking the recording apart in a game to try and identify each of the soloists.  The TV show Tops of the Pops featured it as the opening of every show past the first of the New Year with a special introduction by Bowie and on a Christmas special invited many of the soloists to come into the studio to be shot lip-syncing their parts to the record.

The record was rushed from the pressers and into the stores by November 29, although December 3 would be the official release date.  It was #1 on the British charts before a single copy had been shipped.  Sale far outstripped Geldof’s original hopes of maybe £70,000.  Millions flowed in from just the UK and Ireland by the first of the year.

Across the pond, Americans were introduced to it by relentless play of the video on MTV, then at the height of its cultural influence.  It easily shot up to the top in actual sales, but the elaborate formula of the Billboard Charts also factored in radio play and the single only reached to #3 by that measure.  Still, enormously popular.

During the run at the top of the British charts, Wham! had a hit, Last Christmas which stayed at #2.  George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley donated their royalties to Band Aid.

The record was re-released the following Christmas and hit #1 again.  It has since been released almost annually and remains a seasonal evergreen.  New versions mixing some of the original artists with newcomers were recorded in 1989 by Band Aid II and in 2004 by Band Aid 20.

Based on the enormous popularity of the record, Geldof went on to create and produce the epic Live Aid concerts broadcast world-wide from Wembley Stadium in the UK and John F. Kennedy Stadium in Philadelphia on July 13, 1985.  It would raise an additional £150 million over time from contributions during the live shows and sales of videos, books, and related material. 

As a result of the record and the concert, Geldof, but not the hard working Ure, was knighted.  He subsequently spent most of his time on famine relief and other charity projects and was accused by some of developing a messiah complex.  The example was not lost on U2’s Bono who was involved in the record early in the band’s career.  He likewise became a high profile international charity powerhouse and has been accused of a similar ego.

One of the longest lasting effects of the record and concert were the imitators they inspired.  The following year Michael Jackson would team with Quincy Jones to produce an American all-star charity record, We Are the World.  Participants in that record climaxed the American portion of the Live Aid concert with a performance, just as many of the British performers did with Do They Know it’s Christmas at Wembley.  Since then other super sessions have been arranged to raise money for many causes including for the families of 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina victims.

The concert would inspire Willie Nelson, John Melencamp, and Neil Young to begin their annual Farm Aid concerts in Champaign, Illinois in September 1985.  Those concerts continue to raise money for farmers beset by foreclosures, drought, flood, and other disasters.

Despite all of the success of the record in raising money, there has been criticism.  Much of it directed at Geldof, who walked away with most of the credit for the joint effort and whose ego never recovered.  Irish singer Morrissey who boycotted the recording summed up this attitude bluntly, “I’m not afraid to say that I think Band Aid was diabolical. Or to say that I think Bob Geldof is a nauseating character. Many people find that very unsettling, but I’ll say it as loud as anyone wants me to. In the first instance the record itself was absolutely tuneless. One can have great concern for the people of Ethiopia, but it’s another thing to inflict daily torture on the people of Great Britain. It was an awful record considering the mass of talent involved. And it wasn’t done shyly it was the most self-righteous platform ever in the history of popular music.”

Other criticism is that some of the relief funds may have wound up in the hands of the main insurgent army in the Ethiopian civil war, the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) to buy arms—which Geldof furiously denies.  But given the chaotic nature of getting relief to the needy in the midst of a civil war, it is not unlikely that despite the best efforts of Aid groups on the ground managing relief some funds got diverted to arms.

Many on the political left have been critical calling the record a simple feel-good sop that doesn’t get to the roots of poverty in global income inequality and post-colonial domination by multi-national corporations.

Finally, sub-Saharan Africans have become increasingly vocal in complaining that the original record marginalizes, victimizes, and misrepresents their lives.  Of course millions of African know its Christmas and celebrate it.  Others are Muslin or animist.  There are plenty of rivers and rain in much of the continent, and places where food crops are plentiful and abundant.

Despite it all, Do They Know it’s Christmas remains a beloved milestone record for many.  And it is not going away anytime soon.  You can hear it right along with such perennials as White Christmas and Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer on those 24 hour a day Holiday Music Stations right now.