Mrs. V. is crying again. It is two days prior to the warehouse visit, and she is seated at the dining room table of her memorabilia-packed apartment in a luxury building in central Philadelphia. Across from her sits Szadek, who keeps an attentive watch on the proceedings.
''I cry all the time, so don't pay me no attention,'' she says, dabbing her eye with a Kleenex. She is thinking about the old days, when the Vandross family -- Luther's brother, Charles, and sisters Patricia and Ann -- lived in a housing project on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Music was always central to the household: Luther Sr., an upholsterer, sang semiprofessionally, and Patricia was a member of the doo-wop group the Crests (''16 Candles''). Born in 1951, Luther dropped out of college in the early '70s to pursue a music career. He soon made a name for himself as a backup singer. One of his first breaks was arranging and belting out the background vocals on David Bowie's ''Young Americans.'' He went solo in 1981, and has seen all but one of his 15 romance-drenched albums go platinum, making the Pied Piper of Love one of the biggest R&B stars of the past two decades.
But success couldn't stave off tragedy. Remarkably, diabetes took the life not only of Luther's father but of his brother in 1992 and his sister Patricia in 1993. Ann suffered a fatal asthma attack in 1999. ''I lost my three other children,'' Mrs. V. says. ''Luther is the last of the four, and to have him in the hospital with a stroke...''
In the first weeks after his collapse, Vandross lingered in a minimally responsive state, breathing with the help of a respirator. When he finally regained consciousness on May 29, his condition remained grave; he was unable to walk and was frequently incoherent, at times imagining that he was backstage at a concert. Painfully to all, he was also unable to recognize family and friends. ''The first several days, I didn't think he was going to pull through,'' remembers Carmen Romano, echoing the sentiments of many in the Vandross camp.
But the ensuing months have brought slow -- and encouraging -- change. Vandross still drifts in and out of lucidity and doesn't always seem to know where he is or what happened to him, but he is now able to recognize people. Even his sense of humor has returned. Mrs. V. reports: ''One of the nurses said to me, 'Your son is a comedian from the heart.''' Although he is still incapable of walking or dialing a telephone on his own, Vandross undergoes physical therapy every day. And, in a poignant twist, he has lost 60 pounds through the ordeal.
Mrs. V. smiles as she tells how her son recently surprised her with a rendition of his 1986 song ''So Amazing'' -- a phrase that has become something of a mantra these past weeks. ''Out of the blue, he called and says, 'I want to sing you a song.' I said, 'What?' And he said, 'So Amazing.' 'Oh, well, just go right ahead,' I said, and he sang the whole song through.''
In fact, music has been a large part of his rehab regimen. ''Right from the beginning, his responsiveness to anything to do with music was way off the charts,'' recalls Szadek. ''We saw that really quickly, and the therapist [confirmed it].'' Vandross' own music, as well as that of his idols -- Aretha Franklin, Patti LaBelle, the Supremes, Dionne Warwick -- is pretty much on constant replay near his hospital bed. Doctors have told the Vandross family that full recovery from a brain injury usually takes at least a year. And Max Szadek is similarly cautionary. ''He has good days and bad days,'' Szadek says. ''When we mention he's singing -- well, he IS singing. But I get nervous that people expect he'll be on stage in a month, and that's not where we are.''
Whether Vandross will ever get back to work remains the big question. ''Watchful waiting'' and ''cautious optimism'' are the operative phrases for members of his extended family. To prevent any further damage to his vocal cords from the respirator, Vandross underwent a tracheotomy in late April. Still, a tough journey lies ahead. ''I've actually gotten phone calls from promoters looking to book him,'' says Romano, incredulously. ''People are so stupid. It's frustrating. He's doing much better, but he's not there.''
Nat Adderley Jr., Vandross' close friend and longtime musical arranger, is even more guarded about the singer's prospects. He makes the comparison to R&B great Teddy Pendergrass, who attempted a comeback of his own after being paralyzed in a 1982 car crash. ''When Teddy came back after his accident, it was great,'' says Adderly. ''But he wasn't the same. I don't want to see that happen to Luther, who they used to call the Pavarotti of Pop. I told him that when I saw him. If he can't come back exactly the same, then I don't want him on stage singing. Not Luther.''
Clive Davis, the chief at Vandross' label, J Records, last visited the singer in late August. ''It was touching to me that he knew who I was,'' says Davis. ''I told him about the positive reaction to the song 'Dance With My Father,' and to the album as a whole. He used the word 'fantastic' three or four times. He was doing some rehabilitative exercises with a nurse at the time. He's obviously on the long road of rehabilitation. I told him that given the overwhelmingly positive critical and public response to ''Dance With My Father,'' I was hoping he would be able to attend the next Grammy Awards with me.''
As Davis remembers it, the nurse then posed a question to her patient: ''Luther, do you remember when the Grammys are?''
''Yes, they're in February,'' Davis recalls Vandross saying.
Sounds like Clive isn't the only one saving that date.
You Might Also Like
- All About Luther Vandross
- Music Commentary Patti LaBelle remembers Luther Vandross | Patti LaBelle
- Pop Culture News EW remembers Luther Vandross | Tom Sinclair
- In the News Luther Vandross talks to Oprah Winfrey | Brian Hiatt
