By Robert Hughes Perrizo
(This article originally appeared in our March 2005 issue.)
Sean T. Kelly, front right, sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” backwards for the Worst Irish Tenor contest in the 1980s. Glen Olson, front left, and Bill Farmer, back left, emceed the event. Tom Hectal provided the accompaniment on his trumpet.
Who Will Be the Next Benny Jensen in St. Paul’s World’s Worst Irish Tenor Contest?
That’s the question as the call for entries for the 35th annual competition squeals out in high C.
The contest — predicated on the premise that everybody wants to be Irish (and sing badly) in March — got its start in 1970 as a shenanigan by a group of roundtable rowdies at Gallivan’s Restaurant, just a couple of weeks before St. Patrick’s Day.
Bill Farmer, curmudgeon columnist for the St. Paul Pioneer Press, had once complained that he’d been duped by the city. He’d arrived from Kansas for a job interview with the paper on St. Patrick’s Day six years earlier.
“Everybody was singing, dancing, and kissing in the streets,” he said. “And nobody told me that’s what happens to people in St. Paul on St. Patrick’s Day.”
Impressed with the joyous scene, Farmer accepted the job offer over lunch at the St. Paul Hotel. His recruiters promptly sent him back to the airport by cab so they wouldn’t miss out on the festivities.
“When I returned for work two weeks later,” Farmer recalled, “the town was deader than a doornail. I vowed to get back at those Irishmen for deceiving me.”
Turning to his roundtable companions, Farmer — then a popular humor columnist — asked how he could return the prank.
“Why not start an Irish tenor contest?” suggested gadfly Glen Olson, a P.R. man from American Bank.
“I’ll do you one better,” said Farmer. “Let’s make it the World’s Worst Irish Tenor Contest!”
They began suggesting names of local Irish “songbirds” who might take the bait. Two North Central Airlines pilots — Ray “Mismatched Shoes” Kelly and Jeremiah Farrell — were floated, along with a motley list of equally overbearing revelers.
“What will really agitate the Irish, though,” Olson chuckled, “is to include some Scandinavians in the contest.”
“I know a great candidate,” said another tablemate. “There’s this Swede, Benny Jensen, up in Hayward, Wisconsin — the worst singer I’ve ever heard. He hits high notes that sound like pig squeals and clears out entire bars when he starts up. I think he’s a mail sorter up there.”
“Perfect,” said Farmer, jotting down names. “Somebody contact this Jensen character and make sure he shows up. This will rattle some Irish cages.”
No sooner had the column announcing the contest hit the streets than the phones started ringing off the hook in Farmer’s office. It seemed everyone in St. Paul — skiers, snowmobilers, fishermen, and vacationers — had heard Benny Jensen perform at some point in Hayward.
“This is really getting BIG,” Farmer schemed, ordering a huge banner printed:
“Welcome Benny Jensen, World’s Worst Irish Tenor.”
“Let’s get him in here early so I can audition him.”
The audition was set up at the Ramada Inn near 3M on I-94, an easy landmark for Benny, who had never been to St. Paul. The motel also had a piano player for early dinner guests, and the large marquee welcoming Benny was impossible to miss.
The chubby, cherubic singer arrived at 6 p.m. sharp, wearing a green bow tie and a plastic boater hat reading “Hayward Muskie Days.” He would wear that hat at the contest for nearly 30 years.
Farmer couldn’t contain his excitement.
“Could you sing us a song now before we go downtown for the contest, Benny?” he asked. “We have a piano player here for you.”
“Yeah,” Benny chirped. “But get me a gin and water wash first — I’ve got to gargle. Does the piano man know Your Cheatin’ Heart?”
It’s a good thing the audition was held. Benny had never used a microphone before, and his first notes created such intense feedback that the Ramada dinner crowd cleared out — just like in the Hayward bars.
“Perfect!” Farmer gushed. “Let’s get him downtown before he loses his edge.”
The rest is history.
Benny performed to a packed house, with fans chanting “Benny! Benny! Benny!” every time he launched into one of his four-song repertoire:
- Jambalaya
- Release Me
- Popeye the Sailor Man
- Your Cheatin’ Heart
KSTP-TV sent a mini-cam to cover the act for the 10 o’clock news. Benny’s performance received network attention, and the contest became an overnight sensation.
Thus, before Reality TV and American Idol, there was the World’s Worst Irish Tenor Contest.