Clark: Even karaoke can soothe with a voice (92) this smooth

It’s a little after 8 inside a north Spokane lounge and the Tuesday night karaoke entertainment has just begun.

“The summer wind, came blowin’ in, from across the sea …”

I’ll never be a member of the karaoke fan club. The canned music singalong phenomenon put too many real musicians out of work.

The lean guy crooning this Sinatra classic is the reason I’m here and not propped up on my couch watching the All-Star game.

His name is Bob Juhlin and he can actually sing.

But here’s the intriguing thing.

This lanky man with the smooth, pitch-perfect pipes is 92 years old.

Crazy.

I keep repeating the number 92 in my head but can’t quite wrap my brain around it.

Singing regularly in karaoke clubs is hardly the nonagenarian norm. Far too often life in the 90s means nursing homes, oxygen bottles and using a walker.

Not this guy. Juhlin drives, produces wonderful art, plays guitar and shares a North Side home with Dottie, his bride of 60 years.

Part of me wants to run up and yank the mike out of Juhlin’s hand. Then in the gruff voice of a state trooper I’d ask him to fork over his driver’s license for verification.

I don’t do that, of course. That would be rude even by my brash standards.

Instead I sip my Diet Coke and enjoy Juhlin’s silky smooth phrasing.

“It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me …”

Listening to karaoke is like eating at a potluck.

Some dishes are OK. Many dishes would gag a starving mutt.

Occasionally, however, someone who really knows how to cook whips up something special.

Juhlin is one of those delicious surprises, which the modest crowd acknowledges with appreciative hooting at the end of his tune.

The Juhlin singing story starts in 1938. I know this from the handwritten “Stuff about Bob Juhlin” letter he gave me shortly after we met.

This guy kills me.

Life in 1938 was way different than it is now. Some things were better, like men wearing fedoras, no Facebook and not having to listen to any boobs squawk about global warming.

On the other hand, cigarettes were considered to be wonderful for your throat and a failed painter named Hitler was working hard to make German the globe’s official language.

Just out of high school, Juhlin and three of his buddies went looking for work one day in downtown Seattle when they stumbled upon an “audition” sign on the KOMO radio station door.

They went inside to find a man sitting at a piano. “You guys want to audition?” he asked.

“None of us had ever sung in front of anybody,” recalled Juhlin. “But we did.”

You can guess what happened next. Juhlin was the only one to get a call. Come on down and sing four songs with an orchestra on a live radio show, he was told.

“I thought it was a gag, but quietly showed up and did the program.” It was “the first time my family ever heard me sing.”

Juhlin was a natural. Soon you could hear him on radio spots, commercials and with local bands. He even performed as a singing waiter in Seattle and Portland nightclubs.

Juhlin’s musical career was taking wing. Then World War II came along.

Though drafted, Juhlin figured his flat feet and heart murmur would keep him from passing the physical.

The kid had stars in his eyes but with good reason. Paul Whiteman, the famed orchestra leader, had invited him to sing with the band during a Seattle performance. Whiteman liked what he heard and offered Juhlin a rare chance to audition.

This was beyond huge. The great Bing Crosby, no less – Juhlin’s singing idol – had once been a fixture in the Whiteman orchestra.

But following the road to Crosby wasn’t in the cards.

See, the government wasn’t too picky back in 1940. Juhlin aced his induction physical and was soon property of Uncle Sam, flat feet and all.

Singing fame aside, his military service proved to be a very good thing for the public.

Juhlin spent his career with the U.S. Air Force, retiring as a lieutenant colonel in 1965.

He and Dottie moved to Spokane to raise five kids and live the good life. He picked up singing again and performs around town whenever and wherever he can.

After the cheers die down, Juhlin glad-hands his way back to my table. He grins. “Even though I’m 92 going on 93 I’m still working at it. Every time I sing I’m trying to get better.”