The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
161
By waiting he saved fifty thousand dollars. Two nights later, Goff was found shot to 
death in his home in Glendale. There was no more talk of union trouble. Johnny was a 
little shaken by the killing. It was the first time the long arm of the Don had struck such a 
lethal blow so close to him. 
As the weeks went by and he became busier and busier with getting the script ready, 
casting the movie and working out production details, Johnny Fontane forgot about his 
voice, his not being able to sing. Yet when the Academy Award nominations came out 
and he found himself one of the candidates, he was depressed because he was not 
asked to sing one of the songs nominated for the Oscar at the ceremony that would be 
televised nationally. But he shrugged it off and kept working. He had no hope of winning 
the Academy Award now that his Godfather was no longer able to put pressure on, but 
getting the nomination had some value. 
The record he and Nino had cut, the one of Italian songs, was selling much better than 
anything he had cut lately, but he knew that it was Nino’s success more than his. He 
resigned himself to never being able to again sing professionally. 
Once a week he had dinner with Ginny and the kids. No matter how hectic things got he 
never skipped that duty. But he didn’t sleep with Ginny. Meanwhile his second wife had 
finagled a Mexican divorce and so he was a bachelor again. Oddly enough he was not 
that frantic to bang starlets who would have been easy meat. He was too snobbish 
really. He was hurt that none of the young stars, the actresses who were still on top, 
ever gave him a tumble. But it was good to work hard. Most nights he would go home 
alone, put his old records on the player, have a drink and hum along with them for a few 
bars. He had been good, damn good. He hadn’t realized how good he was. Even aside 
from the special voice, which could have happened to anybody, he was good. He had 
been a real artist and never knew it, and never knew how much he loved it. He’d ruined 
his voice with booze and tobacco and broads just when he really knew what it was all 
about. 
Sometimes Nino came over for a drink and listened with him and Johnny would say to 
him scornfully, “You guinea bastard, you never sang like that in your life.” And Nino 
would give him that curiously charming smile and shake his head and say, “No, and I 
never will,” in a sympathetic voice, as if he knew what Johnny was thinking. 
Finally, a week before shooting the new picture, the Academy Award night rolled 
around. Johnny invited Nino to come along but Nino refused. Johnny said, “Buddy, I 

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