Que sera sera." But, evidently, Doris was by then more proscriptive than she was when she introduced her boffo shoulder-shrugging hit. "Whatever will be will be," as Buddy might well have barked in a withering riposte. If the President's chocolate lab were to be left intact, she argued, he would be liable to prostate problems which might cause embarrassing urinary accidents on grand White House occasions. Nonetheless, Buddy's perky blonde nemesis was insistent. Of all the potential perils the modern world has to offer, the possibility that Doris Day will publicly call for your castration must rank as pretty low. At one point, Miss Day wrote to the White House demanding he be neutered – the dog, that is. "That's really my philosophy." Tell it to Buddy, Bill Clinton's late pooch. "Que sera sera," Doris told me a few years back. The future's not ours to see", and I certainly did not see that.īeyond such personal associations, the song remains Miss Day's. A year or so on, I was back in Miquelon at the same restaurant and inquired of the owner about the aforementioned charming waitress: She had committed suicide in France, and for a while the lyrics rang a little mordant with me - "Whatever will be will be. A couple of weeks later, I was in a joint in Vermont, and another young chanteuse sang it in contemporary style, somewhat less successfully.
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