Johnny Vincent, 74, longtime head of Ace records, one of the great independent labels which first challenged the majors in the 50s, died February 4, of a heart ailment in his hometown of Jackson, MS. He had been suffering with cardiac problems for quite some time.

His death closes the book on one of the most controversial and colorful record executives of that bygone era, light years before the advent of music videos and MTV, when making and marketing a record was a hands on experience from its often crude, no frills production to its "hustle" from a car's trunk into the hands of DJs, who then had the power to "make or break" the artist.

Over the last several decades after quite a roller coaster ride of a career in the 50s and 60s, it wouldn't be unfair to characterize Johnny Vincent as struggling. He was down, yes, but never quite out. His once vast real estate empire, which over the years he had gambled away on "can't miss" artists, had shrunk considerably in the last decade (during one period, he practically owned the downtown district of Jackson, including one of the largest buildings) to the point where he was now renting, as his headquarters, a modest suite of offices in an unassuming industrial park just off of the old interstate 80 in Pearl, a close eastern suburb, named for the river that snakes through this state capital.

Here, surrounded by trophies from his glory days--classic album covers, gold records, and citations--he was running a marginally profitable business of repackaging oldies from his label and shipping them (mostly overseas) by mail order. But even in this endeavor, he was somewhat hamstrung because there was always the problem of either finding the original material or reacquiring the rights to it. He reluctantly revealed to me that, due to dire economic circumstances, he had used the extensive Ace inventory (and publishing) as collateral for loans that upon which he later defaulted. And for the latter part of his life, he was in the ironic situation of leasing back the same master tapes that were once his sole property. He must have felt like nuclear physicist Robert Oppenheimer, who was denied security clearance and thus access to the top-secret files he, himself, had authored.

In fact, his eyes lit up when I revealed myself a collector and had recently gone to Nashville to help restore and resurrect the Excello label for its new corporation, AVI and Ray Harris. "Well, how many Ace singles do you have?" he asked. When I told him I had two hundred, he became depressed. "That's all?" I suppose he was expecting some white knight with the whole Ace catalogue to come riding in and rescue him, though perhaps a good third of his roster wasn't even heard above the Mason-Dixon line. Such always seemed to be his state of affairs during the course of our decade-long relationship.

But he was also doggedly recording to the end, especially in partnership with erstwhile New Orleans producer, Senator Jones of Hep' Me records, who utilized the facilities of International Recording Studio, just around the corner. Most of the releases on this last incarnation of Ace were locals and generally soul stylists like Robert "The Duke" Tillman, Willie Clayton, and Lee Fields. But there was one notable bluesman in the bunch--Frank O, who recorded "Strugglin' Lady," a tune penned by George Jackson, former staff writer for Tommy Couch's Malaco label(also of Jackson), who is also credited with such classics as "Down Home Blues" and "Old Time Rock & Roll."

Although Johnny Vincent belatedly embraced the CD as a marketable item, he was still issuing two-sided vinyl 45 rpm records well into the 90s. In his particular case, he stubbornly persisted in following his own formula for success, refusing to acknowledge the fact that perhaps his modus operandi, once tried and true, had become an anachronism in today's high-powered, glitzy, multi-media blitz campaigns. Old habits with him indeed died hard. "He had his own unique way of doing things. I'll grant him that," said legendary New Orleans engineer, Cosimo Matassa, commenting upon his death.

But like other independent producers of his generation--Huey Meaux of Houston (Teardrop and Crazy Cajun labels), the late J.D. Miller of Crowley, LA (Excello), and Eddie Shuler of Lake Charles (Goldband)--Johnny Vincent had to have more going for him than just a survival instinct, a good business sense. Collectively, they all had to have an ear for a potential hit. With this trait in common, they could literally smell a smash if it fortuitously fell into their laps. And I personally experienced this almost preternatural phenomenon on one of my first trips to Pearl in 1992.

Almost before introductions were over, Johnny began playing some cassettes of recent efforts by some natives he was interested in recording as if to dispel the notion that he ran this enterprise to solely regurgitate the Ace blasts from the past. Actually, I was surprised that he valued my opinion, being somewhat of a stranger. But after hearing a few bars of a sample, I responded, as diplomatically as I could (I didn't want to blow the interview), that this anonymous soulful crooner had a great delivery (which was true), but that I didn't think the material was all that strong. I felt it was a typical 90s record--all style over substance. He took my reaction rather well and didn't seem too displeased. "But the main thing, and I think we both agree, is that it's gotta have feeling first. It will fly. I guarantee you," he exclaimed. As it turned out, Johnny was absolutely correct in his estimation of the number's potential, as it became a steady seller throughout the South for the aforementioned Mr. Tillman.

Sensing that I was still skeptical, he asked, "Well, you seem to know so much. You got anybody up there I might be curious about?" It just so happened that I had in my possession demos of both Bobby Parker and Jesse Yawn which I intended to proffer to Hammond Scott of Black Top records in New Orleans. He listened intently to the Parker, cut after cut. "This guy is great. Is this his own stuff? Where have you been keeping him? You know the band took three or four songs to get their shit together. But, this cat can sing," he responded in his most-pronounced Deep South twang. Sizing up Bobby almost immediately, he inquired as to his availability. I said that I couldn't make promises, since I had given the Crescent City record mogul the right of first refusal (unbeknown to me Hammond had already made a decision from a video I had sent). "Let me know if he doesn't get a contract," added Johnny, more than a bit disappointed.

As for the Yawn tape, he was less enthusiastic. But still could succinctly appraise it in one fell swoop. "Sounds, good, too, in that Bobby Bland groove, but the songs are all cliches," said Johnny. As always, he was right on the money with his evaluations, as Hammond Scott eventually passed on the cassette for the exact same reasons.

Yes, he had the requisite "miracle ear" of all successful entrepreneurs of that vintage but he also had the obligatory gift of gab which could further immensely the career of a particular client or his own personal agenda. Having observed this consummate phone jockey on many occasions, I could not help but wonder at his uncanny ability to talk a good game, whether it was schmoozing with another record maven, stroking an ego, or just shamelessly pitching his product. His seemingly innate power of persuasion took him quite far in the industry, and, in fact, could well have been his meal ticket.

Of Italian ancestry, Johnny Vincent Imbragulio was born on October 3, 1925 in Laurel, Mississippi, a town about seventy miles southeast of Jackson. His parents owned a restaurant with a jukebox and, even in high school during W.W.II, Johnny began selling used records for five cents apiece from the device. By the middle forties, it had expanded into a full time undertaking. "I was servicing twenty-eight Rockolas and I just couldn't keep up with the demand for disks, especially in the black areas. It got me thinking that I could start my own distribution system, but I didn't yet know the ropes," he remembered. One factor which contributed to the overwhelming popularity of the music through this particular medium was that very few radio stations of that era would broadcast "race" records.

He received some invaluable experience when he moved to New Orleans in 1946 selling records on the road for the William B. Allen Supply Company. "I traveled through the deep South on a salary of $250 a month and a $25 a week expense allowance. I'd sleep in my car to save money. Each town I visited I checked out the local roadhouses to see what talent was on display. I also got to know all the jocks at the stations," he recalled.

But he learned the most about the record industry when, on a trip to Jackson, he was induced by Morris Griffin into buying his one-stop, the Griffin Distributing Co. at 241 N. Farish St. in 1949. "We were selling to jukebox operators all over Mississippi and we carried most of the independent race labels--Swingtime, Recorded in Hollywood, Down Beat, Chess, and Apollo. I used to stay up late listening to the used records which were returned. That way I got the feel for what the black people wanted--Big Boy Crudup, Jackie Brenston, and Muddy Waters--and could make a good guess as to what to order next and how many copies," he recalled.

He also discovered that the vast majority of great blues artists hailed from his home state and, thus, could easily be recorded. It was about this time that he began his first label, the short-lived Champion. Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup from nearby Forest, was a likely candidate, but he was under contract to RCA Victor, where he had scored with many rough-hewn folk blues numbers like "That's All Right(later covered by Elvis)," "My Baby Left Me(Elvis, again)," and "I'm Gonna Dig Myself A Hole." Johnny, disregarding this "formality," christened his new guitarist Arthur Blues Crump and recorded "My Baby Boogies All The Time"(108) in 1952, which he rereleased as Ace #503 in 1955. The disguise was thin, but it became a typical ploy of the day. And John Lee Hooker in his heyday may have had a half-dozen such aliases ascribed to him, including Johnny Williams, Texas Slim, and Birmingham Sam And His Magic Guitar, for various outfits.

Johnny Vincent was slowly building quite a reputation for his expertise, so much so, that Dick Sturgil of A-1 distributors in New Orleans which handled the Los Angeles-based race label, Specialty, brought its head executive, Art Rupe, to meet him at the shop in 1950. "After wining and dining me and my wife in New Orleans, he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I was to be his triple-threat--A & R man, distributor, and promotion person. And I'd receive a penny for every record I produced," he reminisced.

In addition to the three hats he was already wearing, Johnny also proved invaluable to Rupe in another capacity, that of a talent scout. Traveling in a deep South circuit which included Dallas, Houston, and New Orleans, Vincent would stay out late where the action was, like Frank Pania's Dew Drop Inn in the latter city. In the three years he worked for Specialty, he either personally produced the records of or signed blues figures like Earl King, Reverend C.L. Franklin(Aretha's father), Guitar Slim(Eddie Jones), Frankie Lee Sims, Wynona Carr, Sam Cooke(then with the gospel group, Soul Stirrers), Jerry Byrne, H-Bomb Ferguson, and John Lee Hooker to its burgeoning roster. "That Hooker album on Specialty was done by me. I went up to Detroit and cut it at 1816 Scott Street off Hastings, where all the bluesmen used to hang out, " he added. During this time frame on October 27, 1953, Johnny Vincent was also responsible for arranging Guitar Slim's memorable tour de force "Things That I Used To Do" which featured Ray Charles on piano.

I asked him about Lloyd Price and his monster hit "Lawdy Miss Clawdy" which was recorded in March of 1952. "No, I didn't really come on the scene there until after that one. But I did most of his subsequent Specialty stuff and later Lloyd, Bill Boskent, and me had a hand in starting KRC[Kent Record Corporation] in 1957 after Lloyd moved to Washington, D.C. at 913 U St. NW. That's when he hit it big with 'Just Because,' which was picked up by ABC Paramount," he responded.

In the period he worked for Specialty, Vincent was run so ragged that he finally was forced to dispose of his enterprise in Jackson. One could imagine his shock when in 1954 Art Rupe gave him his walking papers. He termed the move a "cost cutting measure," citing a slump in sales at Specialty. Johnny viewed his abrupt termination in another light. "The company was in good financial shape, he just didn't want to pay my royalties," he claimed.

Always resourceful, Johnny Vincent by now had acquired the savvy necessary to be his own man in the competitive industry. And his his unceremonious ouster by Specialty proved for him to be a blessing in disguise.

Taking advantage of his former connections, especially in New Orleans, Johnny Vincent was soon back in business with his own new label, Ace in 1955. His first artist for the fledgling company was a local find, Al Collins, and the tune which became Ace 500, "Shuckin' Stuff," was cut in Cosimo Matassa's original J&M studio on Rampart St. And the second catalogue number, also cut at the same facility, was by Crescent City pianist, Eddie Bo(Bocage)--"Baby" bw "So Glad." Eddie would go on to cut his signature "I'm Wise" for Apollo (486) in 1956, which Little Richard eventually appropriated and converted into megahit, "Slippin' and Slidin' ."

Among the first releases were also some C&W flavored tunes by Lou Millet, Jimmy and Jack, and Cajun singer, Al Terry (Theriot), who earlier had recorded on J.D. Miller's Feature label. Ace #508 is of interest to blues collectors in that it offered the first vinyl issue of Elmore James's calling card of an introduction, "Dust My Broom," which was originally recorded for Lillian McMurry's Trumpet label in Jackson in 1951. Johnny leased this master and subsequent tapes like Ace 511, "No Nights By Myself," by Sonny Boy Williamson (Aleck Miller) from the Trumpet inventory.

From an artistic standpoint, many of the first Ace issues have to be considered great efforts, yet were commercial failures, that is, until Ace 509, Earl King's "Those Lonely, Lonely Nights" in 1955. This is the record that put Ace on the map. Johnny, as a producer, had known this Crescent City guitarist and composer from his Specialty days and had long admired his multi-faceted talent. He brought him to Jackson with pianist Huey Smith in tow and they cut the record at the aforementioned Trumpet studio at 309 N. Farish Street. To Huey's chagrin, Johnny inscribed "featuring Fats"(meaning Fats Domino) on the label hoping to boost its sales. He needn't have bothered. Despite its poor fidelity and obvious musical flaws, it flew on its own merits. As a matter of fact, it was such a sensation in the region that it was "covered" by Johnny Guitar Watson (RPM 436) and made the national R&B charts.

Many critics have commented upon the pivotal nature of the crude King recording. For him, it signaled a new departure from his old standard 12-bar blues, characteristic of his Specialty period (at one time he was considered more or less a Guitar Slim clone). This novel E-flat, B-flat, two-chord formula with triplets may or may not have become the model for "Swamp Pop," a soon to be popular song structure indigenous to South Louisiana. Regardless of whether or not this argument is valid, one thing is certain, "Those Lonely, Lonely Nights" was a highly influential recording which launched the careers of both Earl King and, to a lesser degree, Huey Smith.

As a result of this hit, Johnny Vincent released no less than eight of Earl King's singles. In fact, he created such a stir in the territory that this producer gave him a pseudonym, Handsome Earl, and, with this new monicker, he appeared simultaneously on Vin (named for Johnny's son), an Ace subsidiary. The disk jockeys may have been fooled, but not the buying public. Similar to Crudup's case, this, too, was not an uncommon practice and Vincent repeated the stratagem years later when he had Frankie Ford masquerade as Morgus the Magnificent on the same label. Although King wasn't able to repeat the impact of his initial Ace release, he sold steadily throughout the area in his successive attempts. But it became just the opposite script for his accompanyist on the smash record.

On the other hand, Huey Smith began slowly on Ace until August, 1957 when "Rocking Pneumonia and The Boogie Woogie Flu" (530) registered on the national pop charts at #52. Often using Bobby Marchan as a lead singer(who also recorded solo for Ace), Smith followed this best seller with others the next year, "Don't You Just Know It" (545, #9) and "Don't You Know Yockomo" (553, #56). Not surprisingly, the gifted keyboard player had one of Ace's last big Top 40 entries with the dance craze "Popeye" (649, #51) in February of 1962.

Reaping the financial rewards of these blockbusters, Johnny Vincent sought to enlarge his stable of artists. And in the early years, he found that promoting R&B and blues was still a lucrative pursuit. Again, using his former associations, not only in Jackson and New Orleans but also in Dallas and Houston, he swelled the ranks of his blues roster with imposing luminaries such as Sammy Myers (now with Anson Funderburgh), Frankie Lee Sims, Lightning Hopkins, Mercy Baby (Jimmy Mullins), and finally pianists Charles Brown and Amos Milburn.

In reference to the last two singers, I asked Johnny Vincent how he managed to have these former Aladdin stablemates appear in tandem on Ace. "Well, actually, both had a stint together at the Dew Drop Inn in New Orleans. So I got the idea of killing two birds with one stone. And it worked," he said, in a 1999 interview regarding Brown's obituary. The record in question was "I Want To Go Home"/"Educated Fool" (561) with Cosimo's studio band as the supporting cast. Brown's second Ace release, a solo effort, was the sentimental "Please Sing My Blues Tonight," with Dr. John on guitar. Always the opportunist, Johnny also rerecorded for the umpteenth time Brown's seasonal standard, "Merry Christmas Baby," on this occasion for his auxiliary label, Teem (1008).

And also by the late 50s, Johnny Vincent began experimenting with R&B. In addition to the aforementioned blues giants, Johnny Vincent released several sides by Baton Rouge-based soul novelty vocalist, Joe Tex (Arrington), and former Excello crooner, Larry Birdsong.

As time progressed, Johnny Vincent expanded his operations to include distribution of other labels like the aforementioned KRC and Rex. "Rex was pretty much Cosimo Matassa's label and had mostly New Orleans artists like Earl King, Mac Rebbennack, the Emeralds, Chuck Carbo, and Lee Dorsey. One exception was Jerry McCain's 'She's Tough' [1014]. I got that master from a fellow in Birmingham," he remembered. Although Cosimo had his share of the celebrated New Orleans musicians and singers, he, by no means, had the corner on the market, as Johnny eventually brought such native New Orleans notables to Ace as Little Booker (James Booker), baritone sax player Alvin "Red" Tyler, Roland Cook, Roland Stone, and Benny Spellman. It's safe to say that nearly every major player in New Orleans appeared on one or the other label or both during their peak years.

By the late 50s, Ace, indeed, was a multi-purpose label, capitalizing on all the trends of the decade. There were even "du-whop" vocal groups like the Supremes, the Champions, and the Ascots. One ensemble in particular, the Silhouettes, had a winner in their rendition of Leon and Otis Rene's "I Sold My Heart To the Junkman" (552) in 1958. Ably representing the rockabilly category of rock and roll were Mickey Gilley (on Rex), Narvel Felts (on the Pink auxiliary label), Eddie Seacrist(KRC), and Herschel Almond. The teen idol roles were filled by both Frankie Ford and Baton Rouge's Jimmy Clanton.

New Orleans' Frankie Ford, a prodigy as a child (Ted Mack's Amateur Hour), enjoyed modest success with his first Ace attempt, "Cheatin' Woman" (549), which he parlayed into road tour throughout the Gulf Coast states. Upon his return, Johnny Vincent had a follow up ready. His engineer, Cosimo Matassa, erased a Huey Smith (Bobby Marchan, lead) vocal track from a demo selection and then overdubbed Frankie's voice. The result was "Sea Cruise" (554), which soared up the pop survey to #14 in February of 1959. Like Earl King, Frankie was never to repeat the magnitude of this accomplishment for Ace, yet made a few ripples in the regional pond with successive tries in the studio. Ford, with his winning smile, charm, and good looks, fit somewhat in that image that Johnny desired, but his repertoire had too much of a gritty, R&B slant to be considered the perfect vehicle with which to convey a proper, squeaky-clean persona.

Instead, Johnny's prayers for a handsome, all-American boy who could sing pop fare were answered by Jimmy Clanton. "I used to watch American Bandstand with Dick Clark out of Philadelphia and it seemed that each week he came up with an adolescent heartthrob that the girls all worshipped--Fabian, Frankie Avalon, and Bobby Rydell. That's just what I was looking for," he confessed. At the time, Cosimo Matassa was managing the singer, so it wasn't difficult for Vincent to persuade the engineer to have him record exclusively for Ace. "Just A Dream" (546) in July of 1958 climbed to #4 nationally and was the first of an incredible run of nine chartmaking singles, many of them two-sided hits. At the end of the 50s, Clanton was literally carrying the load for Johnny Vincent's label.

As the 60s dawned, Ace, the small independent record company still based in Jackson, was challenging the majors for a good piece of the action in the music business. By now, Johnny had purchased the nine-story Vincent building at 203 W. Capitol and adjacent property, a complex which housed a warehouse, record store, restaurant, and recording studio. With all his holdings and his new headquarters, he must have envisioned himself as presiding over a huge conglomerate.

Nevertheless, there were ominous clouds on the horizon that would signal the label's demise. Johnny was concentrating primarily on his pop stars, where there was a lot more money to be had, and ignoring or neglecting his black artists who were once the backbone of his business. Many of the former charter members of Ace like Earl King and Huey Smith had already defected to a rival label--Lew Chudd's Imperial. In his defense, it was true that the golden age of the blues had passed. On the other hand, recording this idiom had always been Johnny's strong suit. He was just out of his element in the brave new, alien world of pop music, and once he entrusted outside producers and musicians to meddle in his affairs, he was asking for trouble. As the decade wore on, Ace moved forward, impelled, not so much by a master plan ensuring its survival, but by only its own inertia. Then came the coup de grace.

In 1962, Johnny Vincent made a promotion and distribution deal with Vee-Jay records of Chicago. At the time, it seemed like a sound transaction. Vee-Jay, another independent, had a lineup that included John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed, Jerry Butler, Betty Everett, and the Four Seasons(and soon the Beatles). Each thought that the other could help "cross over" artists: Vee-Jay supplying black acts and Vincent, white. Ewart Abner, an executive, and Paul Marshall, his lawyer, convinced Johnny that it would be in his own best interest to accept the proposal. And Jimmy Clanton's inaugural record, "Venus In Blue Jeans" (Ace 8001, #7), heralded an auspicious start to the venture.

Little did Johnny know that Vee-Jay was nearly broke at the time (some believe that it was because Abner had incurred heavy losses as a high-stakes gambler in Las Vegas). Nonetheless, the fact that they couldn't pay the studio time up front for Clanton should have aroused the suspicions of the founder of Ace and compelled him to inquire concerning their solvency. Despite the million seller by Clanton and despite the Beatles, both partners in the agreement declared bankruptcy within two years. Johnny Vincent, especially, was left holding the bag, because, as part of the contract, he had to supply records in the amount he judged necessary--what he estimated that the market would bear. "I had to buy back all the records I ordered for the distributors to the tune of over $650,000," he lamented.

It was all downhill for Ace records after this financial collapse, although Johnny Vincent tried valiantly to keep the label afloat. In 1970, the bankruptcy, coupled with some ill-advised investments and domestic problems, ultimately forced the sale of the Vincent building, which is now part of Millsaps College. "I've managed over the years to keep two of the smaller structures, but had to sell songs just to pay the taxes on them," he said. They now stand in great disrepair, boarded up and vacant, and are the favorite targets of vandals, when not the temporary shelters of squatters. "There were times back then when I was living out of my car. All I had left was my pride," he confided.

In the early 70s, Vincent accepted an offer to run the Memphis Record Company in the Home of the Blues. "I thought we had one hit up there, but it never really panned out," he revealed. Back in Jackson in 1972, he again tried to resuscitate Ace records, a revival which was demarcated by a new catalogue numbering sequence--the 3000 series. It was a personal acknowledgement of his forte--R&B--and he thought he could repeat his past triumphs by drawing upon his regular stand-bys --blues artists such as Willie Dixon and New Orleans performers like Bobby Marchan, James Booker, and the Clowns. But, the old magic seemed to be gone, as nothing clicked. In 1974, another resurrection of Ace was the blue-labeled 6000 designation which featured local soul singer, Nolan Struck. It, too, failed to take root. By the mid-70s, Johnny, like a lot of producers, was learning how impossible it was to expect to move such merchandise, as the fickle public's tastes again had shifted dramatically. The blues was dead. New Orleans music was dead. And Disco was king. What could he do now?

About 1990, Johnny Vincent felt that the time was right to start anew. "This time I made it up in my mind that I was going to again record new talent. You can only do so much with oldie compilations, and, after all the collectors have them, then what?" To the rescue came an old friend who was in the shirt business, Cliff Thomas. Cliff, a former rockabilly stylist, had recorded for the Sam C. Phillips label( a Sun affiliate) in Memphis in the late 50s and for Ace in the early 60s. They pooled their meager resources and together restored the label. However, soon they found that the budget, being of the shoestring variety, could only support one partner. Cliff, deferring to Johnny's experience, made off for Jamaica, where he currently runs a clothing factory.

My favorite Johnny Vincent story (also corroborated by Cosimo Matassa) was the recording of the Clowns' lead singer, Bobby Marchan. This rather flamboyant figure was the RuPAUL of his day and a celebrated drag queen in the gay revues of the French Quarter, although unbeknown at the time to the provincial Johnny of Jackson. Cosimo dispatched him by train for a session to the Mississippi capital and he plunked down on the platform's bench immediately after his arrival. Searching furiously for Marchan in the station lest he miss his studio appointment, the exasperated Johnny eventually called Cosimo, who then assured him that, indeed, Marchan had boarded as scheduled. Racing back out to the track, Vincent spotted the solitary sitter, who appeared to be a damsel in distress, and inquired if any other passenger had debarked at this destination. It was then that Marchan coyly uttered, "Mr. Vincent, I presume?"

Actually, at Johnny Vincent's death, things at Ace were a bit more rosier than they had been in some time. He was appearing as part of the Ace oldies review in syndication, including Frankie Ford, Earl King, Jimmy Clanton, and Huey Smith on such programs as CMT(a C&W promotional vehicle, believe it or not) and royalties from his publishing were trickling in, such as from the song "Sea Cruise" used in the soundtrack of the major motion picture, Adventures of Ford Fairlane with Andrew Dice Clay, a perennial staple of cable TV. And he was still talking up "sure bet finds" in the area like Willie Clayton. "This guy is going to be a superstar. Mark my words," he often said. At the close of any conversation, he always asked me to remind the public that "Johnny Vincent was still out there and still had the right stuff." But, I suppose we'll never know because this eternal optimist's protracted comeback attempt simply ran out of time.