“Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow. Something in your kiss just told me, my sometime is now. Everybody finds somebody someplace. There's no telling where love may appear. Something in my heart keeps saying my someplace is here…” – “Everybody Loves Somebody,” by Sam Coslow, Taylor Irving and Ken Lane

Ladies and gentlemen, sometimes you never know when you’ll catch lightning in a bottle – or simply be at the right place at the right time.

One of my favorite songs, sung by one of my favorite artists, was penned back in 1947. The tune, “Everybody Loves Somebody” had been recorded quite a few times over the years, but really hadn’t seen much success.

As the story goes, in 1964, Ken Lane was playing piano for Dean Martin during a recording session, and with a little bit of studio time left, Lane suggested that the crooner record his tune. Deano agreed, and as they say, the rest is history.

Martin, who hadn’t had a Top 40 hit since 1958, quickly had the song re-recorded for his next album, adding a full orchestra and chorus, and Dean’s label, Reprise Records, titled the LP “Everybody Loves Somebody.”

Martin, who was born in Steubenville, Ohio, famously told his teenage son, “I’m gonna knock your pallies off the charts,” and in August of 1964, “Everybody Loves Somebody” bumped the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night” off the No. 1 spot on Billboard.

Not long afterward, the tune replaced “That’s Amore” as Dean’s signature song, and when Dean Martin passed away on Christmas Day in 1995, he was buried at the Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery in Los Angeles.

His grave marker features the epitaph, “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.”

A year before that, in early 1994, I was a sophomore at Ohio State University. On a bitterly cold and snowy winter morning, I was driving my 1984 Ford Thunderbird toward campus to take a midterm in a political science class. I turned on the radio, and soon heard that for the first time since the blizzard of 1978, the campus was closed for the day due to the extreme cold and snow.

Folks, I was one happy camper. I wasn’t fully prepared for the midterm anyway, so I drove back to my apartment and went back to bed.

The midterm was rescheduled for Monday, Feb. 21, 1994.

That morning, I remember driving into campus and parking my car near St. John Arena, where the Buckeyes played basketball in those days. I walked over to Hitchcock Hall to take the midterm, and I was a several minutes early and another class was still in the lecture hall.

I sat down next to a young lady who was wearing a Dallas Cowboys jacket. She had her textbook open and was feverishly looking over her notes, but I introduced myself anyway.

After some brief chit chat, the bell rang and students began pouring out of lecture hall.

We got up, walked in and I once again sat down beside the young lady I had just met a few moments earlier. The teaching associates passed out the midterms to the large class of a few hundred folks and the test began.

About an hour later, I still had quite a bit of the examination left to complete when my classmate stood up and put on her Dallas Cowboys jacket. As she began to walk her completed midterm up to the proctors, I got her attention and whispered, “Hey, will you wait for me?”

When I finished the last question, looked over the midterm and finally turned it in, I left the lecture hall – and found the young lady wearing the Dallas Cowboys jacket sitting there waiting for me.

On Feb. 21, 1994, I had been alive exactly 7,700 days.

As I type this, I’ve been alive exactly 7,700 days since Feb. 21, 1994.

I can now say I’ve known my wife for half my life – and today, March 24, by the way, is her birthday.

Ladies and gentlemen, life is short and often unpredictable.

What if Ken Lane had never asked Dean Martin to sing a song Lane had helped compose close to two decades earlier? What if I had never sat down beside the girl with the Dallas Cowboys coat in that crowded lecture hall off of Lane Avenue in Columbus more than two decades ago? What if I had never asked her to wait? What if she had been in a hurry, or simply had chosen not to wait?

Guess we’ll never know, and I’m glad I’ll never find out.

Everybody loves somebody sometime, and although my dreams were overdue. Your love made it well worth waiting for someone like you…

Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press.