An obituary on Guy Lombardo in Monday's editions of The Washington Post incorrectly referred to Robert Moses, former chairman of the Long Island State Park Commission, as "the late Robert Moses." Mr. Moses is alive and resides in New York.

Bandleader Guy Lombardo, who led the Royal Canadians in "the sweetest music this side of heaven," died in a Houston hospital Saturday night of lung problems that followed heart surgery. He was 75.

Lombardo, who once said that when he died he was "taking New Year's with me," recently had undergone an operation by Dr. Michael E. DeBakey to repair a weakening and distension of the thoracic aorta, the great artery that carries blood from the heart. He was discharged from Methodist Hospital in Houston Oct. 18, but was readmitted Oct. 27.

They played at church socials and various local functions, and then, in 1923, they decided to try the vaudeville circuit in the United States. The band played in theaters and at dances and for local radio stations in Cleveland, which is where Lombardo met his wife, and elsewhere. One night in Chicago in 1927, gangster George Malone shot two hoodlums in the Granada Ballroom, where Lombardo was playing.

But not much happened in the way of getting into bigtime show business until another night in Chicago in 1929.

By morning, success had come to the Royal Canadians, Wrigley Chewing Gum and Florsheim Shoes agreed to sponsor them on CBS. And so they left Chicago, where it was first said that they played "the sweetest music this side of heaven," a phrase attributed to Ashton Stevens, a critic who worked in "The Windy City."

Besides his wife, his sister, Rosemarie, and brothers Victor and Lebert, Lombardo is survived by another brother, Joseph, a designer and interior decorator who also resides in Freeport, Long Island.

He could make jokes about taking New Year's with him because over the decades he made his lump-in-the-throat, I'm-glad-but-I'm-sad rendition of "Auld Lang Syne" synonymous wiht "Happy New Year" for millions.

For years he played the tune from the Roosevelt Grill in New York, and then in 1962 swithced to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. He played it on the radio and then on television. In recent years, the performance, which began at the stroke of midnight and kisses and promises and the tooting of horns ushered in another year, was carried by satellite around the world.

Technology and lots of other things changed, but not Lombardo and his music. He made the Royal Canadians the most enduring of the big bands. Through the eras of swing, jive, jazz, jam, boogie-woogie, the rhumba craze and the wilder trends after the arrival of rock, he stayed with what he started with.He once described it as "music people like to hum while they're dancing."

A publicity release put out by CBS in 1942 said Lombardo had "probably promoted more romances than all the marriage brokers put together. Happy couples who fell under cupid's spell while dancing to Lombardo's orchestra are constantly sending the leader pieces of wedding cake with notes saying the life-partnership was started to the strains of "the sweetest music this side of heaven."

If "life-partnerships," like dancing cheek-to-cheek, are less common than they used to be, they still are the kinds of things Lombardo represented to millions. He married his wife, Lilliebel, in 1926, and the couple lived quietly and modestly in a waterfront home in Freeport, Long Island, with several dogs and cats (they had no children.) Mrs. Lombardo was with her husband when he died.

Appropriately enough, the Royal Canadians, so-called because the Lombardos came from Canada, largely were a family affair. Three of Lombardo's brothers - Carmen, Lebert and Victor - played in the band. Rosemarie, a sister, was a vocalist with it for six years in the 1940s. Later, a nephew joined up a drummer. Seven of the original nine members of the group were still playing with the band in the early 1970s.

For critics who said he was "The King of Corn," Guy Lombardo had a ready answer: "Anytime a band has a 'class' following, anytime it creates a distinctive quality, some of the other musicians call it corny. What's bad about that? A band doesn't have to start worrying until the customers compalin. We're giving the public what they want. We don't force bad songs on them."

In addition to being a bandleader, Lombardo was a successful businessman whose interests included Florida real estate. Texas oil, a restaurant in Freeport, Long Island, and a music publishing company. He also was a theatrical producer and a champion speedboat racer.

He was almost as well known for his speedboat exploits as he was for his music. He began to race in 1939. He won the Gold Cup in 1946, and the President's Cup and the Silver Cup in 1955. From 1946 to 1949, he was the national champion in this expensive and dangerous sport. By the time he retired from powerboat racing in the late 1950s, having his share of accidents, he had won every major trophy that the sport had to offer.

In 1954, the late Robert Moses, the autocratic chairman of the Long Island State Park Commission, the Jones Beach State Parkway, and the Bethpage Park Authority, persuaded Lombardo to take charge of the Marine Theater at Jones Beach on Long Island. Although he had no prior experience as a theatrical producer, Lombardo began to put on summer entertainments at the state-owned facility, and they were an enormous success.

His first production was "Arabian Nights," a musical by Carmen Lombardo, a successul songwriter and arranger as well as Guy's right-hand man until his death in 1971. The stars included Lauritz Melchior of the Metropolitan Opera and members of the New York City Ballet. Also featured were a couple of elephants, a wooden whale with eyes that blinked, and a Chinese junk that floated into view on Zach's Bay, the latoon on which the theater was located and which became one of the props, so to speak, in several subsequent productions.

These included Jerome Kern's "Showboat," which had in it a real showboat that cruised across Zach's Bay and tied up at a levee; "South Pacific;" "The Sount of Music" (that was in 1970 and it drew 400,000 people); "The King and I," and Fiddler on the Rood" (which had $200,000 in advance sales in the 1974 season).

Moreover, Lombardo took to inviting the audience to stay and dance when the theater performance was over. Thousands took him up on it and he played such Lombardo standards as "Boo Hoo," "Did You Ever See a Dream Walking," "Ain's She Sweet," ("Moon River," "Lara's Theme," and "Country Roads." A particular favorite was a medley of "Little Coquette," "Harbor Lights," "The Object of My Affection," and "Time on My Hands."

There also was "Annie Doesn't Live Here Anymore." A songwriger had sent it to Lombardo as a joke. Not only did the band turn it into a hit, but the title became a catch-phrase in the language.

Guy Albert Lombardo Jr. was born in London, Ont.; on June 19, 1902. His father was an Italian tailor who liked music and he gave each of his older childred an instrument and told them to start playing.

"I got the violin because I was the oldest," Lombardo said in a 1970 interview. "And the violin player is always the leader. That's why I'm the leader."

He persuaded a neighborhood boy named Fred Kreitzer, who could pay the piano, to join the group, and so the first Lombardo band was born. Carmen played the alto saxophone and Victor got the baritone and soprano sax. Lebert was the trumpet player. Kreitzer stayed with the band for years.

They played at church socials and various local functions, and then, in 1923, they decided to try the vaudeville circuit in the United States. The band played in theaters and at dances and for local radio stations in Cleveland, which is where Lombardo met his wife, and elsewhere. One night in Chicago in 1927, gangster George Malone shot two hoodlums in the Granada Ballroom, where Lombardo was playing.

But no much happed in the way of getting into bigtime show business until another night in Chicago in 1929.

"I look back on tht day when at 5 in the afternoon we were absolutely unknown and the next morning we were like the Beatles," he said in 1970. "It was the right day, the right time and the right type of music. I only feel thankful."

What happened was that they were playing in a ballroom where the owner did not like radio.

"I remember Dick Powell came into town to sing with us," Lombardo said. "There were four people in the place, so we told him to go on to his next engagement. That meant that Carmen had to be the singer. The reason he had to be the singer was that he was the closest one to the mike."

Before this no-so-promising evening had gone on very long, Lombardo had persuaded the ballroom owner to allow a local station to carry 15 minutes of his music. The station was to taken with the sound of the Royal Canadians that it carried the performance all night.

"By midnight, the ballroom was filled with people from all over Chicago," Lombardo said. "Carmen is such a sincere guy in his heart. When he sings 'I love you,' he means 'I love you.' He can't sing worth beans, but his style became the new style of singing."

By morning, success had come to the Royal Canadians. Wrigley Chewing Gum and Florsheim Shoes agreed to sponsor them on CBS. And so they left Chicago, where it was first said that they played "the sweetest music this side of heaven," a phrase attributed to Ashton Stevens, a critic who worked in "The Windy City."

Before long, Lombardo was broadcasting from the grill of the Hotel Roosevelt in New York. That is where they began to make "Auld Lang Syne" a synonym for "Happy New Year."

They had been using the song to close out their shows for years. They began playing it because of the large Scottish population in London, Ont. Moreover, it was particularly popular during the Great Depression. So it seemed natural to say "goodbye" to the old year and "hello" to the new one with the playing of "Auld Lang Syne."

With success came introductions to the great and the powerful. Lombardo knew Presidents Roosevelt, Truman, and Nixon and played several engagements at the White House.

In 1969, President Nixon called Lombardo on the telephone as the band was about to begin its New Year's broadcast from the Waldorf-Astoria. There being no telephone in the ballroom, Lombardo had to leave word that he would call the President back.

"It was just too close to air time to leave the bandstand," he explained later.

But Lombardo never entirely lost a kind of "gee-whiz" approach to fame and fortune. The engagements he remembered most vividly were those he played at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles in the 1930s.

"All the movie stars had their favorite tables," he would recall. "It was so exciting. You can never believe how exciting it was when the spotlights would shine on them as they came down the steps into the ballroom, and they knew the spotlights were on them. I still get a big thrill when I think about it."

In fact, he liked working until the end.

"It's like meeting a lot of wonderful friends again and they ask you for your autograph," he once said. "It gives you a terrific lift.The wonderful part of my job is that I only see people when they are happy, not like doctors and lawyers. I have a beautiful life."

Besides his wife, his sister, Rosemarie, and brothers Victor and Lebert, Lombardo is survived by another brother, Joseph, a designer and interior decorator who also resides in Freeport, Long Island.