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Perhaps my love for the big bands, jazz combos, and vocalists began when Earl "Fatha" Hines stayed in our home in Marshalltown in the late 1930's. Hotels, generally, were not available to Blacks until the mid 50's thus many Blacks who traveled stayed in private homes. I vaguely recall "Fatha" entertaining the Maxwell family with his unique style of piano playing. The original Ink Spots came to town and performed at the Coliseum in the mid 40's. The group featured Bill Kenny who sang the high tenor solos on the beautiful ballads "The Gypsy", "If I Didn't Care" and "I'm Making Believe." The Ink Spots were internationally recognized, thus it was a coup for them to appear in Marshalltown. After the performance, I waited outside by the stage door until the group came out. Having expressed my delight as to their performance, Bill said, "Did you really like it?", whereas I responded as any 12 year old meeting international celebrities for the first time said, "Boy, did I ever." Bill genuinely said, "I'm glad you did." The group then climbed into the longest metallic yellow Dodge limousine I had ever seen and drove away. The late Russ Smith, who owned Smith Music Store in Marshalltown, was instrumental in bringing big bands to the community. The backdoor of the Coliseum was always open to me due in part to my love for playing the trombone. I met Jimmy Dorsey in 1951 during a break backstage. I asked what must have seemed like a million questions. He was one of the most patient and accommodating persons I had ever met. On another occasion I met Sammy Kaye. However, before Sammy arrived at the Coliseum, I met Chubby Silver, a talented tenor saxophonist, who was warming up on some strange kind of music which I had never heard before. It was called bebop. He said, "Man, can you play bop?" I said, "No" as I was heavy at that time into playing the Bb scale, with a range of one octave. When Sammy arrived backstage, Chubby asked whether the band could play one of those "bebop" tunes. Sammy just looked at him. Needless to say, the music that night was devoted to Sammy's kind of music. I asked Sammy a musical question. His only response was, "why don't you tell your friends to come and 'Swing and Sway with Sammy Kay.' " I remember seeing food stains on his suit. He did change into another suit before the dance began. Having met Jimmy Dorsey and the Ink Spots, I was somewhat disappointed in Sammy's somewhat contemptuous attitude toward Chubby as well as me. It is an understatement to say that Gene Krupa enjoyed playing drums. He brought his big band to the Forest Park Ballroom on N. 3rd Avenue. I shall never forget his enthusiasm and his being totally enthralled with not only playing drums but driving and "kicking" the band. He played so hard he was totally immersed in perspiration. During the intermission he showed me how to hold the drum sticks. He stressed the importance of rolling the wrists inward. I was surprised as to how short he was. Gene Krupa was as was Jimmy Dorsey, a most accommodating individual. He asked me what instrument I played. When I said, "Trombone", he asked why I was curious about drums. I responded that, "I might want to be a drummer someday and play like you." Members of the band at that time included Don Simpson a bassist, who, incidentally was from Des Moines and Urbie Green, a trombonist whose skills and abilities almost made me throw in the towel. KRNT in Des Moines sponsored jazz concerts in the old KRNT theatre in the early 1950's. The jazz package would usually feature a big band and two vocalists. On this particular night the package consisted of Nat King Cole, Sarah Vaughn and the Stan Kenton Orchestra. Although the stage door of the Marshalltown Coliseum was always open to me, KRNT presented new problems and challenges as to my getting backstage. My brown suit (my only suit), a wide-collared shirt (Billy Eckstein style), a tie which was tied into the largest windsor knot imaginable, plus a thick mustache on a 15 year old face were my credentials for getting backstage. This worked all the time at KRNT. The stage hands always mistook me for a member of the band or someone who was traveling with the group. Anyway, Nat Cole hurriedly changed clothes and walked directly to a waiting taxi on 10th Street. I waited with pen and paper for Sarah to appear in order to get her autograph. She came from her dressing room, looked at me with my pen and paper in hand, patted my cheek and said, "Sorry darlin', I have to hurry and catch a train." Who needed an autograph when you could get your cheek blessed by the "Divine Sarah" herself. The lecture-concert series at Iowa State Teachers College (now the University of Northern Iowa) scheduled appearances of many celebrities including big bands. Elliott Lawrence brought his magnificent band to the campus. He was a quiet, reserved person as well as an immaculate dresser. He looked so youthful one wondered how he could lead a band much less write all of the band's arrangements. His pet dog occupied a choice spot on top of the grand piano. The dog had a red mat, a portion of which was draped over the edge of the piano. The inscription on the mat (that portion which was visible to the audience) Said "PREZ." Elliott had named his dog after Lester "PREZ" Young, the President of the Tenor Saxophone. The Waterloo Hippodrome was the site of Lionel Hampton's appearance in Waterloo in 1953. A carload of us Teacher College musicians went early to the Hippodrome in order to purchase good seats and hopefully to talk to the members of the band (they always brought news from the outside world.) Lionel was standing outside of the dressing room area. I approached Lionel and asked him the same questions I always asked of travelling musicians. "where are you coming from?" (meaning, "Where did you play last night?") and "Where are you playing tomorrow night?" Lionel answered my questions and asked whether I played a horn. I told him I played trombone. He said, "Have you got your horn with you? We're having a big session (jam session ) after the program. I want to hear you play." Now, when Lionel tells you he wants you to play, you get your horn wherever it is. I told the fellows that I would be right back. I immediately maneuvered my brother's big blue '40 Dodge out of the parking lot and floored it back to the campus six miles away. I ran to the band room in old Central, grabbed my horn, and drove back to the Hippodrome. It was with great pride that I walked to my seat on the second row, trombone in hand. After all, the great Lionel Hampton had personally invited me to a jam session after the show. I slipped my horn under Darwin Baldridge's and Larry Mattox's chairs. Early in the concert, Lionel featured a young trombonist who had recently graduated from Tennessee State University. His name was Jimmy Cleveland. Jim double tongued and triple tongued all over the horn. Besides that he played notes which I had not even discovered on my horn. After hearing Jimmy Cleveland, my efforts and abilities would be comparable to a beginner playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Roger Maxwell did not join Lionel Hampton's jam session that night. No Way! Louis Armstrong was another jazz great who gave freely of his time. It was quite ironic to hear Louie sing in his gravel scratchy voice; yet when he was talking to me, his voice was absent of that which was his performance voice. I was somewhat amazed that he was not a tall person. Also, there was a very small portion of his upper lip which looked as if it were almost detached. This was caused by the placement of the inside rim of his mouthpiece against his upper lip. Louie's indentation was a little more pronounced that that of most trumpet, french horn and trombone players. This was one of the few occasions which I found it hard to ask questions of a legend. It was most shocking to see a prominent orchestra leader in the late 1940's walking down Main Street in my hometown of Marshalltown. It was particularly shocking considering that we had just played his popular hit, "Ragtime Cowboy Joe" on the jukebox at the YMCA. Gene Johnson, Don Hager and I had left the "Y" when we encountered Eddy Howard on Main Street. He had evidently just left the Tallcorn Hotel and was walking alone to the Coliseum where his band would be playing. I vividly recall his full head of hair, his big smile and his black and white wingtip shoes. I think he appreciated our recognizing him. He asked whether we were coming to the dance. (I do not believe that among the three of us we could have come up with the admission for one person, much less three.) Each of us muttered something to the effect that, "We'd sure like to but. . . " He inquired as to whether we each played instruments. Ironically, we played in the high school band. Gene was a drummer, Don played alto saxophone and I played trombone. Eddy's parting words were, "You fellas keep practicing now." I had a new appreciation for Eddy and his style of music after that brief encounter. June Christy has always been one of my favorite vocalists. She began her career with the Stan Kenton Orchestra in the late 1940's. I had an opportunity to visit with June during my tour of duty with the U.S. Army Band of the Pacific in Honolulu in 1957. June was performing at the "Cloud Room" near Waikaki Beach. During intermission, June and I discussed music, musicians and weather. It was early December and I commented how I missed the Iowa winters. (I was experiencing my second Christmas in Hawaii thus missing another Iowa winter.) June commented that she too missed the snow and winter activities having been reared in Decatur, Illinois and now living in California. I complimented her on her rendition of "Give a Little Whistle" from Pinocchio. She thanked me for the compliment and expressed her appreciation as to my coming to the show. I never thought that Midwestern winters would dominate the conversation between a jazz great and myself. I presently find it hard to believe that Al Jarreau asked me whether he could sing with my seven-piece orchestra in October, 1963. I had booked the band to play the homecoming dance at Cornell College in Mt. Vernon, Iowa. Al was a student at the University of Iowa and was performing at various times at the Tender Trap night club in Cedar Rapids. I had heard of Al but had not met him. Based upon favorable comments as to his ability, I said yes and gave him instructions via telephone as to where we would be performing on the Cornell campus. I had a very good rhythm section (piano, bass and drums) at that time. The drummer was Jim Coffin with Bill Bell on piano and Gordy Fouts on bass. Shortly after intermission, I decided to let Al and the rhythm section have their own jam session. Al sang for about 50 minutes. It was the greatest unrehearsed performance I had ever witnessed. The students just stood and listened. They were enraptured. After Al had finished each song, the applause came wave after wave after wave. After the last song had been sung and the applause had subsided, I said, "Fellas, let's go home." With that I counted off "Goodnight Sweetheart" in four, four time. During that same period, I had the opportunity to meet another musician who exhibited exceptional talent. He was attending Grinnell College at the time. I had heard comments that this student was seeking outlets other than in the Grinnell area where he could perform. As it was nearing Thanksgiving, I invited him to join my family in Marshalltown for Thanksgiving. He accepted. I picked him up in Grinnell on Thanksgiving morning and we drove to Marshalltown. As I was anxious to hear him play, the necessary social amenities as to introductions were almost shelved because I wanted him to get to the piano and play. I requested that he play my favorite song which was at that time, "The Nearness of You." Some of the most delicate, melodic sounds and chordal structures I had ever heard came from the old upright in our family "music room." My intuition told me that I was listening to a rare musical talent, a talent who possessed the ability to create sounds which could not be created by anyone else. My intuition was right. Herbie Hancock has come into his own. The 5th Dimension has a special place in my heart because of the love they expressed to a litle girl. This vocal group was appearing at the C.Y. Stephens Auditorium on the Iowa State University campus in 1967. They had recorded a number of hits including "Up, Up, and Away." My daughter Jennifer loved that song as did my wife Bunny and I. We ordered our tickets for the concert in advance. Our seats were located on the aisle in approximately Row 28. (My tardiness in ordering tickets did not leave the Stephen's ticket manager much choice in the assignment of seats as the concert was eventually a sellout.) I had written the vocal group a letter, in care of Stephens Auditorium, informing them that Jennifer was a real fan of theirs. I asked whether it would be possible for us to meet them backstage after the performance. We drove to Ames from Des Moines and made our way to the auditorium. The 5th Dimension was preceded by another act. At the conclusion of the opening act, all the lights were turned off leaving the auditorium in total darkness. The backup band for The 5th Dimension began playing. The hall became electrified. When the stage and spot lights came on, there standing center stage, dressed in gleaming yellow and white ensembles, stood The 5th Dimension. (We had not told our daughter whom we were going to see in Ames.) Her eyes were as big as the proverbial saucers. After the group finished its first number, Billy Davis, Jr., spokesperson for the group, came to the mike and said, "We received a letter from a fan in Des Moines. We want to dedicate this program to her. We also want her parents to bring little Jennifer Maxwell backstage after the show so we can meet her." They were true to their word. After the performance, we were ushered into a reception room. Billy, Ron Townson and Lamonte McLemore came out and presented Jennifer with a picture autographed by each of The 5th Dimension. Florence LaRue and Marilyn McCoo did not come out as one of them was pregnant and somewhat fatigued from travel plus performing a magnificent first show. It was a magnificent evening for us. The actions of The 5th Dimension reinforced that love, kindness and graciousness which I had seen exhibited by other music greats. I first met Dave Brubeck, leader of the Dave Brubeck Quartet in the mid 1950's. The quartet was performing in the Memorial Union at the University of Iowa. After the concert, Pearl West, then owner of the West Music Store in Iowa City, invited the late Fred Ebbs, then director of bands at the University, a few other guests and me to a post concert get-together. Pearl suggested that maybe Dave and members of the quartet might like to come to the party. A friend and I left immediately for the Union, for we knew that the quartet would still be there. I went in, found Dave and extended an invitation on Pearl's behalf. Dave said, "We would like to but we have a plane waiting. We have to play in Boston tomorrow." I took the opportunity to tell him how much I had enjoyed the concert, particularly his choice of chords. Dave at that time played piano in a rather percussive manner, while at the same time using highly diversified chords. During the 50's and 60's, the Furgerson family of Waterloo, Iowa played host to jazz musicians. On this particular day, I knew that the Dave Brubeck Quartet would be playing an engagement at the Electric Park Ballroom in Waterloo. As was customary, I stopped by 600 Cottage to say hello to Mrs. Furgerson, Martha Ann, Betty Jean, Lee and Becky. As I walked into the living room, I saw Paul Desmond, hands cupped, standing against the wall. (I won't take the time to explain in detail as to who Paul Desmond was and the impact which he made in the field of jazz. I will say that he was among the most creative, lyrical alto saxophone players that jazz will ever know.) Standing in the dining area was Joe Dodge, drummer for the quartet. He was visiting with members of the family and other guests who were present. Lee said to me, "Muddie (Mrs. Furgerson) and Betty jean are in the kitchen with Dave." I felt my knees starting to give 'way. I thought I was going under. I walked into the kitchen and there was Dave sitting in the breakfast nook. (It isn't everyday that you can walk into a friend's kitchen and see an internationally renowned musician sitting in a breakfast nook.) Mrs. Furgerson greeted me and Betty Jean said, "Roger, have you met Dave?" I reiterated my Iowa City experience and Dave said, "I remember. We were playing Boston the next night." As he extended his hand to shake my hand he said, "please sit down." Dave and the Quartet had just returned from a tour in India. He was telling Mrs. Furgerson and Betty Jean of his impressions of India particularly its music and religion. In response to my question as to his next major project, he said that he wanted to compose a work based upon his experiences in India. (I always thought that Dave was a musical genius.) I found Dave to be quite humorous. Northeast Iowa was introduced to the music of the Dave Brubeck Quartet that night. The last time I saw Dave was at a concert at the C.Y. Stephens Auditorium at Iowa State University in Ames. After the concert, Bun and I visited with Dave in the reception room. As some years had gone by, I briefly coted on our meeting at the Furgersons. Dave immediately said, "Is B.J. here?" I responded that, ". . . if she is, she will be here (meaning the reception room) soon." I asked him whether he was writing and recording. He said that he had recorded some new works for both Atlantic and Decca Records. The works followed religious themes particularly "Truth Is Fallen" which was taken from the Book of Isaiah, Chapter 59. He had also recorded "Gates of Justice" and "The Light in the Wilderness." Stan Kenton was the musician whom I consider as my musical mentor. His music continues to influence my music particularly when writing for the brass instruments. I first heard of Stan in 1948. The most learned jazz musician in high school was a drummer named Dick Smith. He asked whether I had heard Stan's recording of "How High the Moon." My answer was no. I then began to search for the record or for someone who had the record or someone who knew someone who had the record. When I eventually heard June Christy sing "How High the Moon" with the Kenton Orchestra, I felt liberated. That is, the sounds emanating from the band spoke to my triumphs as well as to my disappointments, my mountains as well as to my valleys, my joys and my sorrows, my tears as well as my laughter. I have stood in front of the band on many occasions. A word of explanation is in order regarding the phrase, "standing in front of the band." When big bands came to ballrooms, musicians in particular would crowd up to the front of the bandstand (stage) and stand for the duration of the dance. When the band would first come on the stand, we would scan the band to see, in musician's terms, "Who's on the band?" Not only did we know the music (we had the music memorized at least that which had been recorded) but we knew the names of the sidemen on the band. Thus, if a familiar face was missing, we noticed it immediately. During intermission we would ask the other sidemen, "Who's the new tenor (sax) man and where did so and so go?" (Women generally were used only as vocalists in the 1940's, 50's and 60's and not as instrumentalist.) In 1958 I took four students from my high school band in Wayland, Iowa to Parsons College in Fairfield. Then Kenton band was performing a concert at the college. I managed to introduce the students to Stan backstage. He asked about our instrumental music program at the school. (Stan had a tremendous interest in education. When he died, he stipulated that his library (music) be willed to the music department at North Texas State university. He dictated that no one was to take his library and tour the country as the Stan Kenton orchestra. It is for this reason that we shall never again hear Stan's music played live in ballrooms and concert halls. I informed Stan that Wayland's population was approximately 675 and that we had 110 students in our instrumental music program. He seemed impressed when I told him that every student in the band program received a free, private twenty minute lesson every week. After the concert, my students commented that they had never heard or seen such superb musicians. I was glad to have had an opportunity to expose these fine young people to that which had influenced me so greatly. Approximately two years later, Stan was appearing in Waterloo. My date for the evening understood from the outset that she would have to stand in front of the band for the entire length of the dance. (My being a poor dancer probably contributed to my wanting to stand in front of the band.) We arrived at electric Park later than was my custom. (If a dance began at 9:00 PM, you had to establish squatters rights by at least 8:30. If you arrived at 8:40, you might as well have stayed home for those upfront positions were taken. You can imagine how I felt coming in at 8:55 PM. Anyway, we managed to worm our way up to the third row of standees. Sometime around 10 PM, I informed my date that I was going to the restroom. While in the restroom I met Larry Mattox and Darwin Baldridge, both of whom had been standing on the front row facing the bandstand. Larry asked, "Hey man, where have you been? We've been looking all over for you." I explained my reason for being late. As we went upstairs and approached the dance area my date was waiting for me. She said, "Stan asked about you." I looked around to see whom she was addressing. She again said that Stan had asked about me. She explained that Stan had beckoned her up to the edge of the bandstand and asked, "Is that roger with you?" Now, Stan was tall, being six feet four inches. As the bandstand was at least three feet higher than the dance floor, Stan could peer down and see the faces of all who were standing. As we walked towards the bandstand I could see Stan smiling. The standees, sensing that we were coming to greet Stan, created a path which led directly to Stan. (I kind of felt like Moses at the parting of the sea.) Upon our arrival at the bandstand, Stan bent down and we shook hands. He said, "Are you still giving 110 lessons a week?" I was thrilled beyond measure to think that Stan Kenton remembered our visit in Fairfield. I told him that I had changed jobs and was now teaching music at the State Juvenile Home in Toledo, Iowa. He said, "it's good to see you again." Having received Stan's blessing, we were able to stand in the front row as space was made available for us. The last time I saw Stan was at the Kirkwood Hotel in Des Moines. The band was performing a concert in a small room off the North vestibule. My wife and I were seated at a table near the entrance of the room. Seated near the band was Bonnie O'Neil Malone, a dear classmate from Teachers College in the '50's. She and her immediate family were attending the concert. Stan came in at approximately 8:55 PM as the concert was to begin at 9. He saw Bun and me upon entering. I stood and we shook hands. I told him that it was good seeing him again. He responded in the same manner. He walked to the piano, sat down and played a few chords, stood up, walked in front of the band, counted off, "1, 2, a 1, 2, 3" and the band began playing "Stompin at the Savoy." The concert proceeded as scheduled. Before one of the numbers in the final set, Stan looked at Bun and me, subtly pointed to me and mouthed, "This is for you." He began playing the opening notes by himself in the lower register of the piano. This continued for about six measures at which time the saxophone section joined him ever so quietly. From the opening notes, I recognized the song as "Send In The Clowns." This arrangement was so incredibly beautiful, and the full range of emotions which it brought forth still makes it hard to write about the experience. It was something which had to be heard and felt. As Stan Kenton was my musical mentor, Duke Ellington was my musical inspiration. Duke's music represented that which was the best in prayer and song. Listening to Duke's music today is as refreshing as it was when I first saw him as a ten year old at KRNT Theatre in Des Moines. Aunt rose had purchased $1.25 tickets for my first Ellington concert. She forgot to mention that the seats were located in the center and highest balcony, next to the top row. From my vantage point, Duke in formal attire looked like a baby penguin in miniature when he walked across the stage. As I have seen Duke on many occasions, I shall confine my comments to three memorable occasions. Like the other big bands, one had to establish squatters rights or arrive early to purchase good seats for a dance or concert where Duke would be performing. On this particular night, Duke was playing a concert in the old Armory on the Iowa State college campus (now Iowa State University) in Ames, Iowa. I was a freshman at Iowa State Teachers College in Cedar Falls. I put on that same brown suit, shirt, tie and walked from my dorm room in Seerley Hall to the junction of Highways #57 and #58. Since no one from I.S.T.C. was going to the concert, I made the decision to go it alone. It was about 4:30 PM when I started to hitchhike. I waited for about twenty minutes and luckily, a young couple picked me up and gave me a ride to Ames. Now, all I knew about the college was that it was large and spread out. I had been to the college only once to watch the Cyclones play the Oklahoma Sooners in basketball. (One of my high school teammates, 6'5" Clair Russie, was playing for the Cyclones. It was really special at that time to see a hometown player play in the college and university leagues.) I had know idea where the Armory was in relation to anything. The couple let me out on Highway 30 in campus town. As it was nearing dark, I asked just about everyone whom I met as to the direction of the Armory. It seems as if I walked and walked and walked. I encountered some students who were walking in a group. I asked whether I was headed in the right direction. They said that they were going to the Duke Ellington concert and that I could join them. I appreciated their gesture but the hour was getting late and I needed to establish my seat as close as possible to the stage. Knowing that I was in the vicinity of the Armory, I accelerated my pace. I had come too far to sit in the back. The band was late in arriving. The concert was held up for 45 minutes. I didn't care as I was seated in the second row, left center. Before the concert started, I found my way backstage in order to observe the musicians warming up. As the bandboy was setting up the band (music, stands and lights), he turned to Ray Nance (jazz trumpet and violinist) and asked, "Nance, are you going to use music tonight?" Ray said, "Hell no! I ain't using no music tonight." I thought to myself, how can a musician play a concert and not use any music. All the musicians I knew, including yours truly, had to send up flares for help for every note we played. Ray Nance had evidently memorized all of the music in Duke's library during his tenure with the band. The concert began and ended. It was as beautiful as I had anticipated. I now had to begin thinking about how to get to the Memorial Union where the dance was to be held. I had no ideas to where the Union was. I was also feeling a bit fatigued from hitchhiking, the long walk to the Armory and hunger as I had not eaten since noon. As the crowd began to thin out, I thought to myself, "If you have any smarts Maxwell, you had better call on them now, because in a few minutes this area is going to be completely dark with the exception of a few street lights." (To you who remember the location of the Armory on the North side of the campus in the 1950's, you can attest that it kind of sat out there by itself.) I was getting a bit concerned as I had no idea as to where I was. I then thought of Duke's band bus. Maybe, I could hitch a ride on it. I went around the building until I saw the bus. Some of the sidemen were loading their instruments, and others were seated on the bus. I approached Quentin Jackson, a rather portly gentleman who played "growl" trombone. (duke always had one or two men on the band who played "growl" trumpet or trombone. They would hold a rubber toilet plunger at the end of the instrument's bell. The plunger was manipulated back and forth to imitate someone who was "talking" or "preaching." I asked Quentin if I could have a ride to the Union. He said, "Sure, you can sit with me." It wasn't long before all the instruments were loaded and we were on our way to the Union. I could not believe that I was sitting among the most gifted and talented jazz musicians who ever walked the face of the earth: Cat Anderson, the man who played the high notes on the trumpet; Harry Carney, Jimmy Hamilton, Willie Cook, Louis Bellson and the list goes on. Before I knew it, we had stopped in the front of the Union. Dilemma number 69 now confronted me. How much would it cost to get into the dance? (Dollars were hard to come by in the 40's and 50's. I knew I was low on funds. Again, I had not eaten since noon, but food could wait.) I noticed that Louie Bellson, the drummer, had a lot of drums, cymbals and stands to carry in. I made a genuine offer to help. I said, "Louie, can I help you carry in your equipment?" he said, "Man, (musicians at that time referred to each other as Man), I'd sure appreciate it." (Each musician is responsible for the cartage of his/her instrument while on the road.) I picked up two cases containing drums and proceeded to the Great Hall where the dance was to be held. A young coed who mistook me for someone else said, "Mr. Ellington, may I have your autograph!" I had to inform her that I was not Duke. We finally got all of Louie's equipment in, thereby resolving my admission problem. I helped the bandboy backstage as best I could. Duke came in, changed clothes, waited until the band was in place and then walked on stage. Duke was the most sophisticated person I had ever met. His manner, his bearing, his presence and even his walk reeked of sophistication and self confidence. With his shoulders thrown back and his long stride, he just took over. That is the only way that I can explain it. He had this mystique which was his alone. I positioned myself to Duke's immediate right, right behind the stage curtain. Although, I was close enough to touch him, dancers could not see me as I stood behind the curtain. I stood there for almost the whole dance. I observed Duke's every move. As he played the piano, he would moan to himself. Although, the moaning was out of tune with the music, it was a kind of a self accompaniment to his piano playing. (Most jazz piano players moan. Dave Brubeck moans as did Errol Garner. It helps them to unconsciously concentrate.) I tried to observe how Duke created those famous Ellington runs or arpeggios on the piano. He did them too fast for me to comprehend. Duke did not wear a watch, thus, I became his timekeeper. As I was close enough to touch him, he woul turn to me and say, "Could you tell me the time?" I would tell him and he would always respond with "Thank You." During intermission he had a complete change of clothing. Because his concentration was so great and he worked so hard, I surmised that those were among the reasons why he perspired so profusely. Shortly after intermission Duke turned to me and said, "Would you like to come out here and sit? (meaning sitting out there publicly on the bandstand.) You can sit in front of Louie Bellson. He won't mind." Trying to be inconspicuous, I meekly walked behind Duke who was seated at the piano and sat in front of Louie Bellson and his drums. (Louie was elevated about two and one-half feet above floor level.) I could not believe that I was sitting in a triangle of jazz greats. To my right was Duke Ellington on piano, to my left was Wendell Marshall on bass viol and behind me was Pearl Bailey's husband and one fine drummer, Louie Bellson. Of all the musical experiences which have been cited to date, I have no recollection as to whether I went home to Marshalltown or returned to the Iowa Teachers campus after the dance. Worse yet, I don't remember how I arrived to where I was eventually supposed to be going. In restrospect, It might have appeared dumb to have sat out there on the bandstand doing nothing. Yet, when you are young and thirsting for knowledge and insight, you tell formality to go jump into the lake. In 1952, Duke gave me an opportunity to lead his band for one number. I had written a vocal arrangement of "I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone" for the Dimension in jazz Program at Iowa State Teachers College. The arrangement utilized the sound of Kenton's trombone and trumpet sections and the sound of Duke's saxophone section. I took the arrangement to the Electric park Ballroom where Duke was playing a dance. After the intermission, I approached Duke, who was just sitting at the piano and told him I had an arrangement which I would like to give to him. I explained that it was a vocal arrangement with band accompaniment. He asked whether I had sung it and I answered affirmatively. He said, "Would you like to come up and sing it and do you play piano?" I quickly went through a mental checklist. Yes, I wanted to sing it. Of greater concern was the disruption it would cause in distributing the individual horn parts to each member of the band. Moreover, the microphone would have had to be moved from front center stage to the piano area. Next, my piano talents were definitely limited. Above all, I didn't feel that I could sing, cue the band on certain entrances and play the piano all at the same time. That would have been quite an accomplishment for a 19 year old trombone player who did not read music real well but who could sure play loud. I gave Duke the arrangement and asked that he read it down when he had n opportunity. He said, "We will when we get the time." My last personal encounter with Duke occurred in Cedar Falls. Duke was playing a concert in the old gym at Teachers College. The band arrived too late for dinner. It was approximately forty-five minutes before concert time. I went into the Northwest locker room as this room was reserved for the band to change from travelling clothes into its concert attire. Duke smiled when he saw me and said, "Here's my friend Roger", as we shook hands. I saw my friend Quentin Jackson the "growl" trombone player. I noticed that the men, including Duke, appeared tired. The enthusiasm which I had noticed on previous occasions was not present. Duke came over to me and said, "Roger, do you know where we can get some sandwiches? We haven't had dinner." I told him that there were three restaurants on the "Hill" (collegetown) that were open. The locker room was quiet as the men changed into their suits. Duke said, "Will bacon and egg sandwiches be o.k.?" From around the room I heard, "Fine", "Yeah", "That's o.k." duke gave me a $20 bill. I found a pledge from my fraternity and dispatched him to George's Restaurant for 20 bacon and egg sandwiches. He returned about a quarter to eight. The men, bandboy, Duke and the bus driver devoured the sandwiches as if they were eating a full course turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day. The band really played that night: SATIN DOLL, THINGS AIN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE, MOOD INDIGO, SOPHISTICATED LADY, TAKE THE "A" TRAIN and one of my all time favorites I'VE GOT IT BAD AND THAT AIN'T GOOD. "Duke, as I bring this paper to a close, may I take this opportunity to thank you for a very valuable piece of advice you gave me some years ago. You said that when a creative thought or idea hits you, wherever you are and regardless of the time of day or night, write it down for you may never capture it again. I have followed your advice over the years. I thought that you might like to know that the title of a program which continues to mean a lot to me came at 3 o'clock one morning. I took your advice and wrote down the title, "Everyone Sings the Messiah." You gave me an autographed picture while in Cedar Falls. I proudly display it in our family room. Your inscription states, 'To My Friend Roger, Good Luck.' 'You were my friend, and I sure learned a lot from you. Thanks.' Roger. |
