Jazz & JFK by Steven Harris - Part 5

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“Stan Levey's foray into the big time also included playing for John F. Kennedy. Stan came into the Kennedy scene early in the young senator's campaign for the presidency. Campaign rallies were simply paying gigs for Stan, but he admired Kennedy and his acquaintance with the thirty-fifth president became a lifelong source of pride that Angela Levey always knew would bring a smile to his face when the subject arose.

"Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh hosted a campaign rally for Jack Kennedy at the Del Coronado Hotel across the bay from San Diego," said Angela. "Nelson Riddle was playing, and Stan was in the band. I was backstage, standing there listening and looking through a crack in the curtains. I heard a voice say, 'I wonder if they're ready for me yet.'

"He looked nervous. He was buttoning and unbuttoning his coat. His blue shirt matched his blue eyes and his bronze skin matched his bronze hair. I said, 'I don't know, they look pretty busy.' He said, 'Hi, I'm Jack. You're Stan's wife, right?'"

Later, after Kennedy was elected president, Stan played with Ella Fitzgerald at the Commander in Chief’s lavish birthday party on May 19, 1962, when fifteen thousand people filled Madison Square Garden for a gala event that featured Ella alongside other celebrities like Jack Benny and Marilyn Monroe,

"No one was allowed to bring cameras in," said Angela. "But Stan had a movie camera with him in the pit, and he filmed Kennedy coming down the steps with his bodyguards. Stan was standing up to get the picture and as Jack got closer I could see him look at Stan with a little smile on his face, like, “Oh, you are so bad!'"

- Frank R. Hayde, Stan Levey Jazz Heavyweight: The Authorized Biography

"Steven D. Harris is the author of The Kenton Kronicles: A Biography of Modern America’s Man of Music, Stan Kenton. New and Used Hardcover and Paperback version are still available via online sellers such as Amazon, AbeBooks or at www.stan-kenton.com.

In celebration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s birth centennial, Steven penned a 10,000 word essay on the late President of the United States and his relationship to Jazz and has kindly consented to allow JazzProfiles to publish it on these pages in five, consecutive parts. 

Just a word in passing, you may come across some technical glitches involving spacing, et al and we ask you to accommodate them as they are the result of formatting using two, different platforms.

Jazz and JFK – in celebration of the 2017 Kennedy birth centennial: An intriguing five–part feature on the President's relation to the music, the artists and their heartfelt reflections––then and now.

By STEVEN D. HARRIS © 2013, 2017.

“In September 1963, Duke Ellington embarked on a U.S.–sponsored Goodwill tour of the Middle East and vicinity, plus India, lasting fourteen weeks. It started in Damascus, Syria and was set to finish out just prior to Christmas. (While Duke was worldly and well-traveled, it was actually his first encounter in these parts of the globe.) A five–man CBS news crew linked up with the Ellington band on Nov. 20, intending to film concert excerpts for the television series 20th Century. But the network's planning was all in vain…

Duke's entourage was in Ankara, Turkey when the tour was cut short on Nov. 22. The cancellation caused some bitterness by all parties involved, due to other State Department cultural exchange tours in progress. Unlike Ellington's, the others were left intact.But this seemed to be in the Duke's favor: only ten days before, he was performing in Baghdad, a mere few hundred yards away from where Iraqi air force jets strafed a government palace in an attempted coup. It seemed the first ominous sign to head home.

The news of JFK reached the inconsolable Duke in his hotel suite in Istanbul. He re-lived the account to appease curious reporters: "We had just returned from a very gala reception given for us by the U.S. ambassador to Turkey at the embassy...It was just before dinner and we were all real hungry. But the news killed our appetite...We just sat around and looked at each other." Trumpeter Herbie Jones was more specific about the moments: "The diplomats and everybody was around. Somebody came in and yelled, 'The president's been shot and I'm thinking, yeah, okay...Everybody's getting shot around here. Then the guy says, 'Our president!' and you hear about a dozen plates fall..."

The Duke lamented, "The president's death was more than a national tragedy. I simply could not go on...Everybody in the band felt the same…We didn't feel like playing…we felt it would not be right...it just wouldn't have been graceful." Of the despicable act, Duke offered his own conclusions to a Foreign Service officer: "It's a hit man. He was fingered...Kennedy was the only president since Lincoln who gave a damn about Negroes." The next night from Ankara, Duke sent a short condolence (in his typically hip parlance) to Lady Jackie. The telegram was addressed to Mrs. Kennedy, the White House, Washington:

'Not as much as you and your family, but we and many who believe in
his rightness today suffer the great loss of your great man. Duke Ellington.'

Another eminent bandleader was overseas as well, amidst a two–week tour that would cover the United Kingdom during the second half of November. This 1963 trip was historically notable, as it would close a unique chapter of the distinctive Stan Kenton sound: a 22–piece orchestra that used as its core, since 1961, a four–man mellophonium section. (This haunting brass oddity was a cross between a trumpet and trombone.) On Nov. 22, the band was set for two evening shows at the Odeon in Birmingham, England.

It was between these concerts that the band's bus driver rushed on stage with a news leaflet hot off the press. Baritone/bass saxophonist Joel Kaye noted that "Stan didn't believe it at first. He had asked [the band's traveling photographer] if this was one of his pranks." Trombonist Bob Curnow expanded: "The band had a discussion with Stan on whether or not to play for the second concert. It was decided by all that we should." Veteran alto man Gabe Baltazar, a crowd favorite for his scintillating improvisations, gives his angle from the bandstand. He felt, "The band played their hearts out. We were wailing and just let our soul and emotions go. At the end, Stan declared a minute of silence."

Mellophonium player Bob Faust, the band’s youngest member at 19, noticed how "even in London, the people were crying uncontrollably in the streets. I could just imagine what it must have been like back home in the States. To ease our grief, Stan organized something special...a surprise Thanksgiving dinner party. Since the tradition isn't celebrated in England, it was a difficult task. Being musicians, we were for the most part a macho group of guys. But Stan said solemnly, 'Before we eat, why don't we go around the table and have everyone share something they're thankful for.'"

The Kenton tour ceased on schedule, Nov. 30, with the band then dissolving. Dee Barton's return home had to be eerie, since he was a born–and–raised Dallas boy. The trombonist–turned–drummer (who went on become a film scoring favorite) said that it was truly "a strange feeling." A private tape of Kenton just after the President’s assassination offers a glimpse into courage––and how entertainers are trained to rise to any situation. Stan, though reeling inside, appears calm and collected at the mic. Within the first 30 seconds of his greeting, he has his audience laughing. Excerpts of the two concerts, taped Nov. 23 at Manchester's Free Trade Hall, were eventually released on LP in 1982, with added/alternate tracks issued on CD in 1998.

PHOTO CAPTION:

Artistry in Terror: A dazed Kenton is surrounded by bus driver Eric Ericson, musicians Gabe Baltazar, Bob Curnow and Jiggs Whigham (obscured), who all react in disbelief to the front–page headlines, fresh off the printing press. Moments before, the band received word about their martyred president. Stan's opening remarks for that night's second Kenton concert were documented by the Birmingham Evening Mail. He lamented: "It is the very nature of the British people and of the American people to keep shop. That is what we plan to do..." In the years ahead, Kenton would describe the time as "the most terrible night of my life." Photo by Vern "Newcomb" McCarthy.

For Bob Kaufman, whose syncopated poetry (Jazz Chick, Round About Midnight, O–Jazz–O) was part of his second published collection (1967), JFK's end was life–changing. He took a vow of silence immediately after the ordeal, lasting twelve years. Jacque Lowe was Kennedy's one official photographer who saw his transition from senator to sitting president, 1958 thru ’62. After his presidential duties, he was even more in demand with a full load for ‘63. One of his assignments on Nov. 22, around 2:30PM, was a typical shoot scheduled at his New York studio.

Lowe was on his way to photograph a jazz quartet, when he sensed something out of place. It was “weird [what] was happening,” he said. “There was no traffic...all the cars had pulled over [and] people had gathered around to listen to the radio. 'What's going on?' I asked. 'The president's been shot.' I ran the rest of the way [and] raced up the stairs to my studio, but when I saw the tears streaming down the faces of the musicians...I knew he was dead." While we may never know the identities of the four jazz players involved, it makes for another intriguing entry herein.

JFK IN JAZZ RECORDINGS

For the Negro of 1960 America, the name Kennedy––especially upon Dr. King's eventual endorsement––embodied hope. Andrew White, now 75, was a starry–eyed alto saxophonist living in Washington, DC. He turned eighteen that year, but had the leadership qualities of a man more vintaged. White was staunchly caught up in Senator Kennedy's ideology of new change and equality. When forming his first combo after entering Howard University in September, he decided to dedicate the group after the running White House candidate––thus the JFK Quintet was born.

Like Andrew, its other four black members were DC–based with homes and work there. The group had a similar Blue Note feel as Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers––a palatable (though repetitive) line–up of saxophone and trumpet, plus rhythm. Maynard Ferguson’s public affirmation of the jazz lads in 1962 (“They’re the bitter end!”) helped somewhat to expand their fan base and get their name out. What brought the quintet fast prestige, however, was that their first two LPs were produced by Cannonball Adderley, who had become a protégé to White.

They completed three albums for the Riverside label, taped mostly in New York City. The introductory release, New Frontiers from Washington, was made in July, 1961; the suitably named Young Ideas followed in December. The third studio album from 1963 (with only the drummer being new) has never been issued. With Adderley unavailable for the project, the label was lax in promoting them. Riverside execs failed to give White a proper explanation why. "They told me they were waiting for me to die," he still tells inquirers. That way, "It'll probably sell more." The quintet lasted exactly three years, dissolving in September of ’63, while Kennedy was still active in office. In its latter days, saxophonist Eric Dolphy filled in as leader at times.

MORE JFK IN JAZZ

To bring things full circle, centered currently in the District of Columbia, for much of their musical activity, is the group JFK Jazz, a recently formed trio. Then there’s the student JFK Jazz Machine out of Iselin, New Jersey––an auditioned 22-piece community jazz ensemble. Their repertoire covers jazz standards, funk, bossa nova and fusion. Over the past few years, they’ve had the fortunate experience of having professional guest singers and musicians sit in.

Because history has proven and retold of JFK's reckless abandon during his little more than 1,000–day reign (we refer to his routine escapes from the White House at night without the Secret Service being any the wiser), it's not unfeasible to imagine how Jack might don a cap and false goatee and duck into the nearby Bohemian Caverns––a regular late–hour haunt of the JFK Quintet––to hear, if just out of curiosity, the swinging namesake combo that he so inspired.” [END]

Jazz & JFK by Steven Harris - Part 4

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Steven D. Harris is the author of The Kenton Kronicles: A Biography of Modern America’s Man of Music, Stan Kenton. New and Used Hardcover and Paperback version are still available via online sellers such as Amazon, AbeBooks or at www.stan-kenton.com.

In celebration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s birth centennial, Steven penned a 10,000 word essay on the late President of the United States and his relationship to Jazz and has kindly consented to allow JazzProfiles to publish it on these pages in five, consecutive parts.

Just a word in passing, you may come across some technical glitches involving spacing, et al and we ask you to accommodate them as they are the result of formatting using two, different platforms.

Jazz and JFK – in celebration of the 2017 Kennedy birth centennial:An intriguing five–part feature on the President's relation to the music, the artists and their heartfelt reflections––then and now.

By STEVEN D. HARRIS © 2013, 2017.

WHERE THEY WERE THAT DAY, 11/22/63 (CON’T):

On that darkest day of '63, Gunther Schuller (who would turn 39) assembled a New York orchestra for an unusual (if not undesirable) record date. His scores were designed to accompany a renowned sophisticate of the opera, Rise Stevens, starting with a 10AM–1PM session. Considering who the album was written for, its proposed title is all oxymoron: Swingin' the Blues. If that was not challenge enough, the players (which largely constituted jazz men) had to endure as the mezzo–soprano struggled to go "cool" on a batch of standards that were clearly uncharacteristic of her forte. The album was never released. Phil Woods, present in the sax section, takes it from there:

"We broke for lunch and that's when we heard about JFK...There was a Texas flag on the wall of the restaurant we ate in––very ironic, indeed. The session [to be continued from 2–5PM] was cancelled and many of us went to Clark Terry's house, which wasn't far. Oliver [Nelson] was beside himself. He called all of the TV stations which were all showing the flag and told them it was no day to fly the colors. I drove home...took my collection of rifles off the mantle rack––I was a sharpshooter in the high school rifle club––and have never shot a [deer] since. Years later when we did The Kennedy Dream, I understood something of the magnitude of Ollie's grief. "

For Marian McPartland, November 1963 would start off with a musical experience she had not anticipated––all due to a surprise call from Benny Goodman. She accepted the piano spot in the new septet Benny was forming, mainly because it was temporary. After a formal premiere on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show, they commenced on what was to be a month–long tour, beginning Nov. 5. By chance, the combo happened to be in the Dallas vicinity when Kennedy was struck down a few weeks later. One musician verified: "The bus went right through that area where he was shot. There were police all around." Goodman’s next one–nighters were cancelled––leaving the players stranded for some days in a small Texas town nearby.

Marian stayed "glued to the motel TV" as she would later describe it. She put her grief to use by penning a letter to Down Beat. In it, she expressed her sympathy while accurately praising Kennedy's strong support of the *arts. The Goodman tour finally resumed, but by this time, few dates were left. Between her dealings with the temperamental clarinet star, together with the brutal taking of the President, Marian found the after effects unbearable. She checked herself in as an outpatient at a clinic to ease her "shaken equilibrium." She also attended a bible class in an attempt to find spiritual solace.

[*Two weeks after JFK’s passing, the first recipients (31) of the Presidential Medal of Freedom were recognized and awarded. The initial three from the field of music were cellist Pablo Casals, pianist Rudolf Serkin and contralto Marian Anderson. The list had been studied and revised by Jack and also Jackie, who was equally (if not more) an ally of the arts.]

As to how the nation's beloved young leader was eliminated, the public remains about equally mixed. Still, no one can say for certain that a refugee called Oswald was complicit in a plot. Anita O'Day gave her own slant in her abetted autobiography from 1981, High Times, Hard Times. The singer tells how she became acquainted with another killer in the making, once–removed from the president. "A date I'll never forget," she stressed, "was the Colony Club in Dallas...I got to know a chubby, nondescript guy who managed [it]...If all the cops hanging around at the Colony hadn't made me nervous about a heroin bust, I probably wouldn't even remember the club or the guy's name––it was Jack Ruby...”

In her memoirs, O’Day doesn’t guess about the lone gunman versus conspiracy theory. “One thing I do know,” she said, “is that Jack Ruby was very tight with members of the Dallas police force." To be more accurate, Ruby ran the Carousel next door to the Colony burlesque club (which, incidentally, he had been barred from in latter 1963). Still, while Anita’s memory was a bit off, she could easily have met or known Ruby.

In August, 1964, a month before anxious eyes could examine the official Warren Report findings, Artie Shaw found himself absorbed in the topic during a TV guest spot. The former bandleader had long struggled to juggle his two loves for a more cerebral existence penning serious prose––now he was making the rounds to announce his second book (forthcoming) of three novellas––I Love You, I Hate You, Drop Dead! (He also had a film distribution company in the works.) When Artie arrived at the studio to appear on Les Crane’s ABC talk show, he was fascinated to find what guests he was paired with. Of the six, the controversial balance were Jack Ruby's former attorney and––would you believe?––mother of the murderous Lee Harvey Oswald.

JFK MEMORIALIZED IN JAZZ RECORDINGS

In the immediate years after his demise, some jazz artists came to memorialize JFK in original music. Clare's Fischer's sense of patriotism arises in numerous recordings he made––with two titles devoted in full to the Kennedy legacy. Clare attempted to translate into music a sense of what the nation was feeling after losing Jack, then Robert in the spring of '68. It is the simulated sound of gun shots from a snare drum that the listener hears at the close of In Memorial: JFK & RFK. The two–minute elegy offers one of the few recorded examples of Clare, a jazz pianist by distinction, on alto sax. The piece was taped two months after Robert's murder and first appeared on One to Get Ready...Four to Go (an LP anthology of 1963–65 material, soon out–of–print; it also includes two quartet tracks made a few weeks before John was slain). Clare captured the same feeling in 1969, manifested again through his favorite idiom, the big band. Confusion in Dallas remained vaulted until 1980, when it made up part of the album Duality.

Brent Fischer, guardian of his father's unfinished work, is director of the continuing Clare Fischer big band. He worked closely with his dad (who died in 2012 at 83) on projects since the age of sixteen, playing bass and percussion. Like Clare, he's also an orchestrator/composer. Brent told the writer: "I know my father was deeply affected by the Kennedy assassinations, because we discussed their repercussions at length. Dad felt that when people are very good at what they do, some idiot usually comes along and ruins it. The Kennedy brothers were his prime example. He admired how they dealt with changing issues in a positive manner from a position of strength." Clare's sentiment in the aftermath, and the ills of society in general, come forth in another of his compositions: Man Is No Damn Good (composed circa 1977). It was recorded by Brent and released it for the first time on the 201 CD Continuum.

Clare wasn't the only jazz writer to interpret the tragedy in a musical sense. When Kennedy's 1955 Pulitzer–prize winning book Profiles in Courage became the basis for an NBC–TV series in 1964 (lasting one season), Nelson Riddle supplied the theme music (aka the JFK March). In early 1968, Rufus Harley––a jazz original and bagpiping wonder––gave us his respective quartet improvisation A Tribute to Courage (JFK). This title track, clocking in at 7¾ minutes and done in a somber minor key, was inspired by the bagpipers at JFK's funeral.

Oliver Nelson would devote a half–hour of material to the slain president in The Kennedy Dream: A Musical Tribute to JFK. The suite (as far as this writer knows) was performed live only once: the 4th anniversary of the Kennedy’s passing in 1967. A number of religious world–famous dignitaries were invited to the concert, which took place at the Temple Emanuel in Beverly Hills. The album was made that year in two February sessions and released in three months' time on the Impulse label.

It comprises eight originals––seven by Nelson. Phil Woods (alto sax) is the key soloist in an orchestra with strings and percussion. The setting is jazz–symphonic, with the leader taking his inspiration in part (so it sounds) from Elmer Bernstein and Aaron Copland. Tempos are respectfully tranquil, though a few do rise to a more swinging pulse. Rose Kennedy, the strong mother patriarch, was so thrilled by the idea and end product that she wrote Oliver, extolling his creation.

Each piece is blended with extracts of Kennedy's own voice, taken from various key speeches, and the sounds are both poignant and eerie at once. These reflective snippets are brief with the music being dominant. The titles are befitting, from Tolerance and Day in Dallas, to the pretty waltz Jacqueline. In the latter, we hear Jack's casual banter to a crowd in which he reveals the primping etiquette of the First Lady. The closing John Kennedy Memorial Waltz, by George David Weiss, is the only track previously recorded: drummer Dannie Richmond’s quintet performed it on his 1965 debut release 'In' Jazz for the Culture Set on Impulse.

A worthy aside: Some readers will take interest in knowing about the jazz artist who shared a famous Kennedy moniker: violinist Joe Kennedy, Jr. (1923–2004). He recorded periodically, sometimes as a leader, between 1946 and 2001." 

 (Jazz & JFK to be continued and concluded in Part 5.)

Jazz & JFK by Steven Harris - Part 3

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Steven D. Harris is the author of The Kenton Kronicles: A Biography of Modern America’s Man of Music, Stan Kenton. New and Used Hardcover and Paperback version are still available via online sellers such as Amazon, AbeBooks or at www.stan-kenton.com.

In celebration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s birth centennial, Steven penned a 10,000 word essay on the late President of the United States and his relationship to Jazz and has kindly consented to allow JazzProfiles to publish it on these pages in five, consecutive parts.

Just a word in passing, you may come across some technical glitches involving spacing, et al and we ask you to accommodate them as they are the result of formatting using two, different platforms.

Jazz & JFK – in celebration of the 2017 Kennedy birth centennial. An intriguing five–part feature on the President's relation to the music, the artists and their heartfelt reflections––then and now.

By STEVEN D. HARRIS © 2013, 2017.


WHITE HOUSE (AND OTHER) HAPPENINGS

"How I mourned that man's death,” Lionel Hampton wrote of Jack in his co–written autobiography. Hamp was a lifelong Republican; still he was impressed with how his president “was working to help black people.” In February 1963, the jazz great was privileged to take part in a White House function representing his race. He was just one in a contingent of 1,100 of the nation’s leading black powers. The reception marked the 100th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation (held appropriately on Lincoln’s birthday). It was “an occasion as special as any,” the jazz man would fondly recollect.

For pianist–composer Thelonious Monk, JFK’s silencing would hit a kind of snag in his career. But the timing, in an artistic sense, would turn out beneficial. Around August of ‘63, the eccentric musician was approved for a special Time cover–story for its November 29 issue. Monk would be the fourth and last major jazz figure to appear on a Time cover, in the rear of Armstrong (1949), Brubeck (1954) and Ellington (1956).

With the grim reality of the President at press time, that all changed. Time reportedly destroyed some three million copies of its Monk issue already printed. Accordingly, magazine heads rushed to substitute the story and cover with the new power man in office: the presiding Lyndon B. Johnson. (For this decision, Time received countless calls and letters in anger and protest, since many Americans expected JFK to be the natural cover choice. But Time took a traditional stance of resisting a deceased person for its cover (though there were already some exceptions). The Monk issue was re–scheduled with a run date of Feb. 28, 1964.

This is where the matter of advantage came in. As the Time story was being set, an important concert lay in the works. Monk was forming a large ensemble to debut at Town Hall at the new Lincoln Center in New York, where it was to be taped for posterity. The date, by pure chance, was also assigned for Nov. 29, 1963. However, due to inadequate provisions, the program was set ahead for Dec. 30. Surviving rehearsal tapes indicate that the band sounded unprepared and ragged, but the added month for practice made all the difference. Monk's heralded concert was pressed for an album, resulting in rave reviews.

The event billed as New York's [45th] birthday Salute to President Kennedy would be a far lesser footnote of Camelotian lore, if not for the involvement of a sultry film goddess. Marilyn Monroe materialized in a scintillating spot that had her appearing next to naked in Madison Square Garden. The date was May 19, 1962 (ten days in advance of Jack’s actual birthday). The presidential function served as a fundraiser for Democrats, luring in a crowd of more than 15,000. The entertainment proved eclectic that eve, amounting to fifteen acts with alternating emcees––from opera's Maria Callas to actor Henry Fonda and that beloved laugh–getter, Jack Benny. To wit, two singers who would set a jazz wave throughout the indoor arena: Ella Fitzgerald and her trio, followed by Peggy Lee‘s quintet (playing scores by her conductor, Benny Carter).

Being aware of the historical worth, Stan Levey (Ella's drummer for the night) snuck an 8–millimeter movie camera into the pit with him. When he wasn't playing, Stan focused on the action. His color film segments included Jack from the stage angle making his grand entrance, as well as Marilyn's glorified arrival. Levey's widow Angela confirmed for the writer: "The filming wasn't allowed at all––those were the rules. But because Stan [was acquainted with] the president, he got away with it. Stan had known Kennedy because he played at different rallies before he became president." The 8–minute master footage by Stan (who died in 2005) was sold by Julien's Auctions in 2012 for $3,200.

In Jack's closing remarks at the Garden, he thanked the performers with a special nod to Peggy Lee, "who got out of a sick bed to come tonight." If illness nearly sidelined the singer, nobody could tell––she appeared absolutely radiant. A more versatile and looming talent than Marilyn (in the writer’s mind), Peg also bested her blonde counterpart in overall allure. (Frankly, I wince at combining the two in the same sentence.) But it was the actress who ruled the proceedings (Mrs. Kennedy was conveniently absent)––and her legend would only expand, since she would die in ten weeks. But even Monroe deserves a mention, if only for the accompaniment provided her on this night:

It was jazz pianist Hank Jones who keyed Marilyn in with some simple arpeggios to set in motion her birthday greeting to Mr. President, which segued into a satirized Thanks for the Memory. Both tunes took up a mere eight bars, still this infamous minute is what historically stands out. Hank relived the unforgettable night during an interview for NPR in 2006: "In 16 bars, we rehearsed 8 hours...I think that's something like an hour per bar of music! You know, she was very nervous and upset. She wasn't used to that kind of thing..." Marilyn also owed a debt of gratitude to Peggy that night. Peg was temperamental about how she was lit on stage, and it was her own borrowed lighting detail that would enhance Marilyn's chassis for all to see.

Note: Shortly after this event, Marilyn would mysteriously invite Hank (and another male party) to her Brentwood abode, ending up in a sort of interrogation of the two men. (Her home was wired with secret tape devices and their chat was supposedly recorded). Marilyn's intent: to probe them about their knowledge about the President and Attorney General, Robert Kennedy, in order to expose them. After the tense questioning, Hank reasoned with the unstable star: "I don't know what the Kennedys did to you, but you ought to let it go…"

Benny Goodman had an opportune meet with JFK that summer of ‘62, due to a heralded State Department tour (literally years in the making) of the USSR. For the six–week trip, May 30 thru mid–July, Benny brought with him a newly organized crew of 22. His book was typically restricted to the kind of anachronistic dance scores the master preferred, but with the class of swinging musicianship (among Benny’s best), it made up for the outmoded repertoire.

Before Benny's departure, the band did some break–in dates, which included a banquet sponsored by White House press photographers. It took place at the Sheraton Park Hotel in New York City. In his assisted autobiographical account, Teddy Wilson Talks Jazz, the returning BG pianist elaborates on the presidential function. After the show, the various artists formed a circle with Jack greeting them individually. Teddy was surprised to be singled out by the President, even before introductions. Jack called him by his surname: "Hello, Wilson––I hear you're going to Russia." "Yes, sir," Teddy replied. "Well," Kennedy told him, "do a good job." "We'll try."

Benny’s Moscow debut was attended by Nikita Khrushchev. If the severely square Premiere ever expressed his approval of jazz, it was reluctantly––and his sardonic smiles, in response to the rhythm, were surely just for show. The music had long been denounced by Hitler and Stalin as something decadent, if not vulgar––and it is not hard to fathom that Khrushchev felt similarly. No matter, the tour grossed nearly a half–million dollars.

Upon his return home, Benny received an invite to the White House on July 24. To go by existing newsreels, the congratulatory handshake from the President to Benny, like Khrushchev, was strictly for appearances. Jack appears blasé alongside Benny when caught on the sunny grounds at the West Wing Colonnade. (The President’s pseudo tan––caused by a variety of pills (some illegal) for his ailments, made him appear healthy when he was anything but.)

After the moment, Benny was asked by reporters about the President's musical preference. The King of Swing was mystified: "Gee, I don't know what his taste is, but...he used to come to the Ritz roof [atop the Ritz–Carlton Hotel] many years ago, when I played there with my band in Boston." This was likely around the period Kennedy was first elected as a Massachusetts Congressman in late 1946.

WHERE THEY WERE THAT DAY, 11/22/63 (CON’T):

Next to music, Shelly Manne’s passion (imparted by wife Flip) was breeding horses for show––the couple won numerous awards in Standardbred competitions. When the tragedy unfolded, Shelly was miles away from operating his Hollywood jazz spot, the Manne-Hole, having been booked for a gig in Kentucky. While there––Nov. 22 in fact––the Mannes made a detour in Louisville for a Saddlebred horse sale. Flip told the writer: “The shooting was announced over the loudspeaker. We didn’t know the President was dead [yet]. I remember us going back to the hotel in tears and being glued to the TV.” Flip, now 96, can’t recall if Shelly’s club remained out of service at the time of national mourning. The Gerry Mulligan quartet with Bob Brookmeyer was booked that week, with the Stan Getz Quartet scheduled to take over on the evening of the President’s burial.

Elsewhere on that day, Nov. 22, Rosie Clooney––who had been active in JFK’s 1960 campaign––was guesting on the Garry Moore show from the Ziegfeld Theatre in New York. "In the middle of a song,” she wrote in her published memoir, “the [TV] monitors suddenly cut away…horrified, transfixed, we watched as the news came in. The show couldn't go on, not now." Five years on, the singer would be part of Bobby Kennedy’s traveling entourage on the '68 campaign trail. She was there that day of June gloom when the Senator was felled at the Ambassador Hotel. It was the catalyst to a traumatic nervous breakdown that she wouldn’t recover from for a full year."  (Jazz & JFK to be continued in Part 4.)

Jazz & JFK by Steven Harris - Part 2

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Steven D. Harris is the author of The Kenton Kronicles: A Biography of Modern America’s Man of Music, Stan Kenton. New and Used Hardcover and Paperback version are still available via online sellers such as Amazon, AbeBooks or at www.stan-kenton.com.

In celebration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s birth centennial, Steven penned a 10,000 word essay on the late President of the United States and his relationship to Jazz and has kindly consented to allow JazzProfiles to publish it on these pages in five, consecutive parts.

Just a word in passing, you may come across some technical glitches involving spacing, et al and we ask you to accommodate them as they are the result of formatting using two, different platforms.

Jazz & JFK – in celebration of the 2017 Kennedy birth centennial:

An intriguing five–part feature on the President's relation to the

music, the artists and their heartfelt reflections––then and now.

By STEVEN D. HARRIS © 2013, 2017.

“Hampton Hawes, keyboardist and composer, was a flourishing favorite on the West Coast jazz scene (and deservedly so) throughout much of the 1950s. But alas and early on, he followed the mentality and drug path that so many of his colleagues surveyed, craving more than the music that should have been sufficient. If you have to ask How High the Moon, to be sure he was already there: the pianist was hooked on heroin before turning 21.

On the very night he was toasting to his 30th birthday in late 1958, Hawes would be arrested. Days later, while awaiting sentence, he cut an album of spirituals. It was called, perhaps not ironically, The Sermon (note that Hamp’s dad was a minister). The narcotics habit that caught up with him would result in a 10–year term in federal prison. He began “hard time” in April, 1959. In June, his sentence was extended by one year for contempt of court. Hawes was sent to a Fort Worth prison hospital the next month, where he lived out the duration. He wasn't set to be freed until 1970, but was eligible for release at the start of '66.

Enter John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Hawes was watching TV from his cell when the new president took oath that morning of Washington chill in 1961. The convict found himself over excited, assuring other inmates that Kennedy's "the right cat." He found the inaugural speech so full of promise that he made a decision right off. In his co–authored Raise Up Off Me (published in 1974), Hamp elaborates in detail about his desperate course. He would write the top man personally, requesting a presidential pardon.

The next day, Hamp shared his plan to a prison official, who couldn't help but be amused. His biggest obstacle, for the time being, was that no attorney would take him on (for well over a year). When the year–end holidays arrived in ‘62, Hawes had reason to rejoice: In the mail was his waiting request––an Application for Executive Clemency. The process was exasperating and tedious: a pile of pages to start off with, which reeked of indistinguishable legalities. To remotely comprehend it all, he helped himself to the prison library.

With all his myriad functions as Commander–in–Chief, it was highly improbable that Kennedy would ever have responded to Hawes' cause, yet that's exactly what he did. In fact, of the 42 prisoners pardoned by JFK, Hamp was second to last. The sparkling interpreter of jazz, with enough ability at rhetoric, had literally engineered his own release, all based on talent and musical status. The pardon was signed August 14, 1963. An added irony is that the touted piano man had been incarcerated in Texas, only 35 minutes away from where the JFK tragedy would unfold three months ahead.

His career resumed, Hawes entered the recording studio once again in early 1964. The album for Contemporary (label of his last nine sessions) was made Feb. 17, Its title track a testimony to a life once embraced, lost and restored: the film song Green Leaves of Summer.

WHERE THEY WERE, NOV. 22 (CON’T)

Playing aside, vibes master Terry Gibbs, now 93, is a keen story–teller known for his lucid recall of events past in his eight–decade career. Hence, I predicted that he could easily tell of his whereabouts on the day when the world came to grasp the unfathomable heartbreak of Nov. 22, 1963. "We were at the London House," Terry confirmed, "probably one of the most exclusive restaurant–clubs in Chicago. I had Walter Bishop Jr. on piano, John Dense on drums and Louis McIntosh, a bass player. We were there two weeks. A whole lot of things happened before we opened. Alice [McLeod], who was working with me for a whole year [as pianist and in vibraphone duets with Terry], came to me the week before. She had to leave to join John Coltrane, because they were going to get married. I introduced her to John, so that was a big thing for me.

"The day after I opened [was when] Kennedy got it––and [the management] made us come into work. We went to the job, wondering if they would tell us to go home, but they didn't––they made us play. I thought they were crazy. I played ballads all night...and probably everything in a minor key…I couldn't play anything that was in [up] tempo. In fact, I just couldn't play. We didn't know what to do. I mean, if it was one of those jobs that wasn't that important to me, I never would have showed up. But I never thought I could [get hired to] play that club...because the only musicians who did were people like Erroll Garner, Oscar Peterson and George Shearing––it was a piano room. So when Joe Glaser [the booking agent] got me into the room, I was thrilled. That's why I remember all of this.

“We played until we were told we could go home; I think we ended early. I never said a word [no tune announcements, etc.]. The audience was sparse, but they did have a crowd because people still went out to dinner. I'm surprised the audience didn't say: 'We don't want music.' I don't think they really cared. I know one thing: that whenever I played, I didn't remember it afterwards or really thought about what I was playing. Just trying to play one song, forget about the rest, was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Jazz musicians are lucky, because when you have trouble, you can go to the job and think [only] about the music. Things got better [for the duration of the run]; you can only grieve over a shock like that for so long."

Bill Basie had already appeared twice in the films of ardent fan Jerry Lewis, the first being Cinderfella (1960), followed by The Errand Boy (1961). His band appears on camera in the first; in the latter it functions as an audio backdrop for the comic's pantomime. Basie was due to take part in still another Lewis production in '63––Sex and the Single Girl. The cameras were set to roll for another day's shoot on Nov. 22 with the Count's swinging collective in place. Jet magazine reported that when the horrific news spread, Basie was "so shook up" that he rushed off the movie set in tears. The bandleader cancelled his next three shows. Surely, the President was been on his mind, due to an untimely slated date: the Count was to partake in a jam session on a nationwide TV special five days later, as part of a JFK gala on Nov. 27. Instead, the President’s burial had already taken place.

During the 40–minute ride to Dallas that had the President waving to crowds from an unprotected limo––that was from 11:50 AM to 12:30PM when the world changed in a few crackles––Woody Herman was on his way to a New York recording studio to make an album––his third of five for the Phillips label. The session was arranged for 2PM, Eastern Standard Time, one hour ahead of Texas. By start time, everyone involved had already heard the reports. Woody's latest Herd, a half–hour after the unbearable fact, was trying their utmost to make a satisfactory take on A Taste of Honey (a 1960 Broadway pop tune, arranged by lead trumpeter Bill Chase).

It was at that point when Gene Lees (the jazz editor–columnist and sometimes lyricist) arrived in the control booth. "I went up to the session," he said, "numb like the whole nation. Woody did a take...but no one felt like going on––and he called the session.” That take indeed appears on the album, simply titled Woody Herman: 1964. Lees wrote: “Its dark mood of mourning [is] a testament to the way jazz can almost instantaneously reflect public events––and express the emotions they engender." Irony seems to sit among the balance of titles; attempted the next day was Bill Holman's supercharged arrangement of After You've Gone.

On evenings, the Swingin’ Herd was enchanting crowds at the nearby Metropole (a jazz spot partly recalled for its space issues: the entire band was obligated to stand, sardine file, behind the club bar.) Trombonist Phil Wilson, a long–standing jazz educator on staff at the Berklee College of Music, was there the night of Kennedy's end. He told the writer in 2013: "The band did set up, [but] we played only briefly––one or two [numbers] to no audience. There was almost none, if any, and it was decided we close; the whole place was a ghost town. Broadway was surreal at 10 PM––no lights, no people."

Nat Cole, who had sung for President Eisenhower (and would for his grand–successor, LBJ), had become a strong ally for Kennedy after the two met at a 1958 dinner in support of Jack's re–election to the Senate. The President himself was part of an infinite fan base that the singer maintained. (If one account is true, the adulterous president would court at least one of his conquests with the aid of Nat’s music. 19 year–old Mimi Alford, a college sophomore, was a White House staffer when her year-long affair with JFK took place. Exactly fifty years later, in 2012, she divulged in her book how the President would cue up Nat on the resident’s stereo turntable, singling out the quaint ballad Autumn Leaves.) Once JFK placed his bid in for the big office in 1960, he encouraged Nat to volunteer his services in supporting the new candidate. The following phone–in telegram survives. It originates from Wisconsin (charged to Robert Kennedy's hotel room there) and was addressed to Nat Cole at his L.A. home. Writes Jack:

“I certainly appreciate your willingness to help me in the campaign...I would have liked to have had you with me on my visits around the state, but I understand that our schedules preclude us [sic] being here together...I would hope that in one of the primaries that is to follow...you would be willing to assist me. I am most grateful to you.

Best Regards, John F. Kennedy.”

Pete Barbutti, 83, is one of the few ingenious comics to create a complete routine based on the jazz lingua. Nat Cole was so fascinated by his originality that he hired Pete as his opening act for much of the 1963–64 season. The two were inseparable at this period and roomed together on tour. When this writer interviewed the comedian in 2007, he spoke warmly of their kinship. JFK was recalled in two separate accounts. "I was in Nat's room in Washington, DC at the Mayflower Hotel; we were there working the Carter–Barron Theatre. The phone rings and Nat is saying, 'Yeah, sure Jack. Yeah, I can come over after the show.' He's talkin' to Jack Kennedy. Nat asked me, 'Do you want to go over?' I told him no; I wouldn't know what to say or what to do. So he went over and had dinner with Jack and Jackie." The time frame of Barbutti's account can be pinpointed to mid–August, 1963, when Nat visited the White House. He and the President almost assuredly discussed race relations. Three interrelated concerns come to mind: JFK's new legislation bill on civil rights, the crisis in the South and the forthcoming march on Washington, to take place August 28.

Barbutti segued to that specific November day that lay ahead. "We were in Omaha, Nebraska, working a theatre there when I got a call...I was still asleep and Sparky, who was Nat's valet, woke me up. He said, 'Did you see the news? Jack Kennedy was just assassinated.' Walter Cronkite had just announced it. We couldn't believe it. Nat called me and he was crying. [Natalie Cole, thirteen at the time, said it was the only time she saw her father break down.] Nat told us to 'Pack up; we're gettin' out of here.' The [theatre] owner had the audacity to say, 'Come on, Nat––it's not that big a deal. We can still do the show.' Of course, he went right back to L.A. and went home. There were only three [dates] left in the tour and we cancelled them all.” (Jazz & JFK to be continued in Part 3.)

Jazz and JFK by Steven Harris - Part 1

© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

Steven D. Harris is the author of The Kenton Kronicles: A Biography of Modern America’s Man of Music, Stan Kenton. New and Used Hardcover and Paperback version are still available via online sellers such as Amazon, AbeBooks or at www.stan-kenton.com.

In celebration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s birth centennial, Steven penned a 10,000 word essay on the late President of the United States and his relationship to Jazz and has kindly consented to allow JazzProfiles to publish it on these pages in five, consecutive parts.

Just a word in passing, you may come across some technical glitches involving spacing, et al and we ask you to accommodate them as they are the result of formatting using two, different platforms.

Jazz  and JFK – in celebration of the 2017 Kennedy birth centennial:
An intriguing five–part feature on the President's relation to the music, the artists and their heartfelt reflections––then and now.


By STEVEN D. HARRIS © 2013, 2017.

“It seems almost spooky that September Song was John F. Kennedy's favorite tune, yet it is confirmed as true. The 1938 ballad was the creation of Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson––a story song with a bittersweet theme of a man in mid–age who contemplates his own mortality. Jack himself, we know, would never reach––as Sinatra so eloquently sang it––the September of his years, but was fated a count of 46. The man who captured the American imagination would be a source of imitation––from intellect and etiquette, to fashion, looks and class. (Gerry Mulligan seemed to emulate the man in a style sense, according to one critic. The month that Jeru’s Concert Band debuted in September 1960, he was seen sporting “a bop version of a Senator Jack Kennedy haircut.”)

For folks over 60, chances are you still recall your exact whereabouts the afternoon of Nov. 22, 1963, when the unfolding events in Dallas took precedence over every possible news story across the globe. Of the more than 190 million people in America, 75 million had heard the reports within a half–hour. That was at 1PM CST, the time JFK's life would cease. What follows in this timely centennial report (the data was originally compiled for the 50th anniversary of the President’s passing in November 2013, updated here) is a varying degree of components that tie the JFK era with a gathering of jazz encounters, some that occurred before he secured high office. It covers more than 50 musicians and singers, taken from historical accounts at the key time, to current reflections which the writer collected at the semi centennial of his death. It also covers recorded jazz memorials to JFK.

HIGHER HOPES

Entertainment was the main force that played throughout the two main Kennedy inaugural bashes––part of a six-ceremony gala that the President and First Lady were scheduled to attend, January 19th & 20th, 1961. In the musical mix was pop, folk, symphony, opera, religious music and a healthy dose of jazz. The first night's pre–inaugural party was produced and hosted by Francis Sinatra (who had performed the Star–Spangled Banner for Jack at the 1960 Democratic National Convention in July). The black–tie affair of Jan.19 offered a diverse cast from stage and screen. From their hotels, Sinatra arranged to pick up his all–star entourage in school buses to make the short trip to the capital’s National Guard Armory. Frank later called his mass production “the most exciting assignment of my life.”

In the jazz arena were singers Ella Fitzgerald and Nat Cole. That connubial couple, Louis Prima and Keely Smith, were also rostered. So too was conductor Leonard Bernstein (premiering new music for the occasion) and the Basie band. The Count wrote in his assisted autobiography Good Morning Blues: “I can vouch for what was happening at the Armory: It was leaping, very definitely.” Bill also confirmed how his wife Katie “had been very active in the Kennedy campaign, so she probably would have been part of the big victory celebration even if the band had not been invited to play."

This gargantuan event, as Kennedy would relay in the customary sign-off thank you’s, caused two current Broadway shows to shut down for the night. After the swearing–in ceremonies.come morning, the new president re–tuxed and headed to the Statler–Hilton Hotel, where another D.C. ball awaited him. Nelson Riddle’s orchestra and the Woody Herman Herd alternated for dancers, playing continuously for some 8,000 privileged invitees. Al Hirt entertained that evening as well with his jovial New Orleans sound. In the years ahead, he would evoke the night again and again, telling how Kennedy went out of his way to shake hundreds of unfamiliar hands, in order to reach the stage and thank the trumpeter personally.

WHERE THEY WERE THAT DAY (NOV. 22)

Al Hirt was watching TV at home in 1963 when a bulletin flashed in. "I drove down to my club," he later wrote in his memoirs, "which at that time of the day was empty...with remains from the previous night's revelry. I locked myself in, picked up my horn and played the blues...[It] seemed to allow me some release for the strong emotions I felt. After a time, I secured a black wreath, put it on my nightclub door and remained closed for business until after his funeral." (Note: Technically, Dan's Pier 600 belonged to Hirt's business manager. It closed in 1964 to reopen at year’s end under a new name and ownership: the Al Hirt club.)

Vince Guaraldi's trio was scheduled to play at the University of Pittsburgh, PA. Upon landing at the airport, the group was greeted by security agents and sent home. For singer Tony Bennett, the distress caused a reverse reaction to his long–term memory. Decades later, he struggled to pinpoint exactly where he was: "It affected me that much to where I couldn't remember what I was doing...it just felt like the Declaration of Independence had ended." John Clayton, the superlative bassist, writer and bandleader, was just eleven when the news from Dallas resonated thru his 6th grade hall that day. He remembered how the whole school went home early, adding, "I also saw the flag at half mast, maybe a first for noticing that."

Clayton's elder of the big bass, Howard Rumsey, was into his 14th year running the Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach––a casual jazz spot already of legend, where sand and sandals were part of the decor. Though his memories had faded (Howard was 96 when we spoke), he did offer some insight. I inquired as to whether or not he shut down the club temporarily, as so many establishments did nationwide. "We did not close that week," he verified, "but I put a substitute group in there and took a week off, so that I could follow the [news updates] and burial––and to see how the nation was going to conduct itself. The question came to everybody: Who's going to take Kennedy's place, because he was so popular. That's what was on everybody's mind.” Howard answered affirmingly when I asked if he was a Kennedy fan himself, not expecting his quirky reply. “Yes,” Rumsey confirmed, “because he was the kind of guy that took his wife with him everywhere."

Gerald Wilson, who was 95 at the time of our interview, was also fuzzy on the details he encountered that week of national mourning. What he did recall was that "I was in Dallas after that time, a few years later. I was invited to conduct an orchestra there… A friend of mine showed me the spot where all of this happened." I asked Gerald how he perceived the era in retrospect. "Kennedy,” he offered, “had proved to be a man that was certainly going to do good things for the country. Things looked like they would be better if he was the president. I think he was a man that people in America liked. JFK, good guy." Gerald was more precise in pinpointing the facts five years later, when another Kennedy brother was felled in the same senseless manner––an event that affected him possibly even more in 1968. He elaborated on RFK this way: “I know where I was the night that happened. I was playing and conducting music for Eartha Kitt at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. I had written this music for her, but I didn't even stay to the end of the engagement. I got on a plane to come back home."

Singer Joe Williams and his wife (who, coincidentally, was born on Nov. 22 *) were headed for New York’s Idyllwild Airport that day to pick up his back–up group, the Junior Mance Trio. They would all be performing that night in Detroit. When the early bulletins came on the car radio––this was before the President's death was confirmed––his wife's first inclination was to turn back. "Nobody's going to open a club now," she reasoned. Joe stopped to call the club owner and find out his plans. The owner took a chance, deciding to stay open. Joe sang his usual three sets on opening night to a mostly Canadian crowd, who had crossed over from Windsor, Ontario. By the third night, however, locals were showing up in droves––all seeking relief from the excruciating events. The social trauma of Nov. 22, as Joe later capped it, would "take the luster off" his wife's birthday forever.

[*Also born Nov. 22: pianist-singer-composer Hoagy Carmichael (1899–1981), reed player Ernie Caceres (1911–71), trombonist Jimmy Knepper (1927–2003) and pianist Craig Hundley (b. 1954), among other jazz personalities.]

SWINGING FOR MR. PRESIDENT

When Dave Brubeck and Tony Bennett were assigned for a joint effort in late August, 1962, the result was a White House “jazz first,” albeit off grounds. The one-hour set had been prepared as a Rose Garden lawn concert for local college interns. However, to accommodate the crowd, it was moved to the Sylvan Theatre of the Ellipse––a round field more commonly known as the President's Park South, just across from the White House. A superb recording from that day found its way to CD in May, 2013, released as Brubeck/Bennett: The White House Sessions–live 1962. Historic photos accompany the music and liner text. Hearing the tape 50 years later, Bennett was overjoyed: "I couldn't believe how spontaneous it all felt...like it was so well rehearsed." The two artists alternate in sets, starting with Dave’s Quartet. Tony then crafts out a half–dozen tunes with the Ralph Sharon Trio. For the too–brief finale, the Brubeck trio (Paul Desmond lays out) backs Bennett for eleven off the cuff minutes.

Due to its geographical spot (being outside the House gates), the Brubeck/Bennett date is more often passed up historically for its role as the first jazz happening by the White House. That designation belongs to a program arranged 12 weeks later: the more frequently cited event of Nov. 19––the first time jazz resonated inside the Executive Mansion, with a 90–minute program in the East Room. The Jazz Sextet of alto saxophonist Paul Winter (billed with a 19–year old classical pianist from Korea) played for a polite audience of ten–to–nineteen year–olds, all children of diplomats and government officials from various embassies in Washington. Paul remembered the young crowd as "warm and unpretentious." This was the fifth in a music series introduced and sponsored by Jacqueline Kennedy herself, called Concerts For Young People, By Young People. JFK had intended to take part, but was swamped with no less than eight meetings that day.

Jackie seemed genuinely excited, even if the group border lined on a hard bop style beyond her ears. "Simply wonderful," she expressed to Paul, adding, "There has never been anything like it here before." She gave the group "her cool blessing," UPI reported the next day. Another newspaper would headline “Jackie digs jazz!" in bold lettering. Shortly afterwards, in a half–hour ABC–TV special on the bossa nova craze, it was noted that Little Boat was Jackie’s favorite tune. She was even curious to know the origins of the coolly syncopated trend from Brazil. Jackie was so enthralled with the new sounds––and particularly Paul's latest release, Jazz Meets the Bossa Nova––that she said she'd been playing it "non–stop for two weeks." Record sales jumped when The Billboard reported how the First Lady "flipped" over it. The tape of this White House performance was finally released upon its golden anniversary in November, 2012. The 2CD set, with more previously unissued material from ‘63, is named after the group's theme song, Count Me In.

Paul Winter, just 23, had recently returned with his group from an extended cultural exchange tour of Latin America. The period covered February thru mid–July and, before it culminated, Paul wrote to the President on the progress and results. Jack expressed to one of his staffers that he found it all "very interesting." Paul explained: "The success of that tour brought the sextet to Jackie's attention." Paul always felt that because his group was equally integrated (three white members, the other three black), it secured his royal op at the White House. The week after JFK's burial, on Dec. 5, Paul entered the Columbia recording studios for his last of six albums with his seasoned sextet. (Added percussion was used on a few of the twelve titles, making it a septet). The results were titled Jazz Meets the Folk Song. It is hardly a coincidence that the 1963 album includes the folk favorite, We Shall Overcome. Paul included it as a jazz benediction. The distraught players would disband within days.

Of the quotes from more than 40 personalities covered herein, Mundell Lowe, who died on December 2, 2017 at the age of 95, deserves the anecdotal prize for his personal account––one that has never been documented at any time before. From 1953 on, JFK had a home away from home in New York. While in the area, Jack would stay at Manhattan's ***Carlyle Hotel on 5th Avenue, where he had an assigned penthouse duplex on the 34th floor. "All the big stars used to stay there," Mundell noted. Through the guitarist's personal chronicle, he produced this previously unknown tidbit for jazz history. He told the writer:

"Milt Hinton, the bass player, called me and said the President was in town and that he liked jazz. 'I want you, me, Tony Scott and Don Elliott to go up and play for him,' he said. There was some kind of little party going on upstairs in his private presidential suite. I'm not sure of the date, but 1961 sounds accurate. We decided it was best not to use a drummer, since we thought it should be quieter. Tony played clarinet [rather than sax] and Don played the vibes. We all arrived in this little room up there...and there was a rocking chair right in front of the bandstand.

"Pretty soon,” Mundell continues, “Kennedy came in and sat down with a guy on each side of him, so that nobody could disturb him. I don't remember if they were the FBI or the Secret Service, but they were plain clothes men protecting Kennedy. He sat there right in front of us for quite a while, listening. The President smiled and patted his foot and had a great time. He stayed there in that rocking chair facing us––and the guys would not let anybody get near him."

I asked Mundell to elaborate on the circumstances of November '63, when he joined in the nation's sorrow: "I think it was the same hour the news broke...I was in New York, leaving NBC studios, when I ran into Milt Hinton on the street––and he was in tears. I asked him what was wrong. He said: 'They just killed the only hope we ever had.' We [then] went down to a bar called Jim & Andy's and had a drink."

[***The jazz encounter at the Carlyle Hotel may have occurred when JFK was still a "president–elect." The writer researched into it to find that Kennedy spent at least three nights there between Jan. 4–18, 1961, just prior to his Jan. 20 inauguration. If this is the case, as Mundell notes, it was possibly FBI men rather than the Secret Service assigned to protect him.]

If the statement voiced by Miles Davis sounds like hyperbole, it was at least a fashionable take on his stance. "I like the Kennedy brothers," he told a reporter in 1962. "They're swinging people." In February, 1964, when the trumpeter appeared with his quintet at Philharmonic Hall in New York (for an NAACP benefit), he told England's Melody Maker that the concert was in memory of JFK. Some six months later, Miles would throw a party at his home for Robert Kennedy, who had announced his bid to run for senator of New York. Strangely, Miles admitted in his aided 1989 autobiography, he had no recollection of meeting his honored political guest. "People say he was there,” Miles guessed, “but if he was I don't remember..."

Miles' horn mentor––a fatherly force to the totality of jazz brotherhood––was Louis Armstrong. He had, in a satirical way, first paid homage to the Kennedys on record while participating in Dave and Iola Brubeck’s The Real Ambassadors––a monumental jazz release from 1961. The track Cultural Exchange (about the State Department’s so–called “discovery of jazz”) has Louis uttering the phrase: "If the world goes wacky, we'll get John to send out Jackie!" A generic voice booms: "You mean Jackie Robinson?" to which Armstrong chimes, "No man, I mean the First Lady!"

Satchmo was a silent but dutiful flag–waver, the evidence of which rang out in parts of his repertoire. Following the JFK funeral, Louis reconvened a tour with his All–Stars. December 1 found the sextet performing in Massachusetts, where Jack Kennedy had served so long as a Boston politician. Louis had a set list of traditional closers, but felt obliged on this night––with no oral prelude––to play a different tune, unaccompanied. As his trumpet echoed the strains of God Bless America, the audience was fixed silently still, tied in unity. With only his horn and a single chorus, Louis was exemplified in his short elegant prose, telling his people––all people––that, through sacrifice, we can still hope. In his finish, he simply said to the tearing crowd: "That was for President Kennedy. Goodnight." 

(Jazz and JFK to be continued in Part 2)