Larry & THE DUKE (II}

Young Larry and his family had a hard-scramble life in the Dakotas. Young Edward lived in a fine house in a good neighborhood in Washington D.C.

The Duke’s father’s artist talent got him a good job making blueprints for the U.S. Navy, and before that served as a White House butler. Both young Ellington’s parents were well known pianists in D.C. and were hired to perform at both private and government functions. His mother specialized in parlor music. His father in operatic arias. Edward started his ‘playing’ the piano at the age of three. At the age of eleven he began to receive lessons from a prominent teacher.

His musical life of light classical began to change around the age of fourteen when he began to sneak into a pool hall to listen to the piano players beating out jazz, ragtime, blues, music that here- to -for he had only heard about.

It was around this time Edward got the nickname Duke. He was a dapper dresser and had casual air about him. His friends thought Edward just didn’t fit him and one of them titled him Duke. The name not only stuck, it replaced his given name.

The Duke composed his first of over a thousand compositions, Soda Fountain Rag. He was fifteen and could neither read or write music. He felt that his skill was not playing piano but composing. He worked hard to learn the mechanics of music. He also began to organize combos and to play at dances. Like his father, Duke was an exceptional artist, so much so he was offered an art scholarship to Pratt Institute; which he turned down because he believed strongly that his music would be his life.

Earning money by day as a sign painter, playing gigs at night. Soon his combo, The Duke’s Serenaders, was playing embassy parties and private functions in D.C. and nearby Virginia, playing for both Afro-Americans and white audiences. The Duke was on his way…

But like all over-night successes in Show Biz it was a lot of hard work and a lot of two steps forward, one step back; and often one forward, two back. The early 1920’s saw him and his ensemble hopping between New York and D.C. with an occasional stop in Atlantic City. His ensemble grew both in size and in quality. His compositions grew and various musicians in his band often took a different approach to a song. Ellington’s musical horizons expanded as did his popularity and respect as both a composer and as band leader.

In 1926, Irvin Mills, a prominent music publisher and jazz artist promoter, came to an Ellington club date to scout the Duke out as a possible client. He was so impressed he signed Ellington that very night. Mills only took 45% of Ellington Inc.. Sounds like a lot today, but it was an unheard of contract between a white agent and a black musician. It was usually that the musician got only 40% or less.

Mills relieved Ellington of the business end that robbed the Duke of time better spent with his music. Getting recording gigs, radio air play, films, and live performances at prominent venues.

On of these venues was the famous Cotton Club where the Ellington Orchestra was house band on several extended occasions, and later as guest artists. It was the Prohibition Era and also the Jim Crow Era. The performers were black and came in through the back door. The audience was white and paid big money while coming in the front door. Ellington was expected to compose and play ‘jungle music’. This segregation at the club ended thanks a lot in part by Ellington.

As the Depression took hold, the recording business suffered; but radio exposed the Duke to a growing audience and tours became the band’s mainstay. Ellington’s compositions during those years, like Mood Indigo and Don’t Get Around Much Anymore, were big hits no matter who sang or played them. Then in 1938, a composer/arranger, Billy Strayhorn, applied to Ellington as a lyricist.

Strayhorn brought Lush Life, a song he composed as a teenager, to show the Duke a sample of his work. He also began to outline different arrangements of a few of Ellington’s work. Duke found his ‘left hand, his right hand’, the missing link in his musical journey.

Like his idol, the Duke, Strayhorn’s musical foundation was classical. His dream was to be a classical composer; but he knew that a black would never be accepted in the classical music world of the day, so jazz became his medium…until he discovered the jazz/classical compositions of Ellington.

The two worked as one, composing in the classical vein of suites. Strayhorn made new arrangements for Ellington’s standards as well as composing songs on his own. The first Ellington recording of a Strayhorn work was Take The A Train which became the signature introduction of the Ellington’s Orchestra. For the next 25+ years the two collaborated, one working on a theme and the other jumping in, until it became impossible to credit either one for the completed work.

The Swing Era/Big Band Era began in the mid-30’s and continued for a good ten years. While the white Big Bands, like Dorseys, Harry James, Glen Miller, took the lead in popularity and money, the black Big Bands, like Ellington, Basie, Cab Calloway, had good years also. Radio, juke boxes, recordings, even cameo in movies, combined to make it a golden age for big band jazz music, black and white. While most of the bands followed a common road, the Duke and his musical compositions took a more serious musical route, not relying only on the tried and true hits of the past.

This route took it’s toll on Ellington’s orchestra after WWII. Swing was replaced by Be Bop and promoters found that small groups, trios, quartets, brought in good audiences at much less cost. Great musicians, like Armstrong and Hampton, broke away from bands and fronted these combos.

It was the birth of Cool Jazz, aka West Coast Jazz. Dave Brubeck’s quartet with Paul Desmond. Gerry Mulligan with Chet Baker. Modern Jazz Quartet. And of course, Miles Davis.

The early 50’s brought a severe revolution in music. Teenagers became prime movers and R&B, Rock & Roll on cheap 45 discs introduced new idols like Presley, Little Richard, Pat Boone, to replace the likes of Sinatra and the Andrew Sisters. Hits and misses in the main stream were often dictated by disc jockeys, often televised, and the Top 40 on the radio was influenced by bribes called payola. Black recording artists were ripped off big time by their white ‘agents’.

Ellington had long fought against the three- minute cut on LP records and there was no room for Ellington’s vision of his music on a 45 disc.. His music needed much more space. His music needed an orchestra not a small combo. His genius refused to lower the bar.

In 1950 he and his orchestra stayed afloat thanks to a Europe tour, set up by the Black- Listed Orson Welles. They did 74 gigs in 77 days. During which he managed to compose music for a Welles’ stage production as well as performing a Welles’ variety show in Paris. While he never played any new personal compositions on tour he managed to finish his extended composition Harlem in his ‘spare time’.

Returning home, times were tough. Dance gigs and concert tours were few and far between. His royalties from his standards brought him the needed money to compose his serious music and to managed to keep his key musicians alive. But by 1955 there wasn’t a record company that wanted him.

And then in the evening of July 7, 1956, a string of unlikely occurrences combined to make a perfect storm that resurrected the career of Duke Ellington and his Orchestra. The Ellington New Port Concert is as an important jazz event as the Benny Goodman Carnegie Hall concert in 1938.

Ellington’s concert wasn’t at a famous venue like Carnegie Hall. It was on the last of a three day jazz festival, a relative new concept in music, at Newport, R.I.. Unlike Benny Goodman, who headlined the famous Carnegie Hall concert in 1938, Ellington was just one of many acts. Unlike the prominent sidemen in Goodman’s orchestra, artists like Harry James on trumpet, Jess Stacy on piano, and of course, Gene Krupa on drums, the Ellington group had lost many talented members, although several came back for the Newport Festival gig, like the great alto sax player, Johnny Hodges. Goodman brought down the house with exceptional solos on the popular Sing Sing Sing. At Newport the audience erupted on a 1938 Ellington composition, Diminuendo And Crescendo In Blue, stuck in the playlist at the last minute, and the astounding solo of a journeyman tenor sax player, Paul Gonsalves. The dancing in the aisles at Carnegie was a spontaneous reaction by the audience. The dancing at Newport during the solo by Gonsalves was done an unknown platinum blonde in a black dress that jumped from her seat and danced her way to the stage.

Gonsalves was hired by Ellington six years before. He had played in many major orchestra but his many addictions cost him work.  Ellington liked having him around because Gonsalves was fond of going out in the audience to perform. The Duke nicknamed him Gypsy,also Strolling Violins.

And this night, Ellington specifically told Gonsalves to take the solo, even though the great alto sax, Johnny Hodges was with them that evening. Gonsalves’ solo lasted for an unbelievable 27 choruses. He was accompanied by Woods on bass and Woodyard on drums with an occasional prompts by Ellington on piano and Ellington’s ‘Dig in, Paul. Dig in.’The audience exploded and the finale featured a high trumpet solo by Cat Anderson. And Ellington and his band were reborn.

Time Magazine loudly proclaimed that fact and honored Duke Ellington with his picture on the cover. To date, Duke is only one of five jazz musicians to be so honored.

Columbia released the entire concert as quickly as possible. It not only became Ellington’s all time selling album, it became one of the jazz world’s best seller. Old time fans like Larry Howard bought one right away. Younger fans, like your truly, got one a few years later through the Columbia Record club.

The royalties from album and his new recording contract with Columbia afforded Ellington the luxury of composing as he always wanted to. He was free to break out of the three minute cuts of LP’s and 45”s. Free to devote time to suites etc. that are played by symphony orchestras world wide. And also the money kept his core orchestra members working, something the other black big bands couldn’t do.

The following year, 1957, was Ellington’s Shakespeare year. The Duke liked Shakespeare. Billy Strayhorn loved Shakespeare. After his success at Newport, he gave a series of concerts at the Stratford Festival in Ontario. He was asked back for another concert in 57 and Michael Langham, the artistic director of the Stratford Playhouse, contracted him to write the incidental music for Langham’s production of ‘Timon of Athens’.

While performing there Ellington was persuaded by the staff at the theater to write a composition inspired by Shakespeare. The end result was his, and Strayhorn’s, 12 piece suite based on works of Shakespeare, Such Sweet Thunder.

The next big step that year was when he and Strayhorn broke the Afro-American barrier in Hollywood sound track. Otto Preminger hired them to compose the sound track for the movie, Anatomy of A Murder. The album won the Grammy Award for best soundtrack. Other movie soundtracks followed.

Suite after suite compositions, some with Strayhorn, others just by Ellington, followed right up to his death. The later years he was working on his Sacred Music suites, deemed by Ellington as his greatest works,. In 1973 his Third Sacred Concert premiered at Westminster Abby in England.

These later years were the busiest and most profitable years of his life. There were the recordings of his new compositions and collaboration recordings with other jazz greats. His old friendly rival, Count Basie, others like Louis Armstrong, Charlie Mingus, Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrain, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra. His early songs, now standards, were recorded by him and others, producing royalties as never before.

But he never neglected live performances, after all it was live performances that started his career, and comprised a major portion of his life of music. He and his orchestra toured around the world during that period.

His last tour started in July of 1973 and continued thru to March 22, 1974. He knew this would be his last. His health was failing. Lung cancer. Several times events were rescheduled due to illness. One such was the two concerts at the Guthrie, that was moved from January 74 to March74. It was at this second concert when Larry Howard got the meet the Duke.

This is the second in the three part series. The last will follow in a day or so. In the meantime,



prom corsage


The Old Hand

Seeing all the kids in their prom outfits always remind me of my first fancy dress dance, and how I had to prepare for it.

First, I needed a suit. The only suit I ever had before, was for my First Communion. Since my folks were paying for it, Mom went along. I wanted a charcoal grey suit so I could wear a pink shirt with it – the cool combo back in those days.

The clerk said they had charcoal grey pants, but no suits. He showed us several other choices of suits. None which pleased both Mom and myself. Then he suggested a sport coat instead of a suit. When he pointed out I’d get more use out of a sport coat because it would go with practically anything, Mom was all for it. After all we didn’t get much use out of my First Communion suit. I wore it once and each of my two brothers wore it once. And since the sport coat would go with practically anything, and the anything could mean a pink shirt and charcoal grey pants, so was I.

Next on my to-do list was ordering a corsage, so I went to my friend Jack, whose father was the town florist. He asked me a lot of questions that I couldn’t answer, like the color of her gown, the color of her eyes, the color of her hair. I explained it was a blind date thing. She went to an all girls school. I never met her, just talked to her once, over the phone.

‘If it would help,’ I offered, ‘Her name is Mary Margaret.’ It didn’t help.

‘Well,’ Jack said, ‘Why don’t I just make up a nice corsage that will go with practically anything.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll pick it up Saturday.’

‘Wait,’ he said, ‘How about I give you a boutonnière? On the house.’

‘A boot in the ear! How about I give you a cuff in the mouth? On the house.’

Jack laughed and laughed. He thought I was making a joke. Finally he stopped laughing and I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He explained that a boutonnière a small corsage a man wore in his lapel. Sounded okay to me.

‘Now just a few questions. What color ……?’

‘Whoa, whoa, Jack. Tell you what. I got a sports coat that will go with practically anything. I just bought a corsage that will go with practically anything. How about you just make up a boutonnière that will go with practically anything.’

Jack did and my date loved her corsage and my boutonnière. We had a couple of dates afterwards, but then we drifted apart. I forgot about her, but Jack never forgot about me ordering her flowers. Several years later when I was ordering the wedding corsage for my bride-to-be, Jack told me what he thought would look the best with the color of her gown, the color of her eyes, and the color of her hair. Something specific for my lovely lady, and not just something that would go with practically anything.

Then he asked me, ‘And what would you like? A boutonnière – or maybe a cuff in the mouth? On the house, of course.”

Published St. Paul Dispatch BB  5/30/14


While that was the end of my article in the Bulletin Board, it wasn’t the end of the story.

The evening of the dance, I got all spiffed up, had Mom pin my boutonnière on my go-with-anything sport coat and set out. Drove the mile to the Mendota Bridge, drove the almost – mile over the bridge, then over the very short Fort Snelling Bridge, turned left on the River Road for a half mile, pulled into the long driveway of the very nice house which would have had a nice view of the river if it wasn’t for the large trees on the river bluff. It was five minutes to the appointed time when I rang the doorbell. The younger brother answered the door, turned and yelled to his sister that her date was here.

‘Oops!’ I said. ‘Ah, tell your sister, I’ll be right back.’ Went back to the car, got in, backed out of the driveway, drove down River Road, crossed the two bridges, and drove into our driveway. Ran in the house and, sure enough, the box with my date’s corsage was just where I left it, on the kitchen table. Reversed the route and made it back to the big house on the River Road about a half hour after I had left.

This time her father answered the door. In reality, he was about six inches shorter than me; but standing in the doorway, staring at me, he seemed ten feet tall with a look on his face that could curdle milk. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he just let me talk my way out of the embarrassing situation that I found myself in. Finally he turned to his wife, who was standing behind him, and told her to tell Mary Margaret to finish dressing. He let me in the house and pointed to the couch.

‘I was told it was to be a double date,’ he said in a rough voice. ‘I don’t see anybody out in your car.’

I explained that we had to pick up my friend and his date next. He shook his head okay. His daughter came down the stairs. I stood up, the corsage box in my hands. While I was saying hello and offering the explanation for my weird behavior, he jerked the box from my hands. ‘Here,’ he said, handing the box to his wife. ‘You pin this on her.’ The last thing he wanted to see was a strange, very strange, boy fumbling around his daughter’s bodice. Actually, he did me a big favor. My hands were trembling so much, I might have stuck her with the pin and gotten a boot in the ear from her father.

I apologized again, walking to the car, and again as soon as I started to back out the driveway, and again as we headed out. She kept telling me not to worry about it. Those things happen. She did confess that she had set a time limit to how long she was going to wait until she undressed and wrote me off. We made small talk and laughed about it. My hands were still trembling.

We had gone several blocks when I noticed she made a small Sign of the Cross. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice it, but a little later, she made another Sign of the Cross. This time I looked at her. She smiled and continued to talk. We were just a few blocks from picking up my buddy when she made yet another Sign of the Cross.

‘Okay!’ I said, pulling the car to the curb, ‘I didn’t think I was driving bad; but if I’m scaring you, you can drive.’ I pulled the key out of the ignition and tried to hand it to her.

She had no idea what I was talking about. I told her. ‘You keep praying, making the Sign of the Cross. If you’re so scared to ride with me…..’

She smiled hesitantly, and gave a quick laugh. She explained that it was something all the girls in her school did. Every time they drove past a church, they made a small Sign of the Cross. It was just a ritual and had nothing to do with my driving.

Oops! I wondered if my sport coat that went-with-almost-anything went with my red face. The rest of the evening went off without any more disasters, unless you count a couple times I stepped on her toes while we were dancing.

Pink shirts and charcoal grey pants were definitely the uniform of the day. Some of the guys had charcoal grey suits. Some wore just a pink shirt and charcoal grey pants without a jacket or tie. Some, like me, had a sport coat to finish off the look; but unlike me, their jackets didn’t quite have a  go – with – almost – anything look. And nobody had a boutonnière to equal mine.


P.S. My wife, after reading the newspaper article, asked me if I remembered what kind of flowers made up her bridal corsage; and then quickly told me, they were gardenias that had to ordered special. As if I didn’t know the answer!