jazzsight profiles

Jazzsight Profile: Harry James 
'The Man With The Horn' 

By John Twomey

For insight into the life of big band trumpeter Harry James, it helps to understand how a personality develops amid the constant travel of a circus. His youngest years were spent moving, sometimes daily, between out of town farm fields on the pre-interstate highway days of roads that were often unpaved. After the big circus parade into town the tents would be set up in a field on the outskirts.

Unlike many children who spend their youth in a steady home and the order of the classroom, Harry had no permanent address until his father settled in Beaumont, Texas when he was a teenager.

He had a natural feel for music, and a demanding trumpet coach of a father. He was given the responsibility, and respect, to lead a musical unit of the circus band when he was only 12. His mind was free of the normal constraints of childhood. He already had an audience for his work each day.

Harry grew up caught in the  thunderstorms which blew in across the flat plains ripping tents and scattering circus crowds, and in Spring mud which forced the circus crew to trudge a mile into town to find breakfast. He played to crowds beneath blue skies of high summer and nights lit with incandescent lights on the white way. This was the backdrop of life that formed Harry's personality.

Harry James was born on March 15, 1916 in Albany Georgia at the St. Nicholas Hotel. Both of his parents worked in a popular touring circus, "The Mighty Hagg Shows". Harry's father, Everette Robert James (1884-1955) was born in New Orleans and was a cornetist, trumpeter, and leader of the circus' 15-piece band. Harry's mother, Maybelle Stewart Clark James (1891-1941) was a trapeze artist and aerialist noted for her ability to "lift 500 pounds with her teeth" while performing her "iron jaw" trick suspended above the ring. Both parents toured with the circus for twenty years. (1)

Harry was 11 days old when his parents carried him on stage. Like child vaudeville drummer Buddy Rich a few years later, Harry started in show business by banging out march-time on a drum bigger than him, at age one. He began playing on a set of drums at three, and was featured with the band and took over the drummer's chair entirely at age four, when the drummer became sick. He was able to play two, hour-and-forty-minute shows each day.

His mother taught him the many tricks of the circus trade, including contortion movements from her own act, and he became known in the show as the “Human Eel".

Harry began playing the cornet at eight years old. Skinny Goe, a trumpeter in the Christy Bros. Circus taught Harry the rudiments of the horn. His father, Everette, recognized his ability. By 11, he was playing fourth chair in the circus band, and shortly afterward he became First Cornetist.

By 12 Harry was given leadership of the show's Second Unit Band, and his name first appeared in Billboard Magazine as the “youngest circus bandleader in the world.”

Harry’s dad used W.C. Handy’s compositions in the circus music repertoire, and Harry's ability to play the blues began to develop. “Memphis Blues”, “St. Louis Blues” as well as standards of the day like “Tiger Rag, “Milenberg Joys” and “Wolverine Blues” were also played daily. (2) Harry even copied his father’s stance on the bandstand, which stayed with him all of his life. As a pre-teen, he would practice the Arban Trumpet exercise book between 2 and 6 hours a day under his father's tutelage.

When the family quit the circus and settled in Beaumont Texas, Harry was already 13. As a seventh grader in 1929, he was asked to join the Beaumont High School Band. He had already found his way to the only jazz club in Beaumont, and was playing there with Vic Isirillo’s band.

His Dad kept his son's passion for playing baseball second to trumpet practice. He was only allowed to go outside and play when he had mastered each day's music exercise. This was a great motivational method, he later admitted, for it got him outside faster than if he had had a set practice time period. If he could do it right, he could go out. “Whatever success I may have had was due to my father sitting me down and really making me practice and practice and practice.” (3)

The business depression of the 1930’s shut down a lot of small travelling shows, and Everette James decided to stay in Beaumont because the Spindle Top Oil Company was still solvent, and employing locals. The company also had a 24-piece band, and it asked Everette to lead it. Harry, of course, was a featured player. At this time, Harry also started to play baseball on the Island Park American Legion Team. A sharp-eyed scout for the Detroit Tigers noticed his fielding talent and hitting skills, and he nearly joined the Tiger’s Beaumont Farm Team. But then something happened that changed his life.

In 1931 Harry entered the Texas Band Teacher’s Association Annual Eastern Division Contest. He won first place performing Herbert Clark’s “Neptune’s Court”. One of the high school musicians present, Bill Abel, remembered: “It was so outstanding. To hear a kid that young play so excellently, so perfectly, was just earthshaking. There were a lot of good trumpet players in High School, but none of them like that- so completely above every other musician in the whole state contest. He astounded the judges so much that they wanted to give him 100%, but they said they had never been able to do that, so they gave him a 98%. I knew Harry was headed for big things”. (4)

Harry decided to pursue music as a living. His education ended with his graduation from Jr. High School. He started to play in local dance bands. His father made it clear he did not want him becoming a jazz musician. A trumpet student of Everette’s, Tom Jenkins, recalled “The older guys would sneak Harry out at night to play jobs that the old man didn’t like.” (5)  Another musician from Beaumont, Jack McGee, a bassist, said “Harry was such a talent he didn’t stay long around here... he could sight-read a trumpet part from 100 feet.” (6)

Everette James was not making the money he was used to making in his circus days. Knowing this, Harry asked to go out on his own, play trumpet, and help the family financially. He first attempted to sit-in with the band of Anson Weeks in Port Arthur, Texas, but wasn’t allowed. Next came a nervous audition with Lawrence Welk at the Baker Hotel in Dallas. According to James, “Welk asked me what else I could play and I told him the drums. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted guys who could play at least 4 or 5 instruments, so I didn’t get the job." (7)

Harry then auditioned for violinist Joe Gill and his “Phillips Flyers”, who were based in St. Louis, but were playing a date in Beaumont. Harry easily played the band's "St. Louis Blues" chart, which was the most difficult arrangement in the book. He was familiar with the song from playing it regularly in his circus days, and Gill was impressed with his technical skill and musical intuition. He was hired. In a few days he joined up with the Gill Band in Galveston, Texas. He was paid $60.00 a week until the band ran out of gigs and he then returned to Beaumont and joined some other local working bands playing Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana spots.

Next, he found employment with Art Hick's Orchestra. Hicks featured a vocalist named Louise Tobin during the band's 3-month stay at the Sylvan Club in Arlington, Texas. Harry and Louise began to date. Art Hick's band was featured as "America's Newest Dance Sensation" and both Harry and Louise were prominent on the band's posters. They were married a few months later, May 25, 1936, by a Justice of the Peace in Millerton, N.Y.

When the Hicks band's bookings began to slow, Harry was asked to take a pay cut, and he quit the band. He joined the Herman Waldron band, which specialized in quiet, dinner music. He began to lose his strong embouchure, playing 3rd trumpet with this band, while being paid $55.00 a week.

Well known jazz drummer Ben Pollack heard about Harry's talent and hired him for $75.00 a week. Pollack encouraged him by letting him play the jazz trumpet chair. Pollack himself was recognized as one of the first popular jazz drummers to play four beats each measure on the bass drum.

During the previous decade Pollack's band had been the first stop in the big leagues of music for Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. In 1928 it was known by other musicians as the "only white big band playing real jazz." (8)

By 1934, Pollack's fiancée, Doris Robbins, became the center of things in the band. Pollack wanted to make her a singing star, and the rest of the band took a back seat. Eventually, they all quit and left to form another group under the direction of Bob Crosby, Bing's younger brother. Harry stayed with Ben, playing and driving the band bus. With Pollack, James began a recording career, starting with "Song of the Islands" and "Jimtown Blues", recorded on September 15th and 16th, 1936.

Metronome Magazine's George Simon met Harry the same month. Simon wrote: "I found him to be a very enthusiastic guy with a great deal of understanding of life in general as... young as he was...He was quite mature because of his circus upbringing...travelling around the country so much and never settling down. He had learned to fend for himself." (9) 

Tommy Dorsey, attempting one of his regular raids on another band's talents, tried to get James away from Pollack to join his band, but his offer was refused.

Benny Goodman's brother, Irving, a trumpeter in Benny's band, wanted to leave the group for another job. He suggested Harry as a replacement. When Benny heard James on the radio, he immediately called and hired him for $150.00 per week. Benny told him to come to New York City and begin playing with the band at the Hotel Pennsylvania. Harry left Pollack on good terms, and never forgot what Pollack had done for him. He remained supportive of Ben in his future varied careers as musician, restaurant owner, and later, small-time producer.

After the three-day train ride from Los Angeles to New York, Harry said, “I was so nervous I was shaking. I was so excited to go with Goodman.” (10) Benny was playing a benefit with pianist Teddy Wilson and Gene Krupa when Harry first showed up on the bandstand at the Pennsylvania. The band was playing “A Fine Romance” with Lionel Hampton leading from the drums. Harry’s turn at taking a chorus of the song came up, and Harry remembered later: “Lionel called out, “‘Pop’s’, play another!” Then he called out “Play another!” again, and the next thing you know I’m playing 6 choruses in a row. At the dinner set, Benny finally came in, and after the set I was standing in back, but I could hear Lionel saying excitedly to Benny, “Hey, Hey, Hey! Pops! This guy can play!” (11)  A few nights later, an irritated Goodman asked brother Irving, (who admitted he had heard James a year earlier) “Why didn’t you tell me he was so great!"

James' first recordings with Benny Goodman were “Never Should Have Told You”, “You Can Tell She Comes From Dixie”, “This Year’s Kisses” and “He Ain’t Got Rhythm”, on December 30, 1936. The recording sessions often took place at 9:00AM, after the band had just finished a long, late-night gig at the hotel.

Lionel Hampton said of Harry’s joining the band: “Having a trumpet player from Texas gave us …juice. Harry had something of his own to contribute and he sure could hit those high “C’s” and “F’s”. He had a black sound, and it was obvious he had been raised musically around black musicians. He was completely different from any other white trumpet player of his day. When Harry came he enthused the section and gave it some real style. He played “gut bucket”. The band didn’t have that fire or expression till he came along.” (12)

In analyzing his own style, James explained, “Personally I like and play a rolling style in the two-or-four-bar phrases. To play this rolling style, or lots of notes style, you must have a basic knowledge of chords and progression and perfect control of your instrument…when you make a good, clean entrance and a “planted” exit, your playing has acquired polish. It’s only natural that a good beginning will enable you to create ideas more freely.” (13)

James' alter ego in Goodman's trumpet section was Harry Finkelman, known as Ziggy Elman. Ziggy had also played baritone sax, piano, trombone and vibraphone in the Alex Bartha Band that made its home on the Steel Pier in Atlantic City.  Arthur Rollini’s wife, Eva, heard him there, and recommended him to Benny Goodman. As a section, the trumpets with Goodman played a tad sharp in order to add brightness to the overall section sound.

Goodman trumpeter Jim Maxwell, said "Sometimes I think that after Bunny (Berigan) left Goodman's band the brass section lost the really beautiful tone quality it had had. The guys who followed, Harry James, Ziggy Elman, and the rest, they used Selmer trumpets and shallow mouthpieces and got that very bright, brittle sound. It was exciting, yes, but for me something had been lost." (14) Goodman trumpeter Chris Griffin noted, “Harry once said to me, “I’ve never heard anything in my head that I couldn’t play on the trumpet.” (15) Griffin couldn’t imagine being able to do that.

Benny Goodman’s band played a famous engagement at the Paramount Theater in March of 1937. The band opened each show with the furious “Bugle Call Rag” featuring Harry’s full-blast, high-speed trumpet lead off chorus of “Reveille”, and the teenagers, who had cut school and sat through the stodgy movie “Maid of Salem” starring Claudette Colbert and Frederick March, went berserk. That day, in fact there were 21,000 admissions to the theater. For the first time, black teenagers came down to the Paramount in huge numbers to see the band, which featured Lionel Hampton and Teddy Wilson. (16)

The work schedule for the Goodman band was one only the young could survive. At the Paramount, they performed 5 shows a day- one after each screening of the movie, seven days a week. At the same time they were playing at the Hotel Pennsylvania between the hours of 7pm and 1:30am each night except Sunday. The Pennsylvania job also called for 3 radio broadcasts each night. The band also had its own radio show, the Camel (cigarette) Caravan each Tuesday night, and this required rehearsing on Thursday nights until 4AM, after finishing the all-day-and-night Paramount and Pennsylvania jobs. Leaving New York after this hectic period, the band went west and appeared in its second film entitled "Hollywood Hotel". (It's first film appearance being in "The Big Broadcast of 1937"). This band was captured at its best on the Columbia CD "Benny Goodman On The Air 1937-38"

One of the important musical collaborations that James had in the B.G. band was with Teddy Wilson. A Wilson recording date provided what some claim to be James’ best jazz record. The titles were "Just a Mood I & II (Blue Mood)".  Jazz critic James Collier Lincoln observed of the piece, "His phrasing; his tone, are flawless- masterful trumpeting..." (17)

Besides Wilson and James, the group consisted of Red Norvo on xylophone and John Simmons on bass. On December 1, 1937 James recorded his first sides as a leader (while still under contract with B.G.). Producer John Hammond organized the record dates, and asked Ziggy Elman, Dave Tough, Harry Carney, Buck Clayton, Jo Jones, Jess Stacy and vocalist Helen Humes to join them. Out of these first sessions came James' first hit records, the instrumental "One O'clock Jump", and "It's The Dreamer In Me", with Humes doing the vocal. These two numbers reached Billboard's Top 10 for 8 weeks. Harry won the 1937 Down Beat poll as the "trumpeter of the year". He also won the Metronome Magazine poll. Reading the results, he asked quizzically, "How can they possibly vote for me when Louis is in the same contest?" (18)

The next major event in James' career was his performance at Benny Goodman's famous Carnegie Hall Concert on January 16, 1938. Just before walking on stage, Harry turned to the other musicians and said "I feel like a whore in church." (19) Enough has already been written about that night, and Harry's part in the performance of "Sing, Sing, Sing". It was remarkable.

The Carnegie Hall event was the summit of Benny Goodman's career as a bandleader. Shortly afterwards Krupa quit by walking off the stage in Philadelphia, and the band was never the same. James continued on with Goodman, now being paid $200.00 a week. He and Louise Tobin lived simply in inexpensive New York apartments.

An interesting and direct explanation of James' leaving B.G. was once told by Harry himself: "I was going through a real mental thing, and it was all built up around "Sing, Sing, Sing" I'd been sick and they gave me some experimental pills- sulphur pills- only they weren't very refined yet. Well, they wigged me out, and it happened the first time just as I was supposed to get up and play my chorus on "Sing, Sing, Sing". I just couldn't make it. I fell back in my chair. Ziggy said to me, "Get up!", but I couldn't. So when he saw what was happening, he got up and played my solo. I was completely out of my mind. It had happened another time too, and so every time the band played "Sing, Sing, Sing", I'd get bugged and scared it would all start over again. You know- that Stravinsky-type thing that the trombones and then the trumpets play just before the chorus? Well, that would really set me off. I tried to explain it to Benny, and I'd even ask him to play "Sing, Sing, Sing" early in the evening, so I could relax the rest of the night, but of course, that was his big number, and I couldn't blame him...Finally, I just left the band. I couldn't trust myself anymore." (20)

Benny was loath to lose Harry. The Krupa loss had been a disaster, and he now had become reliant on Harry not only as his star trumpeter, but also needed him to count off tempos for the band on radio shows. Benny had trouble reading scripted lines and counting off tempos simultaneously, and the radio audience would have to listen to silence for a few moments between the song's intro and the performance. Benny also began using James as a fill-in bandleader when he left the bandstand. He also asked Harry to drum when Lionel Hampton was at the vibes.

When Harry told Benny he wanted to start his own band, Benny at first agreed- then reneged and said Harry would have to fulfill the rest of his current contract- 6 more months. This didn't sit well with James, but as he only had $400.00 in the bank, he was not in a position go out on his own.

Benny Goodman saw Harry James for what he was- a talented artist with a future. He could not let an opportunity pass him by. Sensing Harry's impatience to start his own group, he urged him to sign a contract with MCA. Unknown to James, Benny had arranged to receive 5% of all the commissions MCA would earn on Harry as his reward for getting James to sign.

Short of money to start his own band, James also signed a start-up contract with Goodman, which allowed him access to $7,000 from Benny during his band's first year. The loan was to be paid back in full within 2 years. Benny, in turn, was entitled to 1/3 of Harry's net earnings over the next 10 years. In only 90 days, Benny could start taking his allotted share of Harry's earnings. A relaxed Harry told Metronome Magazine editor George Simon the formula that he used to guide his band: “We’re emphasizing middle tempos. They can swing as much and they’re certainly more danceable.” (21)

James credits a switch to the Parduba #28 mouthpiece to revolutionizing his playing control when he was Goodman. He used it for the rest of his career. The Parduba #28 is a difficult mouthpiece for many players. It is a shallow piece, but inside there are two cups. Too much pressure creates nothing but air out of the bell, and too little pressure gets the same result. A player cannot get his lips inside the shallow piece, to create sound pressure that way, and so it requires a strong embouchure, with all muscle control against the piece, and no lip inside. Harry always believed in breathing as the whole game in trumpet work. No one ever saw any red circle on his lip, because they were so taut against the Parduba #28.  "If you breathe correctly, you can blow correctly", Harry always said.(22) He never required any warm up with this combination of mouthpiece and breathing. To demonstrate his diaphragm control, he would let a person punch him in the stomach hard, and his abdomen was like a wall.

As the new band began to operate, first in the Philadelphia and New York areas, Harry sent his own earnings home to his Dad to deposit for him. Music critic George Simon hailed the new band's strong beat, but even at Roseland in Manhattan, the management asked Harry to mix up the jump tunes with some rumba's and waltzes.

When the band left New York and headed west, it was scheduled to play the Palomar Ballroom in Los Angeles, which burned down while they were en route. As a substitute venue, the upscale Beverly Hills restaurant Victor Hugo was selected, but the manager found the band too loud and he "ordered the brass section to muffle its sound with handkerchiefs, mutes and felt hats and had a canopy built around the bandstand." (23)

The band’s first record date was held on February 20, 1939 for Brunswick in New York. They recorded “Two O'clock Jump”. In short order he auditioned Marie Antoinette JaMais, a vocalist from Florida, and hired her, renaming her Connie Haines.

Knowing Harry was searching for a male singer, his wife Louise woke Harry up one night to hear a late remote broadcast from the Rustic Cabin, a roadhouse on Rt. 9W just north of the George Washington Bridge. The fellow singing that evening was working with the band of Harold Arden.

The next night Harry drove out to have a look at the singer and meet him. The two hit it off well, and Harry asked him to change his name to Frankie Satin and join his band. The singer refused the name change, and after arguing about it for two days, James relented and let Frank Sinatra use his own name and join the band for $75.00 wk. At the time, Harry told Downbeat Magazine of his new singer: “He (Sinatra) considers himself the greatest vocalist in the business. Get that! No one ever heard of him. He’s never had a hit record. He looks like a wet rag, but he says he’s the greatest!” (24)

Frank’s first hit with James was “All Or Nothing At All”. Recorded in the summer of 1939 and not released for a year, it then sold 8,000 copies. Three years later it was re-released during a recording ban and it sold 100,000 copies. By then everyone knew Sinatra. The most unusual thing about this early Sinatra record is the amount of time he spends actually singing. In a period when vocalists were given a chorus or two and then the band took the rest of the song, Sinatra was given time to tell a whole story. More than any other record with Harry James, this one created Sinatra’s image as a great performer.

Harry later observed of Frank: “When Frank joined the band he was always thinking of the lyrics, the melody was secondary. If it was a delicate or pretty word, he would try to phrase it with a prettier, softer type of voice. He still does that. The feeling he has for the words is just beautiful. He could sing the wrong melody, and it would still be pretty”. (25)

With all of this going on, John Hammond heard Louise Tobin singing at a New York club. He told Benny Goodman how great she was and Benny offered her a job right after auditioning her, not having a clue she was married to Harry James. Louise sang the blues with great skill, and Benny featured her often.

By 1940 Tommy Dorsey had heard enough Sinatra records and radio shows with the James band to know he wanted to hire him. At the same time, the popular Jack Leonard, who had sung with Dorsey for years, was quitting the band to begin his own singing career. Dorsey had his manager slip Sinatra a note on a torn-off corner of a shopping bag, asking him to meet TD at the Palmer House the next day. Dorsey offered Sinatra 125.00/wk. He was being paid $75.00/wk by James. He took the job.

When he told James later that day, James told him to take it, adding that if things didn't pick up soon with his own band, he might be looking for a job with TD too. January 26th, 1940 was Sinatra's last day with the James band in Buffalo, New York.

Sinatra later remembered that after the show, "The bus pulled out with the rest of the guys after midnight. I'd said goodbye to them all and it was snowing. I remember there was nobody around, and I stood there with my suitcase in the snow and watched the taillights of the bus disappear. Then the tears started, and I tried to run after the bus. There was such spirit and enthusiasm in that band. I hated leaving it." (26)

That same week Harry hired Dick Haymes as a new vocalist. Haymes, the son of a Scottish Argentine cattle rancher, had actually been auditioning some of his original songs and singing them while he accompanied himself on piano, but Harry instantly recognized a fine, trained voice.

Because of poor record sales, the James band was dropped by Columbia in the winter of 1940. It was transferred to the Varsity label, a much smaller company. In the autumn of 1940, Mannie Sachs, a Columbia executive, was promoted, and since he was a believer in Harry's band, and in its future revenue potential, he re-signed the band to Columbia. Dick Haymes then had a Top Ten hit with "Lament For Love" in August of 1940. He also recorded "I'll Get By" that year, which became a #1 hit when it was re-released in June of 1944. Haymes left James for Benny Goodman's band in December of 1941. He then joined Tommy Dorsey, again replacing the departing Sinatra in September of 1942. After Haymes left Dorsey, he began his own career as a recording artist, starring in motion pictures and appearing regularly on radio.

But that was the future, and life continued to be rough on the road for the 1940 James band. While paying his musicians $75.00/wk, Harry was losing up to $1,500 /wk. Long distances on a bus to play at ballrooms with broken microphones and out-of-tune pianos was taking morale down. The Greyhound Bus Company was aggressively pursuing James on overdue bus rental bills, and would usually be waiting for the band on the outskirts of a town to repossess the vehicle. Harry would have his manager negotiate to stave off doom, and the band would continue on to the next city. Only a few record royalties kept the band going financially.

James had been kicking around the idea of adding a string quartet to the orchestra- 3 violins and a viola. On March 20, 1941 the band with strings recorded "You Made Me Love You", which Al Jolson had made famous in 1914, and Judy Garland had reprised in 1938. This sentimentally performed ballad transformed James' reputation from Swing star to ballad master. Jazz critics jumped on him for selling out and playing what was labeled as "Schmaltz", a German word defined as meaning "sentimental or florid music or art". (27)

In fact, James continued to be a stratospheric jazz trumpeter the rest of his life. (In July of 1974 he was asked to play the Newport in New York Jazz Festival, where he performed at Carnegie Hall. He hadn't played there since the Goodman concert of 1938. He was followed that night on the program by the quartet of Lionel Hampton, Teddy Wilson, Milt Hinton, and Buddy Rich). (28)

But in 1941, some of his fans did not understand the business decisions which were made to survive in the unpredictable pop music market. What James had done was play a song the way he felt it should be played, and it was popular because it was a love song played very emotionally. Whatever the critics thought, James was now a star. The sheet music sales alone of the song passed 1 million copies.

Mort Sahl, who grew up closely watching and working with the West Coast Stan Kenton band as an emcee, observed of Harry James, "Harry realized that strings are neutral, and they will amplify anything you want people to feel. He made commercial use of them to convey romanticism. The band looked good on stage and played well. Let's face it, the way Harry played ballads- he was the home office. Look how good the music was. It had a logic; it was so simple and yet it was stretched out. These renditions were like what Frank Sinatra did; they both made them into a mini-drama. Standing up there playing with the trumpet section and then coming out in front to play his solos gave his performance both drama and power. Sure, he was playing commercial music, but he had chops, and he was committed when he was playing a ballad. He wasn't a businessman waving a wand."(29)

In the autumn of 1941, Pee Wee Monte, who had been working for Goodman's band, took over management of Harry's band. James was $43,000 in debt at the time. Monte cut out the 500-mile overnight jumps between gigs. He recorded each monetary transaction, imposed a budget, and in the first 9 gigs after he took over, the band became slightly profitable.

Helen Forrest joined the band at that time for $85.00/wk. She had previously sung with the bands of Goodman and Artie Shaw. A 16-year-old saxophone player named Corky Corcoran also joined the band that season, and James adopted him and became his legal guardian. Corcoran called James "Pop" and stayed with the band on and off until his death in 1979.

At the end of that autumn, James played the Brooklyn Paramount. There was a long line outside the theater waiting when the bus pulled up. Harry approached someone in line and asked "What's wrong?", the answer was "We're waiting to see Harry James." James responded, "You're kidding!" (30)

As soon as the band's financial situation stabilized, Pee Wee loaned Harry the money to buy back Goodman's investment contract. James paid Goodman almost $20,000 to get out of the deal they had made. Harry had only used $4,500 of the $7,000 loan in three years. Goodman's timing was off, because James was about to make a fast fortune.

In 1942 James was playing at the Hollywood Canteen for members of the military service on leave in Los Angeles. Film star Betty Grable was also working there. They struck up a friendship, and then a romance.

On January 16, 1943, the song "I've Heard That Song Before", with Helen Forrest singing, reached #1 for 13 weeks. It was Columbia's best-selling record in history. Due to war supply restrictions, Columbia ran out of shellac and had to stop manufacturing the disc. In the first six months of 1943, the band made $3,500,000 in record sales. (31) The same year James made $750,000 from movie appearances, records and dance halls.
 
In 1943, the band had 27 musicians, including 4 violins, 2 violas, a cello, a bass, and 2 French horns. Trombonist Bill Abel, who had known Harry since 1931 and joined the band in 1942, summed up Harry's leadership style at this point, "Harry was probably the best leader as far as treatment of the band that I'd ever worked with. Anytime he ever corrected you or corrected the section, he did it with precise instructions, and he'd say, "That's the way I want it played.' That's all you'd hear; he wouldn't rant and rave." (32)

On April 21, 1943 the James band opened at the Paramount in Manhattan. 7,500 fans were in line to see the band at 9AM. A plate glass window was smashed by the crowd and a policeman seriously injured. During that first week, attendance was 163,000 and gross receipts were $105,000. The Paramount contained 3,664 seats and added another show each day. (33) James became ill during the gig, and one of the band's trumpeters, Jimmy Campbell, took over the solos he usually played. Frank Sinatra came back temporarily to take over direction of the band. James returned as soon as he could.

Harry wasn't drafted because of his 3-A status. He was still married to Louise Tobin and was the sole support of a family. After he proposed marriage to Betty Grable in the summer of 1943 and Louise Tobin granted him a divorce, James was immediately reclassified 1-A for the draft. The movie studio where he was working requested a draft deferment to the Beaumont, Texas draft board until he finished shooting a movie. The Beaumont draft board obliged, writing him to report for an induction exam when the film was complete. It was noted at exam time that a mastoid condition, which had affected him from childhood, had caused a punctured eardrum. He was now classified as 4-F, or unfit for duty. (34)

Harry and Betty's married social life consisted mainly of going out to baseball games, golfing, bowling, and riding horses. Eventually horse racing took most their time. They began to buy, breed and race horses. At one point they owned 28 horses and 2 ranches.

As an indicator of how far James had come financially, note that he had paid only $25.00 in federal income taxes in 1941, but paid $620,000 in 1943. By 1946, Harry and Betty James would be the wealthiest couple in the entertainment business.

Staying commercially viable in the music business wasn't an easy act during WWII. Musicians were drafted, and a recording ban, called by the Musicians Union on August 1, 1942, didn't end until November 11, 1944. The strike was called in order to negotiate higher royalties for musicians on jukebox record play. For those years, no recording was allowed, other than vocalists backed by other vocalists. Some bands hurriedly recorded what they could before the shut down took effect to have songs to release during the ban. Record companies re-released songs, such as the James/Sinatra cut of "All or Nothing At All".

It was a near fatal blow to the big bands, both commercially and artistically. The only recorded music that survived from this period was recorded on V-Discs, which were records to be distributed to the troops and broadcast for morale. The period coincided with the changeover to Bebop and vocalists as the new musical vanguard.

Helen Forrest left the band in December of 1943 for a solo career. She could record on her own without the band and sidestep the ban. She had made two gold records ("I Had The Craziest Dream" & "I've Heard That Song Before") with James and had a total of 8 hits with him. Because of her work with Shaw, Goodman and James, she's remembered as one of the most memorable vocalists of that era.

James hired Kitty Kallen in November of 1944, when the ban expired. The Philadelphia native had already sung in Jack Teagarden's band. Jack had given her good, simple advice when he told her the priorities of a vocalist: "Sing the melody, read the lyric, and tell the story." (35) She put this to good use with Harry's band, recording with him for two years. On her first session, November 21, 1944 she sang an extremely fine version of Ellington's instrumental, "I'm Beginning To See The Light". Harry James and Don George wrote the lyrics to the Ellington piece. Kitty's other big hit was "It's Been A Long, Long Time". Both hit #1 on the charts.

Trombonist Juan Tizol and altoist Willie Smith were in the band at this time. Willie contributed outstanding solos on "Cherry", "Long, Long Time" and "The Man With The Horn". (36) During the summer of 1946 Willie's record of "Who Sorry Now?" with the band went to #2 over an 18-week period. When a ballroom owner told James that Willie could not go on stage with the rest of the band, Harry would offer to give back the money and leave town. Usually the band got its way and stayed to play the gig. Juan Tizol, the composer of the jazz standard "Perdido" among others, played with the band from 1944-1951. Harry used Juan's fine directing skill and let him lead the band when he couldn't be present himself. Tizol would return regularly to the band on and off for years.

Ray Coniff wrote arrangements for Harry after leaving the service. He had previously written for Artie Shaw. Comparing the two leaders approach to music, Coniff said: "Harry was a little bit different than Artie in that he wanted the arrangements to be really musician-type arrangements. He also wanted them to be a little more complicated than Artie did. Artie was more interested in commercialism, and selling records; Harry was interested in having a ball with the music, and for the boys in the band to love the chart. He didn't care if the people out front really understood that much, but amazingly, he was very successful by doing it that way." (37)

James appeared in 15 major studio movies. His post-war film career continued with appearances in "Do You Love Me?" and "If I'm Lucky". Neither was a critical success. 20th Century Fox did not renew his contract. This, combined with the severe drop-off in the band business as vocalists took center stage, caused the disbanding of many bands in December of 1946. They included, besides James, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Les Brown, Woody Herman and Jack Teagarden. (38)

Starting on February 13, 1948, Harry appeared for 26 weeks on the popular radio show "Call For Music", and took note of the popular Bebop big bands of Herman and Kenton. To Harry the new music was truly a natural progression. When Harry started a Bebop-based big band with Neil Hefti arrangements, he was comfortable playing the new sound. His affinity for Bop is obvious in his band's recordings from that period. Of James' Bop strength as a player, Louise Barringer, a trumpeter in a much later James band remarked, "He's playing high "G's" or "F's,...which in the late '40's was unheard of. When Maynard Ferguson started doing that everyone thought it was incredible. And they're big notes- he's not squeaking it out, he's playing up there. You hear him playing jazz and it's easy for him. And the end of a solo he blows a high "G" as big as a house. He could have capitalized on that- his chops and his technical ability- but the public wanted him to play "You Made Me Love You...I guess when you become a personality sometimes it detracts from your art."" (39)

Bebop drummer Kenny Washington adds…"Most of the swing era trumpet players stayed there except for Roy Eldridge and a few others. But Harry was very open to it rhythmically and harmonically. He was able to adapt to Bebop and handling those changes. He wasn't just playing half notes and whole notes, he's playing lines." (40)

The Harry James band was still packing them in at the Steel Pier in the spring of 1949. On Easter Sunday, 27,000 people visited the pier and Marine Ballroom, which was located "Half a Mile At Sea". Drummer Louis Bellson remembers playing with Harry for 3,000 people at a time at the Hollywood Palladium around the same time. The band would also often perform for 14,000 to 15,000 service personnel at each concert at Navy and Air Force bases in the U.S. (41)

A memorable gig at the Band Box club in New York during the Flu season of 1953 was going so well that when three band members came down with the flu, Harry called in a doctor to have the entire band inoculated. Someone had left a side door open to the back stage and the audience sat and watched each member of the James band take off his red band jacket, roll up his sleeve, receive an injection, then roll down their sleeve, put back on their band jacket, and casually walk out another door on to the stage. (42) 

At this time, Harry was listening closely to Miles Davis, who had been featured with the Charlie Parker band at Birdland. Davis had admired James' records while he grew up, once commenting, "I just loved the way he played. I almost broke my teeth trying to get that big vibrato sound that Harry had." (43)

Also at the Bandbox that year, Harry hooked up again with drummer Buddy Rich, and signed him to a $35,000 /yr contract with featured billing. They became close friends and Harry served as best man at Buddy's wedding later that year.

In July of 1953 Betty Grable finished her contract with Fox. To boost their income, Harry and Betty went on a theater tour together, making $45,000 in the first two shows. An idea of the draw they both still commanded was clarified by their joint appearances on two early Chrysler television programs, for which they were paid $80,000.

Harry began recording in High Fidelity and reprised many of the hits which had earned him 70 Billboard pop chart hits over the previous 15 years. (44)  Harry took 1956 off, and bought a horse trainers license. He noticed the success that the Count Basie band was having with a fresh modern big band sound. He hired Ernie Wilkins, who was writing for Basie, and told him to write as much as he could for a new Harry James band.

In 1958 Harry started playing Vegas' Driftwood Lounge. He moved his family to Las Vegas in 1960. The 5 nightly sets would begin at 9:45PM. He loved his life in Vegas. He could perform, gamble all he wanted, and play golf all day. He was 42 years old. Other clubs, including the ones in Reno, signed the band up for shows too. He led the new band on successful concert tours of Europe and Japan. Drummer Jack Perciful remembered that in Japan "They treated him and Buddy Rich like deities...the fans would clap short and fast so as not to interfere with the listening..."(45)

In October of 1965, Grable and James divorced after 22 years. Betty decided to take a version of "Hello Dolly" on the road, and it played very well. Buddy Rich left the James band in 1966 to begin his own successful big band. With the music scene changing rapidly, the last Las Vegas club he played regularly let Harry's contract lapse in 1970.

Betty Grable died of cancer on July 2, 1973, at age 57. In his last years, James played colleges, country clubs, high schools, and cruise ships. He still had the stamina to play 49 one-nighters in a row one late season. He played at the White House twice, and went on tours of Argentina, Brazil and the U.K. In July of 1978 he brought his band to the Newport Jazz Festival at Saratoga New York, and was followed that night by the big bands of Buddy Rich, Count Basie, Maynard Ferguson, and the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis band. "It was more big band music in one dose than anyone could remember," said festival producer George Wein. (46)

With a long distinguished career behind him and very sick with lymphatic cancer, he told bassist Red Kelly that he wasn't afraid of death. "I figure I've lived five lifetimes already."(47)

He was still performing on stage with the band only 9 days before he died on July 5, 1983 at age 67.  His old friend Frank Sinatra delivered the eulogy.


References

(1) P.4 Peter J. Levinson; "Trumpet Blues, The Life of Harry James", 1999. Oxford University Press. New York. (2) ibid. P.9 (3) P.11 (4) P.13 (5) P. 14 (6) P.14 (7) P.15 (8) P.23 (9) P.28 (10) P.35 (11) P.36 (12) P.39 (13) P.39 (14) P.500 Richard M. Sudhalter; "Lost Chords", 1999. Oxford University Press. New York. (15) Levinson; P.40 (16) ibid. P.42 (17) ibid. P.48 (18) ibid. P.50 (19) ibid. P.51 (20) ibid. PP.55-56 (21) ibid.P.63 (22) ibid. P.144 (23) PP.234-235 Ross Firestone; "Swing, Swing, Swing, The Life and Times of Benny Goodman", 1993. W.W. Norton. New York. (24) Levinson; P. 71 (25) ibid. P.70 (26) ibid. P.79 (27) ibid. P.94 (28) P.402 George Wein, "Myself Among Others, A Life in Music" with Nate Chinen. 2003. Da Capo Press. Cambridge, Mass. (29) Levinson; P.97 (30) ibid. P.103 (31) ibid.P.130 (32) ibid. P.127 (33)ibid. P. 129 (34) ibid. P.133 (35) ibid. P.150 (36) ibid. P.155 (37) ibid. P.159 (38) ibid. P.162 (39) ibid. P.171 (40) ibid. P.172 (41) ibid. P.173 (42) ibid. P.183 (43) ibid. P.183 (44) ibid. P.188 (45) ibid. P.227 (46) Wein; P.423 (47) Levinson; P. 281

Selected Discography & Filmography of Harry James

James' Top Ten Hits 1941-46

1941
"Music Makers"
"Lament For Love"  Vocal, Dick Haymes
"You Made Me Love You"

1942
"I Don't Want To Walk Without You" Vocal, Helen Forrest
"Sleepy Lagoon"
"One Dozen Roses" Vocal, Jimmy Saunders
"Strictly Instrumental"
"He's My Guy" Vocal, Helen Forrest
"Mister Five By Five" Vocal, Helen Forrest
"Manhattan Serenade" Vocal, Helen Forrest

1943
"I Had The Craziest Dream" Vocal, Helen Forrest,  #1, February
"I've Heard That Song Before" Vocal, Helen Forrest, #1, March
"Velvet Moon"
"All Or Nothing At All"(1939) Re-released Spring, 1943. Vocal, Frank Sinatra
"I Heard You Cried Last Night" Vocal, Helen Forrest

1944
"Cherry" Recorded 1942 Top 5
"I'll Get By" Recorded 1940. Vocal, Dick Haymes  #1 June

1945
"I'm Beginning To See The Light" Vocal, Kitty Kallen #1
"I Don't Care Who Knows It" Vocal, Kitty Kallen
"If I Loved You" Vocal, Buddy DeVito
"11:60 PM" Vocal, Kitty Kallen
"I'll Buy That Dream" Vocal, Kitty Kallen
"It's Been A Long, Long Time" Vocal, Kitty Kallen
"Waitin' For The Train To Come In" Vocal, Kitty Kallen

1946
"I Can't Begin To Tell You" Vocal, Betty Grable
"I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" Vocal, Buddy DeVito
"This Is Always" Vocal, Buddy Devito

Harry James Filmography

"Syncopation" May 1942
"Private Buckaroo" June 1942
"Springtime In The Rockies" Nov. 1942
"Best Foot Forward" June 1943
"Two Girls & A Sailor" June 1944
"Bathing Beauty" June 1944
"Do You Love Me?" May 1946
"If I'm Lucky" Sept. 1946
"Carnegie Hall" May 1947
"A Miracle Can Happen" Feb. 1948
"Young Man With A Horn" (Soundtrack) 1950
"The Benny Goodman Story" 1955
"The Opposite Sex" Nov. 1956
"The Big Beat" June 1958
"The Ladies Man" July 1961

                                     Duke Ellington with Billy Strayhorn

"He would sit down and write music like he was writing a letter."

Billy Strayhorn:"Portrait of a Silk Thread"

By John Twomey

The Hudson River flows beside the red leaves of late October as it passes the embankment of Riverside Park. At 107th Street, where Billy Strayhorn lived in a building called 'The Masters' facing the park, the tree-line drops down from Manhattan brick and asphalt into a sparkling red and gold canopy of fall foliage. As the Earth's seasonal axis drops the sunset far south and west with the fanfare of golden cloud ray reflections that shoot upward into the dimming blue sky, it seems the right atmosphere to mull over Strayhorn's life. He always felt that the best part of the day was 'halfway to dawn'.  

He moved into 'The Masters' fairly late in his short life, and although he had lived in the building's vicinity for decades, the sturdy walls that purposefully dampened the noise of other practicing artists offered the sanctuary he needed to live out the days and nights of his life- much as he had described them in his 1936 composition, "Lush Life". If a person ever dispensed a psychological blueprint of his life early on, Strayhorn did. Nothing, it seemed, could separate him from the destiny he deftly described back in Pittsburgh, before he had ever met Duke Ellington:

I used to visit all the very gay places,

Those come what may places

Where one relaxes on the axis

Of the wheel of life

To get the feel of life

From jazz and cocktails.

 The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces

With distingue traces

That used to be there, you could see where

They'd been washed away

By too many through the day

Twelve o'clock tales.

 Then you came along with your siren song

To tempt me to madness.

I thought for a while that your poignant smile

Was tinged with the sadness of a great love for me.

Ah, yes, I was wrong,

Again I was wrong.

 Life is lonely again

And only last year

Everything seemed so sure.

Now life is awful again,

A trough full of heart

Could only be a bore.

 A week in Paris will ease the bite of it.

All I care is to smile in spite of it.

I'll forget you, I will

While yet you are still

Burning inside my brain.

 Romance is mush

Stifling those who strive.

I'll live a lush life in some small dive

And there I'll be while I rot with the rest

Of those whose lives are lonely, too.

Thirty years later, he would be stretched out reading a book on the backseat of an open black Impala convertible, as his friends Dr. Martin and Marian Logan drove the sunny roads through the Catskills, stopping at country stores and vegetable stands along the way. Most of the time, Billy would be oblivious to the passing scenery, engrossed in a book and a gin cocktail below the window level of the seat. "Arthur would be looking at the countryside and say, 'Strays, there's a beautiful farmhouse,' or whatever. Strays would say, "Wonderful, Arturo, wonderful! Please describe it to me, won't you?" and he'd keep reading and sipping on his cocktail." (1) 

Billy Strayhorn was born on November 29, 1915, in Dayton, Ohio. He was the fourth child of Lillian and James Strayhorn. An older sister, Sadie had been born prematurely, and hadn't survived. A second child, James Jr. was doing fine. A second son, Leslie, died of convulsions after falling while learning to walk. After Billy was born, a sister, Georgia, was born, and then another boy, John, in 1924. Theodore in 1926, then premature twins in 1928, Samuel and Harry, both of who died shortly after birth.

Billy's parents, Lillian and James, had both been raised in comfortable, working-family environments. Lillian, from North Carolina, graduated from Shaw University. She was soft-spoken and used elegant wording as she spoke.

James was a descendant of the family that founded the first whiskey distillery down south after the Civil War. He was brought up comfortably. His mother had played the piano, and appreciated music and fine art. 

After moving his family around to a string of unsuccessful jobs that led nowhere, Billy's father "became a bitter person and a drinker", said his daughter Lillian. "My father shouldn't have been born when he was born- that was his first mistake…He was bright and had a lot of personality, and he probably would have done very well years later. But back then, who needed a bright black man with personality? That goes against the grain when you have to put your head down and have a family to raise. So, being blessed with a sharp tongue and a temper- he became a bitter person- a bitter person with a lot of frustration." (2)

When he drank, he beat the children, said family friend Robert Conaway. (3) Billy's mother looked out for him as best she could, and they remained close throughout their lives. 

The family settled in Pittsburgh, taking vacations in Hillsborough, N.C., where Billy would visit the Victorian house that his grandparents lived in. He "found himself" there, getting some attention and affection. He was encouraged to play the piano by his grandmother, picking out songs he remembered from church.

In Pittsburgh, Billy remembered, "During grade school I had no music, except what one ordinarily gets in grade school…group singing and that's about all. One thing I wanted was to play the piano. You can't learn to play the piano if you haven't got one."(4)

He started selling papers to earn money. The corner he chose to sell was occupied by the Pennfield Drug Store, in the upper middle class Jewish district. The druggist hired him to work behind the soda fountain counter, and as a delivery boy after school.

"I finally bought myself a piano and started to play it. I started to study, and the more I learned, the more I wanted to learn…It wasn't all that easy, but I guess if you want something hard enough it just gets done…I got that piano." (5) He also earned money to pay for sheet music and lessons taught by Charlotte Catlin, a black woman who worked in a popular music store in Pittsburgh. 

At age eleven, Billy made a friend by the name of Harry Herforth, an eleven-year old white boy from a different street in the neighborhood. Both of them were more interested in music than sports. Both were readers, and compared the books they read. They treated the local library almost reverently. Billy also liked Frick Park, which covered 340 acres in Pittsburgh, on which grew 135 varieties of trees. He and Harry would walk the trails and "talked about composers, authors, playwrights…" (6)

When Harry visited Billy's home, the only conversation was a "Hello" to Billy's mother, and one in return. Billy's father would ignore them. They both went on to attend Westinghouse High School, which had an enrollment of 400. On the music faculty was Carl McVicker, who encouraged all the students to play musical instruments. 

"Mr. McVicker instilled self respect in those of us who were his students, because he respected us regardless of our background", said Fritz Jones, one of his students better known as Ahmad Jamal. (7)

 McVicker said of Billy, "I never heard a student play that way before or after", referring to a Strayhorn performance of Grieg's "Piano Concerto in A minor, op. 16." (8)

McVicker said Strayhorn was "earnest, hardworking…an intellectual. He had a broad base of knowledge of academics, although he learned everything we could teach him about music…He didn't play in the swing band. He wasn't interested. He was a serious pianist and concentrated strictly on the concert repertoire." (9)

By June of 1934, however, Billy had already heard Duke Ellington's Orchestra at a one- night stopover in Pittsburgh. What struck Billy the most during the entire performance was one chord. "…That's what really got me. He had a chord, which I have never discovered. I haven't heard it since. I couldn't figure this chord out. I went home after going to see this show at the Penn Theater in Pittsburgh, and I couldn't figure out what was in that chord, it was just wonderful." (10) 

Another music teacher named Jane Patton Alexander taught him both piano and harmony instruction. Around this time in High School, Harry Herforth joined with Strayhorn to form a trumpet and piano duet for school meetings and functions.

Westinghouse High School also featured an "Orchestra Club" of 25 players, picked from the larger high school orchestra, which played classical music. Strayhorn was the only black member. This band played some of Pittsburgh's downtown hotels.

At his high school graduation in the winter of 1934, Strayhorn publicly premiered his first extended composition, "Concerto For Piano And Percussion". The percussionist on the piece, Mickey Scrima, later went on to become a well-known swing drummer with trumpeter Harry James. "The audience loved it", said Scrima. "It was a lot of fun…I don't know how much they understood it, mind you- if they realized how sophisticated this piece was, and how extraordinary it was that this kid in their school had written it". (11) 

Classmate Dorothy Ford Gardin remembered, "Well, Strayhorn, he was…a genius. He was very much to himself. Some might have called him a little oddball or something, because he didn't socialize much. But he was too busy with his work…" (12)

Billy studied French and dressed well. He became president of the Westinghouse High School Pen Club, and had a subscription to The New Yorker. He used fine diction when he spoke, using an extensive vocabulary. Scrima recalled that "All he did day and night was concentrate on the only thing he cared about, the only thing he wanted- to go on doing what he did on the day of our graduation: be a classical concert pianist." (13)

Lacking financial aid to attend college, he continued working at Pennfield Drugs behind the counter, mixing sodas and making deliveries. He wanted to have enough money to pay his own tuition when he found a school that he liked. 

Harry Herforth, who received a scholarship to attend The New England Conservatory of Music, recalled that Billy had shown interest in several colleges "But was discouraged because of his race and could not get the necessary financial aid. The very idea of a black concert pianist was considered unthinkable." (14) Harry himself later played first assistant chair with the Boston Symphony.

A year after graduating, Billy agreed to write the words and music for the Westinghouse High School Class of 1935's Annual Revue, which that year was entitled "Fantastic Rhythm". The show premiered on May 23.

Mixing bits of Gershwin-style composition with his own style as exhibited in "Concerto for Piano and Percussion", the musical was a hit with the locals. In fact everyone in town who saw it was talking about how great it was. Technically, it was as good as most things produced professionally on Broadway at that time.

The main organizing force behind the show from the start was a Westinghouse band mate of Billy's, Boggy (pronounced Bogie) Fowler. A natural showman, Fowler knew a good show when he saw one, and after witnessing the enthusiasm of the high school crowd, he decided to take the show public. Fowler organized the cast, handling the publicity and getting two investors to put up $500.00. Strayhorn handled the production, and recalled:

"…In those early days, what I was doing was arranging, composing, and lyric writing, but I thought nothing of it- I was just doing it to try and make the show a success." (15) Fred Staton, who worked on the show, recalled the genius with which Strayhorn was writing. "…he would sit down and write music like he was writing a letter…whole scores!" (16) There is hardly any surviving music from the show.

But in his in-depth study of Strayhorn, "Something to Live for", Walter van de Leur technically describes the piece "Ugly Ducklin'", which Billy wrote for a dance orchestra in this same time frame. (It is) "…a surprisingly hip and harmonically advanced piece, with a haunting, chromatic circling melody. To underscore the tune, Strayhorn turned to a harmonic concept that had been present in the verses of virtually all of his pre-1939 songs (including Lush Life): a two-chord ostinato in lieu of the expected traditional chord sequence. The ostinato consists of a tonic chord and its altered dominant over a two-bar bass line. Most striking is the anticipation of the dominant, which comes a beat and a half "too early": pure bebop language…Strayhorn gives the bass the flatted fifth of the altered dominant, which causes the chord to sound as its tritone-related dominant. The ostinato stops only to yield to one-bar interjections at the end of each ten-bar phrase and finally to give way to a more regular bridge built on a rhythmically placed chord sequence." (17)  

In the publicity for "Fantastic Rhythm", Strayhorn added an "e" to the end of "horn", so that it would more closely resemble the spelling of one of Pittsburgh's most prominent black families, the Horne's, from which Lena came.

The show was well received, and moved out from Pittsburgh to other theaters in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh's Billy Eckstine joined the evolving cast in 1937. Strayhorn dropped out of sight after the first few performances, replaced by the young Errol Garner, another local Pittsburgh pianist.  

After six years at the drug store, he had put away enough money to attend the Pittsburgh Musical Institute. He began studying with a music theory class in 1936. His teacher, Charles N. Boyd, was an impressive musician, and a friend of Albert Schweitzer. When Strayhorn was in his second term at the school, Boyd died of a heart attack while playing the organ in his home. Boyd had, in his short time with Strayhorn, been a tremendous influence. His sophistication as a mentor was everything that Billy had missed with his own father. "He was so wonderful that I didn't think there was anyone else there who could teach me. So I didn't stay," said Billy. (18)

Billy stayed away from his home as much as he could. His father's drinking had turned the Strayhorn house into a chaotic terror zone, but Billy did stay close to his mother.

At this time he began hanging out with drummer Mickey Scrima and another young man named Bill Esch. Scrima said of Esch,"…If you wanted to know about any band in the country…he knew about every band that ever played a note of music." (19)

Esch and Scrima bought Billy an Art Tatum solo on a 78 record, which soon had to be replaced because Billy wore it out listening to it so often. Scrima remembers, "What he realized…was that everything he loved about classical music was there, in one form or another, in jazz- and here was a place he could apply himself." (20)

Billy, now 23, soon formed a jazz trio with clarinetist Jerry Eisner and drummer Calvin Dort. "They were a fine, professional little band, no amateur act." Remembered Pittsburgh trumpeter Billy May. (21) Early in 1938 the group became a quintet, adding bassist Bob Yagella and vibes player "Buzzy" Mayer. In March of 1938 the trio made three demo sides. That summer they were the featured entertainment at Rakuen Lakes, a summer resort nearby. The next gig that autumn, over the state line in West Virginia, was a disaster. The band was well received until a patron made a racist remark about Billy loud enough for drummer Calvin Dort to hear. Dort was so enraged that he kicked his entire drum set at the person who made the remark, and chaos resulted. The band escaped in a truck back to Pennsylvania.  

Billy took a gig at a bar playing piano in the East Liberty part of town. The club was where both black and white musicians hung out. Through clarinetist Eisner, Billy hooked up with drummer Bill Ludwig (no relation to the drum maker) to provide arrangements for Ludwigs's12-piece band.

His reputation as a great arranger had spread among the musicians of Pittsburgh, and he was writing more scores for a variety of Swing bands. He still worked at the drug store, and was often asked to play piano at the delivery destinations for an extra tip. 

David Pearlman, a young pharmacy student who met Billy at the Pennfield Drug store, was aware of Billy's extraordinary talent. Pearlman was studying at the University of Pittsburgh's College of Pharmacy. In class, Pearlman sat next to George Greenlee, who was the Pharmacy school's first black student.

Greenlee's uncle, a wealthy man, who it was said had made his fortune hijacking beer trucks and running numbers rackets, owned Pittsburgh's Negro League baseball team, "The Crawfords". He also owned the ballpark, Greenlee Field, as well as two of Pittsburgh's best and busiest nightclubs, the Crawford Grill One and Crawford Grill Two. 

Pearlman asked Greenlee if he would ask his uncle to introduce Billy to some big name musicians. Greenlee remembers"…I had never met this fellow Billy or heard him play. So I said, 'David, are you sure this guy is that good?' He said, 'Believe me'…it turned out that my uncle was having a big party that night for the band that was opening in town the following evening. I could set everything up at the party for this guy to meet the incoming bandleader, Duke Ellington. Otherwise, I'd have to wait a week and introduce him to the next bandleader, Basie." (22)

As soon as George Greenlee was introduced to Ellington, he alluded to Strayhorn; "Duke, a good friend of mine has written some songs, and we would like for you to hear them…(23)

Duke told him to come backstage with his friend after the first show the following day.

Ellington and Strayhorn
 

George and Billy met at the theater the next day and went up to Ellington's large dressing room, which included a piano. Duke was reclining in a chair, while someone styled his hair. As the pair approached and introduced themselves, Duke never opened his eyes. He asked Billy to sit down at the piano and play.

Strayhorn sat down and announced in a calm voice that he would play a piece that Ellington had just performed in the show. He duped it perfectly, note for note.

When he finished, he said just as calmly, "Now this is how I would play it." When he was finished, Ellington was standing behind him staring over his shoulder at the keyboard. Ellington asked his valet to go get Harry Carney, Johnny Hodges and Ivie Anderson. As the trio of Ellington veterans stood behind Billy at the keyboard, Duke asked him questions about his education and background.

Not quite sure what to do with him, Ellington "...had an idea for a lyric. He said: You go home and write a lyric for this,' and I did." (24) According to van de Leur in his book "Something to Live For, The Music of Billy Strayhorn", "The lyric he referred to may be the one Strayhorn set to an earlier instrumental work credited to Ellington, T.T. on Toast,… recorded by the orchestra December 19, 1938, twelve days after the two composers first met." (25) 

In his own account of the day, Leonard Feather reported that Strayhorn "ran over a few original tunes at the piano [at his first meeting with Ellington]. He couldn't leave them with Duke as they had never been written down. Duke was sufficiently impressed to invite Strayhorn to arrange one of them for the band." (26)

Billy returned the following night with the completed work. He then penned arrangements of "Lonely Again" and later, wrote arrangements for his own tunes, "Lush Life" and "Something to Live For". His writing style is noticeably different from Ellington's, but he wrote with the personalities of the band in mind, writing the names of the band's soloists on the manuscripts. His Pittsburgh writing for such local bands as the "Moonlight Harbor Band" and Rex Edward's Orchestra had provided him with enough knowledge to seamlessly infuse his ideas into Ellington Orchestra arrangements. He wrote with the familiar Ellington concepts in mind, yet the music was his: unique, distinct, and appearing 'out of the blue' to the seasoned Ellington band. Billy also penned an arrangement of the standard "Two Sleepy People", for which he was given twenty dollars. When he later brought it to the theatre, Ellington looked it over and then walked it right out on to the stage where it was performed. The enthusiastic response from the audience was another step in convincing Duke that he should hire Strayhorn. 

Duke wrote down his address in New York City and gave it to Billy. Then the Ellington band left on a road tour. Billy went back to Pittsburgh, and the drug store counter. A month passed. Billy wrote Duke but received no reply.

Bill Esch had to make a trip to New York, and suggested Billy come along with him. Before leaving Pittsburgh, Billy looked at Duke's directions to his home in Harlem, and composed the song "Take the "A" Train" based on Dukes written instructions. He intended the song to be a greeting gift for Duke.  

As they were preparing to leave for New York, Billy received a note form one of Duke's staff. He told Billy to meet up with the band in Philadelphia. He missed the band there, but caught up with it on its next stop in Newark, N.J. Billy went in through the stage door. He was taken to Duke, who was about to walk on stage for the next show. Ellington was standing in the wings.

"…He had about five or seven minutes before he went on, so we talked. Actually, he didn't say too much, and I didn't say too much. We were just kind of looking at each other. I was scared to death, and he wasn't, of course…Finally he said, "Well, it's really something that you arrived at this moment. Yes, because I just sent Jack Boyd (his manager) upstairs to look for your address and send for you.'"

"You don't have to, here I am." Strayhorn replied.

"I don't have any position for you", said Ellington, "You'll do whatever you feel like doing." (27)

Ellington called on his son Mercer to arrange for Billy to stay at the local YMCA. Duke would pay his $5.00 a day tab.

Billy went back to Pittsburgh to say goodbye to his friends and family, telling them about his new employer. He told his friend Ralph Koger that he was going to work for Duke, "I played that tune "'A' Train" for him, and he liked it." (28) 

Soon he was back in New York, but after only one night at the YMCA, Billy called Mercer and asked if he could come over to the seven-room Ellington apartment about a half mile away to learn more about Duke. Duke was out on tour at the time.

Ellington lived at 409 Edgecomb Ave. in the Sugar Hill district of Harlem. The building was atop a seven-story bluff overlooking the rest of the neighborhood and the Harlem River below. Duke lived with his sister Ruth, a biology student at Columbia, his lover Mildred Dixon, and son Mercer. Billy left the "Y" and walked over to the Ellington's 

After dinner they sat around comfortably talking and playing records. When it was time to go to sleep, everyone went to their rooms except Billy, who said he would just sleep on the couch. After that, Billy went back to the YMCA only to change clothes, and he finally just moved into Duke's apartment.

Mercer Ellington said, "My father didn't take me under his wing the way he did Strayhorn." (29)

Billy's first orders came on the night of February 26, 1939. Duke called him up and told him to arrange two songs for the next morning and have them ready by 10:00 am. Billy stayed up all night writing. Duke looked the manuscripts over, and changed nothing. He was very pleased with the work. After that initial hurdle, Billy did the arranging for all the small groups Duke recorded from within the orchestra. That May, Ellington let Strayhorn begin to play the piano during the last sets of his shows. 

Living in New York City for a year before he moved out of Ellington's apartment and into his own, Billy became accustomed to the sophisticated life of his Manhattan orbit. One of his friends, Haywood Williams, recalled "I'd pick up the phone and Billy would say, 'Allez-y!" That would be the signal, and we'd be off." (30) Billy would hire a limo and have a tray of martini's ready for his friends in the backseat as they rode around Central Park.

Charlie Barnet's arranger Ralph Burns remembers parties at Billy's own apartment: "Billy loved to play host and make sure everybody was eating. That's the kind of party he liked to have. It would be great, because a lot of us had so much in common- a lot of us were in the music business, and we were gay, of course- not that we would stand there and talk about being gay. That wasn't it. It was just really good to be in each other's company. Billy would put these parties together, and they were just a great, easy natural good time." (31) 

Herb Jeffries, the Ellington band's vocalist recalled: "We both spoke French, so we loved to go to the very Chicest French restaurants around New York. There was a tremendous amount of discrimination, and you could show a certain amount of sophistication by the mere fact that you could speak a language that the next white person couldn't." (32)

Dizzy Gillespie remembered seeing Strayhorn showing up at Minton's, the birthplace of Bebop,"Strayhorn was on the scene, and he played with the best of them. He never made a big deal out of it or looked for any attention. One night he and Bud Powell decided to cut, and man, I'm telling you, he turned that piano inside out." (33) 

Bill Paterson, married and a psychology student at NYU, was part of Billy's inner circle too. "Billy wasn't delicate or soft at all. He had an extraordinary presence. You got the distinct feeling that he was functioning from a place that's different from where the rest of us come from, and from that place within himself, he seemed to be able to see people in a different way than a lot of people get seen or most of us see people. He listened. He actually listened to you. He was always present. (34)

Billy's work for Duke was part of their easygoing relationship. Duke would casually say, "I want you to finish this thing for me." (35) In quick order, Strayhorn's own works, "Your Love Has Faded", "Day Dream", and "Something To Live For" had been rehearsed and recorded by the band, even though Ellington is credited as being a co-composer. 

One of the bizarre music industry interruptions that became quite common in the 1940's began in December of 1940. Radio stations refused to play ASCAP songs because of a hike in per-play prices. Broadcast Music Inc. was formed by the radio stations to compete with ASCAP. Ellington's entire "book" was ASCAP, so in order to be heard on radio, he needed to write a whole new "book".

Strayhorn and Mercer Ellington were asked to accomplish this task quickly. With a bottle of blackberry wine between them, and a couple of cartons of cigarettes, they began writing furiously. Mercer wrote "Jumpin' Pumpkins", and Billy wrote "After All", "Clementine", "Chelsea Bridge", "Johnny Come Lately", "Rain Check", "A Flower is a Lovesome Thing", and "Passion Flower". During this writing marathon, Mercer noticed a crumpled manuscript in the garbage can. It was Billy's arrangement of "Take The "A" Train". He had thrown it away thinking it sounded too much like Fletcher Henderson's formula. Mercer rescued it, and it was recorded in February of 1941 in Hollywood. It stayed on the charts for 7 weeks during that summer. 

Strayhorn's arrangement of the beautiful but forgotten Ted Grouya song "Flamingo" began what Ellington described as "The renaissance of vocal orchestration…before then, an orchestration for a singer was usually something pretty tepid, and it was just background- that's about all. But now, this had real ornamentation, fittingly done, supporting the singer and also embellishing the entire performance of both the singer and the band." (36) Again, Ralph Burns: "Billy took Big Band music and moved it up a couple of steps musically. He was really writing classical music for the Duke Ellington Orchestra." (37)

Claude Thornhill's young arranger, Gil Evans, remembers hearing "Chelsea Bridge" in the early 1940's, and later said, "From the moment I first heard 'Chelsea Bridge', I set out to try to do that. That's all I did- that's all I ever did- try to do what Billy Strayhorn did." (38)  

One of Glenn Miller's arrangers, Bill Finnegan thought, "It didn't take a thing away from Duke to recognize that Strayhorn, like Duke, was an original. There was so much all-around musical knowledge in those things he did, and always something original, the element of surprise." (39)

Some of Strayhorn's music reflects the experiences of his troubled life as a youth, Mickey Scrima recalled:

"The guy went through a lot of s--- in his life, from his father right on through school. The kids calling him a sissy…He kept it all in and put on a big front that everything was fine, nothing bothered him, then he sat down and wrote all that music with all that emotion. All his feelings came out in music. That's what made his stuff so incredible and different from Duke's." (40)

Billy was joined in the orchestra by Ben Webster on tenor  saxophone. Webster was Ellington's first full-time tenor saxophone player, and he played with a strength and precision that brought the Ellington band up to the level of Basie's aggregation, which featured Lester Young on tenor saxophone. 

A Strayhorn discovery, Jimmy Blanton, joined the band on bass. Blanton exploited the potential that the string bass held as no other bassist before him. Until Blanton, the instrument had been seen primarily as a "stringed tuba".

With all of the talent to support him, Ellington began to write with a renewed zest, penning "Cottontail", "Main Stem", "Ko-Ko" and "Harlem Air Shaft".  

Strayhorn, Blanton and Webster stuck together off the stand, too. They saw themselves as the "new guys" in the band. Piano player Jimmy Rowles, who in 1941 was studying at Spokane's Gonzaga University, remembers going to a small club in Seattle one night that spring, and seeing the trio of Blanton, Strayhorn and Webster play together after their Ellington band gig had ended someplace else in town. "I came into town to hear Ellington and went out that night, and in walked the three of them. It was amazing- the most beautiful trio I'd ever heard in my life. They had perfect taste. Every note was just right. And they could swing. I mean, they really swung." (41)

While writing and working on the Ellington musical show "Jump for Joy", which was inspired one evening at the Hollywood home of writer Sid Kuller, Billy met Lena Horne. Duke had actually assigned Billy to chaperon her, because he knew that Billy was "safe". They met at a theater to see the show, and spent the next several weeks together, doing the restaurant and nightclub scene together.  

"I had always been a lonely person until I met Billy. We went to museums; we went out at night to hear the blues. He was the one I wanted to be with all the time…I never met another man like him. He liked to stop and look at a tree…He was brilliant but gentle and loving. He never made you feel dumb. He was very sure of himself and decisive in his thinking…If I could have had him, I would have taken him. He was the only man I ever loved." (42)

Billy and Lena were having drinks at her apartment when the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor was announced on the radio. "Billy turned to me, and he said, 'It's all over.' We thought that was the end of the world." (43) 

Billy worked through the war with the Ellington band. He was classified 4-F for his myopic eyesight. Ellington wasn't drafted because he was already 42 years old. The band played its regular tunes and recorded often. It added free army base shows to its road tour.

Strayhorn worked on Ellington's first Broadway musical effort, an adaptation of "The Three Penny Opera", entitled "Beggar's Holiday". Although he almost single-handedly wrote the music, it was credited to Duke. The show only had a 16-week run at the Broadway Theater on West 53rd St. It closed in the last week of March 1947.  

Although Ellington occasionally referred to Strayhorn on stage as "Our writing and arranging companion", copyright issues concerning Strayhorn's work had become confused.

Billy met with writer Leonard Feather for some background instruction on how the music business operated. When Feather saw him a few weeks later he asked Billy if the primer had been useful, Billy replied: "Oh yes. Thank you very much. I've found the skeletons. They give their regards". (44) 

The fact was that Ellington had been supporting Billy since his arrival in New York. Duke had paid for his "rent and living expenses, his vast wardrobe, the finest food and drink, travel…" (45) No one could have asked for more. But Billy wanted his artistic freedom. He was so tied to Ellington he felt trapped.

He confronted Duke about the many Strayhorn compositions that Duke had been receiving the royalties for. Duke's publishing company, Tempo Music, set up during the ASCAP music ban, was the most delicate intertwining of their work. Clearly, Duke had taken the credit for composing "'C' Jam Blues", "The Mood to be Wooed", "Tonight I Shall Sleep", and the "Sugar Hill Penthouse" part of Duke's masterwork, "Black, Brown, and Beige". There were other compositions that blurred or crossed the true composer's ID. 

Duke knew first hand what it felt like, and didn't let it trouble him too much. It was widely known in the music business that Ellington himself had been ripped off by Irving Mills, the music publisher, on some of his most famous works, including, "In a Sentimental Mood", "Prelude to a Kiss", "Solitude", "Mood Indigo", and "Sophisticated Lady".

But nobody ever thought that Irving Mills was an actual composer- even though he took the credit. All of this unexpectedly bothered Strayhorn, however, for he was a composer.  

On His Own
 

On the opening night of "Beggar's Holiday", Billy Strayhorn attended the cast party. From a distance, he watched as Ellington soaked up the applause and attention for writing the score. Luther Henderson, a life-long friend of Duke's asked: "What credit could be given? Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn? Uh-uh. This was supposed to be a Duke Ellington show. 'Billy Strayhorn'- who was he?…You couldn't sell it." (46) 

Billy watched the adoration of Duke, then turned to the production's set designer, Oliver Smith, and said, "Let's get out of here." Smith replied "But the party's just starting."

"Not for me it isn't", said Strayhorn walking out into the night. (47)

For the first time, Billy became somewhat estranged from Ellington, and spent a lot of time with Lena Horne and her music-arranging husband Lennie Hayton on the West Coast.

Ellington called him in the Spring of 1950 to write the music for an Orson Welles musical of "Faust" in Paris. Welles lived up to his billing as one of the most difficult people to work with. He wrote lyrics to only one of several Strayhorn pieces, and they were awful. "It was terrible," said cast member Eartha Kitt. "The music might have been good. But nobody could tell. The whole show was a disaster. Incoherent." (48)

In 1953 Strayhorn worked completely independent of Duke on a new stage production of "Cabin In The Sky". While working with Herbert Machiz, who had also worked in Paris on the Welles fiasco, they began to discuss new directions for the theater in New York. Herbert wanted to "start a new kind of theater, bring together theater people and fine artists." (49) That same year, Machiz founded the Artists Theater. It turned out to be the forerunner of Off Broadway. 

Strayhorn worked on a production called "Don Perlimplin", which was a smash by the standards of Non-Broadway Theater of that time. Set designer Alfred Leslie:

"I'm not exaggerating, it was like he knew exactly what they needed to bring out the character and the scene. You know how you can't really sing, but one day, one day you sing in a certain time and place and all of a sudden you sound great? Just that one time in your life you sound fantastic? That's what Strayhorn did. He made everybody better." (50)

In the summer of 1954, Strayhorn teamed up with his formally trained friend Luther Henderson, and the two collaborated on a production that was to be entitled "Rose Colored Glasses". 

The two had fun working on the surreal plot that involved a character names Brother Big Eyes, a lense grinder in the "Land of "Ool-ya-coo". Brother roamed the land grinding glasses for people. A huge set of horn-rimmed glasses comprised the set.

One night Henderson and Strayhorn went out to hear Ram Ramirez, the pianist who composed "Lover Man". They were both drinking "Zombies", which contained over 6 ounces of alcohol per drink. After consuming five Zombies each, "We were feeling pretty fantastic," said Henderson. "One of us said to Ram, 'Hey Ram, Man, how about letting us do a number?" And he said, 'Sure'. You know, we were Billy Strayhorn and Luther Henderson…We sat down at the piano bench…we were inspired. We were way out- avant-garde- countermelodies, relative keys, two different tempos at the same time. It was genius…we finished the number with great flourish, and we stood up, and everybody in the place was just staring at us…the next morning Ram called me and he said "Man, don't you ever do that to me again! You guys almost got my ass fired! What the f--- did you think you were playing?" (51)

When he wasn't working on his own, Billy still wrote arrangements for Ellington, and collected royalties on re-issues of his Ellington records. His basic expenses were still covered by Ellington's organization. Duke Ellington also survived the decline of the big band era on money he made as a composer. 

Strayhorn and Henderson planned on starting a partnership, which, they thought, could possibly bring in between $300,000-500,000 a year (in early 1950's dollars). Billy told Duke about their plan. Duke called Henderson and told him he didn't need Strayhorn to make that kind of money. Henderson fell for it. No partnership ensued, and Duke kept Strayhorn. "We left all that undone," said Henderson." It was the biggest mistake of my life." (52)

In the summer of 1954, George Wein produced the first Newport Jazz Festival. He didn't ask Ellington to perform, thinking the band was past its prime, but he did give Duke a slot at the third festival, planned for 1956. 

At the same time, George Avakian, Columbia records new A&R account executive, began encouraging Duke to perform something special at the Newport Festival- something they could record capturing the excitement of the band at a live performance. Columbia paid the festival $25,000 to record Ellington in 1956.

Avakian asked Duke to write something like "The Newport Jazz Festival Suite" that could be used as a tie-in product. Duke agreed to put "Strays" to work on it. The final result failed to create much excitement at the festival. But after midnight, when Duke called for his piece "Diminuendo & Crescendo in Blue", a two-part number separated by what turned out to be a wild, extended saxophone solo by Paul Gonsalves, the orchestra bit into the music hard. While Gonsalves blew, Duke shouted encouragement and waved his arms, pushing him along.  

Later, Ellington recalled "Jo Jones was the driving force behind our big success at Newport in 1956…Out of sight of the audience, in the pit in front of the grandstand, slapping a backbeat with a newspaper, talking to us, he prodded us into a "Go, Baby!" drive that developed into the rhythmic groove of the century." (53)

Leonard Feather wrote that "…The whole of Freebody Park was transformed as if struck by a thunderbolt. Photographers rushed madly to the scene of each gathering knot of onlookers while Gonsalves, Duke and the whole band, inspired by the reaction they had started, put their all into the work…Hundreds of spectators climbed up on their chairs to see the action…"(54)  

Gonsalve's solo provided excitement that created a moment of transformation for both the festival and the band- and it was all caught on tape by Columbia's engineers. The record sold extremely well. Duke was put on the cover of Time Magazine.

In 1956, Ellington and Strayhorn had collaborated on a CBS television special entitled "A Drum is a Woman", designed to introduce the public to the new CBS color television system. Ellington had been chosen by Theater Guild attorney Lawrence Langer for the assignment. Duke chose to write "An allegorical history of jazz- a trip from Africa and the Caribbean through New Orleans to the Rocket Age". (55) 

Strayhorn recalled: "I suppose the largest hunk of collaboration was "Drum is a Women" in which we just kind of did everything. He wrote lyrics, I wrote lyrics. He wrote music, and I wrote music. He arranged, and I arranged." (56) 

At this time, Billy was also President of the gay black show business organization, "The Copasetics". Each year Billy would write a music program for the group to perform, and it provided him with "fraternal support"…a creative outlet removed from Ellington." (57)

Said Copasetic member Honi Coles: "Billy had a good time when he wrote for us. He was often quite inebriated." (58)

From the mid to late 1950's Billy also worked extensively with saxophonist Johnny Hodges. Hodges, although a drummer, pianist, and finally virtuoso soprano saxophonist, had little formal education and could barely sign his own name. "Everybody said Johnny was gruff. They thought he was cold. He was just afraid." said his wife Cue Hodges. (59)

Strayhorn and Hodges were worlds apart educationally, but much the same emotionally on the stand. They both emerged from their respective shells while playing and created entertaining records.

Ellington, meanwhile, was writing a condensed version of "Black, Brown and Beige" for recording, which would feature Mahalia Jackson. Duke would call Billy at the last possible moment to write him an arrangement and ship it airmail to Los Angeles from Florida.

"I was in Florida…working with Johnny Hodges. We were working at a hotel, so, of course, we were off at 2:00 in the morning…Ellington was recording (in California) at 2:00 in the afternoon…so I would go home and stay up until he was up and we would confer over the phone about what was to be recorded that day. I was writing things [such as a new arrangement of "Come Sunday"], and I had a cab driver down there who would take the score to the airport and mail it off…It ended up, of course, that I didn't hear anything that was recorded, even things I had written…I didn't hear them until a year later." (60) Billy was given no credit on the Jackson/Ellington record, released in 1958.

Strayhorn had always enjoyed his cocktails, but by the late 1950's his drinking was out of control. His society friend Marian Logan: "You had to see him…Half the time he would be so out of it that he literally couldn't speak. You had to put your ear right up to his mouth to hear what he was saying…He drank just constantly, in every imaginable situation. He wasn't looking for a reason to drink. It was beyond reasons. He just drank. (61)

The well-fed gourmet of previous years now called a friend and asked him to come by for breakfast. Billy said he had some bacon. He made a big deal out of the fact that he had bacon. More out of curiosity than hunger, the friend soon appeared at Strayhorn's apartment door. When he opened up Billy's refrigerator, there it was- a lone package of bacon on one shelf, and a bottle of gin on another. Nothing else.

In 1960 Irving Townsend of Columbia Records made plans with Duke and Billy about doing an Ellington take of Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker Suite". Billy had come up with the idea, and Duke approved. Billy set to work arranging a jazz version of the piece. As usual, there was a huge amount of bi-coastal telephony between Duke and Strays. "It was a struggle. It's always a struggle, you know, to present someone of the stature of Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky and adapting it to our flavor without distorting him. It entailed a lot of conversation. Long Distance calls back and forth between New York and California, and records, listening to the way that the originals were actually played…Tchaikovsky wasn't available. Actually it sort of felt like we were talking to him, because we didn't want him turning over any more than he already was."(62) 

In 1960, Strayhorn and Ellington teamed up on their second film score, "Paris Blues". Their first had been Otto Preminger's "Anatomy of a Murder" in 1959. American trombonist Billy Byers, who was living in Paris at the time, was hired as a translator for Ellington. But Duke didn't need one because everybody happily spoke in English for him.

Byers ended up spending most of his time with Strayhorn. "Duke worked all the time. He was a very organized man. Every day he got up and wrote for about four hours, no matter how late he had been up…Billy's role was this; he did what he could when he could. But he was always out getting drunk in the Mars Club…After working and living with him like that, so closely, my perception of Ellington and Strayhorn completely reversed. It turned upside down…I had always understood that Duke was a free, creative spirit and a bon vivant, and I had always pictured him with a bottle of champagne in one arm and a blonde in the other, gliding through the club car and saying to Stray, "I just got an inspiration:  DA DA DA-DA, DA DA [The opening melody of the lyric "missed the Saturday dance"]! Go and do something with it.' Nothing could have been further from the truth. It turned out that Strays was the indulgent artist and Ellington was the professional; Ellington worked like a dog, and Strayhorn was the playboy. He was drunk and hanging out all the time…Duke kept Strayhorn around knowing the output might be small and getting smaller, but wanting it all." (63)

Even though the first number heard in "Paris Blues" is "Take The "A" Train", Strayhorn is not mentioned in the films credits.

American record producer Alan Douglas asked Billy if he would be interested in a recording project of his own. Billy agreed casually, as if he had never thought about doing anything like it before. He chose to record songs that he had written in his first decade as a composer, using a bass accompaniment, (Michel Gaudry) a few abstract vocalists harmonizing, and a string quartet on some numbers. The result was a release entitled "The Peaceful Side of Billy Strayhorn".

In 1961, Creed Taylor brought Hodges and Strayhorn together for another session at Van Gelder studios for Verve. The band was primarily Ellington players. Several more recordings with Duke followed. One memorable 1963 session with South African singer Bea Benjamin was later recalled by violinist Svend Asmussen:

"Duke rarely bothered to go into the booth and listen to a take. After a number, he'd say, "Wonderful! Next number- What do we have? Bea darling, what do you want to sing?'

"In my Solitude,' she said. 'Marvelous,' he said. 'What key?' 'B-Natural,' she said. And then Duke said 'Uh-mmm…Mis-ter Stray-horn…that's where you take over." He would have no business playing in B-Natural. Billy would laugh and sit down and play anything in the world in any key, perfectly. One take. And Duke would say, 'Marvelous! Wonderful! What should we do next?" (64)

One cold morning in 1964, Billy's close friend and neighbor Dr. Arthur Logan (who was also Ellington's physician) noticed Strayhorn sitting on a chair at the top of the Logan's West 80's Brownstone steps. He was out of breath from climbing the stairs. Logan sent him in for a check up and it was determined that Billy had advanced esophageal cancer.

Undergoing treatment immediately, Billy attempted to keep up his usual work output. During the spring of 1964 much of this work was recorded that later became "Ellington '65" and "Ellington '66". Then, he stopped writing for a year, though he continued to arrange charts for Duke. During this period, the earlier co-written "Far East Suite" was recorded, based on the impressions of both Ellington and Strayhorn during their 1963 State Dept. tour through the Near and Middle East.

"The Intimacy of the Blues", and "Blood Count" were both written in early 1967. They would be his last contributions to the Ellington book. "Blood Count", written in D minor, is a troubling, lonely sounding composition, and "the trombones and trumpets alternately play a line of desolate descending major triads that keep falling back to a D Minor chord, suggesting there is no escape." (65)

Ellington and the orchestra left for Europe at the beginning of 1967, but Strayhorn was too sick to go along. Billy began writing his final piece of music, entitled "North by Southwest Suite". It was intended for the duo of Willie Ruff (French horn and Bass) and Dwike Mitchell (Piano). Strayhorn invited the duo over to his apartment, to make sure that his writing was correct for their respective playing styles and abilities.

Willie Ruff recalled their meeting and how Strayhorn interacted clearly: "What I've written here,"[Strayhorn] said to Mitchell, "is quite complete in the compositional sense. But I want this first meeting to feel to you like a fitting, as in 'fit' a custom-made suit. The compositional elements should fit your hands, which are so much larger and powerful than mine…You know how to make sections like these on this page as big and as rich in sonority as you can. But here in this interlude, let the horn ring through…Let Willie's sound kind of hover over it all right there. And pause here, but only slightly…Over in this middle part, your line and the horn line are of equal importance. Balance is the key word; but that's the kind of thing you two do naturally anyway. I have left you space and, at the same time, given indications of essential details…" By now Mitchell was alive with excitement. His large fingers trembled as he carefully shaped them to fit the powerful, two-fisted chords Stray had written to underscore the horn theme. And wham! Stray was up off the piano bench at the huge sound Mitchell made. He stomped the floor and beamed at Mitchell. "Hell yes!" he hollered. "That's what I had in mind; I just don't have the hands and strength to make it sound that way." (66)

On May 31, 1967, Billy Strayhorn died of cancer at age 51. Bill Grove, his companion, was at his side. The New York Times obituary, written by music critic John Wilson, referred to Strayhorn as "a small, stately man', who observed the world with 'benign amusement' through dark-rimmed glasses." (67)

A week after a memorial service at St. Peter's Church, Rev. John Gensel led a small group in prayer beside the Hudson River and then "turned and emptied Strayhorn's ashes into the air over the water, and a breeze lifted them away." (68)

Duke Ellington was devastated by the loss of his friend. His son Mercer once said, "He couldn't accept any kind of misfortune- that was one of the secrets of his success. He couldn't accept Strayhorn really wasn't there anymore." (69)

Ellington lived seven more years. His writing increased after Strayhorn's death. He composed a tribute to Strayhorn entitled "And His Mother Called Him Bill", and two more "Sacred Concerts". He also wrote the operatic "Queenie Pie", as well as the "Degas Suite", the "Afro-Eurasian Eclipse", and the "Goutelas Suite".

Duke Ellington died on May 24, 1974. In his autobiography, Ellington had written, "Billy Strayhorn was always the most unselfish, the most patient, and the most imperturbable, no matter how dark the day. I am indebted to him for so much of my courage since 1939. He was my listener, my most dependable appraiser, and as a critic he would be the most clinical, but his background--both classical and modern--was an accessory to his own good taste and understanding, so what came back to me was in perfect balance." (70)
 
 References

 (1) P.195 David Hajdu; "Lush Life, A Biography of Billy Strayhorn", 1996. Farrar Straus Giroux. New York. (2) ibid. PP.8-9 (3) P.9 (4) P.11 (5) PP.11-12 (6) P.12 (7) P.14 (8) P.15 (9) P.14 (10) P.19 Walter van de Leur; "Something to Live For: The Music of Billy Strayhorn, 2002. Oxford University Press, New York. (11) Hadju; P.17 (12) ibid. P.17 (13) P.18 (14) P.19 (15) P.24 (16) P.25 (17) van de Leur; P.19 (18) Hadju; P.30 (19) ibid. P.31 (20) P.33 (21) P.40 (22) PP.48-49 (23) P.49 (24) (Strayhorn, 1962); van de Leur P.23  (25) ibid.P.23 (26) ibid. P.23 (27) Hadju; P.57 (28) ibid. P.57 (29) ibid. P.59 (30) ibid. P.71 (31) ibid.P.73 (32) ibid. P.73 (33) ibid. P.74 (34) ibid.P.78 (35) ibid. P.52 (36) ibid. P.86 (37) ibid. P.87 (38) ibid. P.87 (39) ibid. P.87 (40) ibid. P.88 (41) ibid. P.90 (42) ibid. P.95 (43) ibid. P.99 (44) ibid. P.120 (45) ibid. P.122 (46) P.104 (47) P.105 (48) P.113 (49) P.125 (50) P.127 (51) PP.128-129 (52) P.142 (53) P.241 Duke Ellington; "Music is My Mistress", Da Capo Edition; Perseus Book Group. Reprint of 1973 Doubleday Ed. Garden City, N.Y. (54) P.263 James Lincoln Collier; "Duke Ellington", 1987. Oxford University Press. New York, Oxford. (55) Hadju; P.157 (56) ibid. P.158 (57) P.175 (58) P.176 (59) P.178 (60) PP.179-180 (61) P.197 (62) P.204 (63) P.210 (64) P.220 (65) van de Leur; P.171 (66) ibid. P.173 {Ruff 1991.1} (67) Hadju; P.255 (68) ibid. P.258 (69) P.259 (70) Ellington; P.156

 

The Troubled Genius of Stan Getz

By John Twomey