assume an “outlaw” mantle, forcing musicians to constantly peer over their shoulders for angry antagonists. An improvisatory spirit stuck with the music even as it migrated northward to Chicago and New York and Kansas City.
At any rate, in southern Louisiana, there was the difficulty of dealing with a police force that seemed to prey on Negro men; it was rare for a jazzman not to have spent at least one night sitting in a precinct lockup after a gig that somehow had gotten out of hand. One night in 1915 Sidney Bechet and “King” Oliver were enjoying a drink in a local tavern when a customer was shot dead right in front of their eyes, a riveting experience not designed to inspire confidence. Another time, an Oliver-Ory band was raided by the police, and band members who could not come up with what today seems like a pittance in bail money had to spend a night in jail. A disenthralled Oliver fled to Chicago, which created an opening for Louis Armstrong, who soon joined him there, this after working as a bellboy, carpenter, coal cart driver, and stevedore.85
One hypothesis suggests that as Storyville began to close during the late stages of the First World War (1914-1918), a “Jazz Diaspora” was incited, though there is evidence to suggest that musicians were departing the Crescent City even earlier. (Edmond “Doc” Souchon, guitarist and writer, born in 1897, claims that less than 5 to 10 percent of the musicians played in Storyville.)86 Then there came the impact of the Great War. This titanic conflict that saw numerous Africans in arms, often led to many being compelled to fight in Europe. Willie “The Lion” Smith earned his nickname in France during the war after manning what were called “Big French 75 guns” for forty-nine days straight.87
St. Louis, just up the river and already a capital of sorts of ragtime, benefited from this scattering from New Orleans. Trumpeter Clark Terry, an early influence on Miles Davis, recalled the showboats plying the Mississippi River, while pointing out that “a lot of the cats got off there,” meaning the Missouri city, especially since this town “was always known for beautiful, fine ladies.” Besides, not unlike New Orleans, in St. Louis “any days of the month, you’d have three or four parades” in which musicians could display their talents.88
There were other disincentives that argued against Negro musicians remaining in New Orleans. By 1902, Local 174 of the American Federation of Musicians was chartered and was strictly reserved for musicians defined as “white.”89 Dancing to this beat, bandleader “Papa Jack” Laine, born in New Orleans in 1873, said of one musician, “When I found out he was a nigger, that’s when I stopped hiring him…. I saw his daddy and that was enough.” As for the trombonist Dave Perkins, he did not realize he was a Negro since he was “fair as a lily” with blue eyes, the implication being that he too would be passed over for a job. Laine was not poor; his father was a contractor, undermining the argument that bigotry was purely a product of the Euro-American dispossessed, frightened by labor competition from across the color line.90
Perforce, union protections in Dixie—meaning New Orleans—were weak, where they needed to be strong, given the prevailing atmosphere. Pianist and guitarist, Frank Amacker, born in the Crescent City in 1890, recalled that often club owners would not notify bands they were fired, and band members would only ascertain this upon arriving to play and finding a new band in their place.91
Despite the wealth they created for club owners, recording companies, and the like, these musicians often performed in adverse conditions, one factor among many in creating or worsening health problems.92 Cornetist and bandleader Joseph “King” Oliver also developed dental problems, “pyorrhea of the gums,” according to his spouse, and was blind in one eye. He felt compelled to grant loans to his sidemen, who often did not repay him. Oliver became depressed, though unlike others similarly situated, he steered clear of alcohol, but that only harmed relations with his bandmates, who were not so inclined.93 Evidently, the pyorrhea was an impediment to Oliver’s horn playing, making it difficult for him to play certain notes.94 Saxophonist George “Big Nick” Nicholas, born in 1922, asserted, “Saxophone player, trumpet player, they always have this problem with their teeth so I had some work done on my lower mouth and it cost me twelve hundred,” followed by a “partial bridge put up in my upper part of my mouth. That cost thirty-one hundred…. Through the years your mouth, your gums and your bone structure” are affected by the stress of playing with a device attached to your lips: “All that pressure through the years, you know, it wears away and the bone structure wears away and then your gums recede. So I had six caps put in in 1950 and my gums started receding.” Fellow horn man Maynard Ferguson “has all of his teeth capped … Sonny Rollins has got a lot of work … Coltrane had a lot of work done in his mouth.”95 The contemporary of Louis Armstrong, Norman Brownlee, recalled that the trumpeter roughened his mouthpiece by rubbing it on the curb and this roughness apparently combined with a lot of pressure, causing his lips to deteriorate.96 Reputedly, Sidney Bechet played a saxophone since the mouthpiece was easier on his teeth, compared to a clarinet.97 Such was the occupational hazard of the horn man, following in the footsteps of Oliver.
Sadly enough, it was not just teeth. Trumpeter Herman Autrey, born in 1904, said late in life, “I have glaucoma and cataracts and all that junk.” This meant a “cornea transplant,” adding, “I was blind once upon a time … two or three months, I guess.” He seemed to connect this malady to “bad whiskey” and did not mention the occupational hazard of playing often in smoky cellars. His spouse had a job, keeping them both afloat. There was no pension or support otherwise from the union. “From the union,” he spat out, “they wish you would drop dead soon, because they don’t want to pay that thousand,” speaking metaphorically. “That’s the worst union in the world,” he maintained furiously. “I told them that, too, and they know it … they don’t give a damn about nobody or help nobody,” certainly not this Alabaman. “They’re the worst bunch of bastards—I told them! They know me!” With gathering outrage, he proclaimed that if you “go in there 10:00, 11:00 o’clock [even] 2:30 they go home. The place is closed at 3:00.” With gathering outrage, he insisted, “I’ll starve to death before I go in there.”98
Pianist Oscar Peterson, born in 1925, was afflicted by the malady that often beset those who pounded the ivory keys for a living: arthritis in his hands. “It just hurts to play,” he said, just as it hurt his many fans to be deprived of his consummate artistry.99 Fellow keyboardist Horace Silver struggled with scoliosis: is it possible that the problem he suffered from, the curvature of his spine, emanated from—or was worsened by—long nights bending over the piano while playing?100
The cornetist Harrison Barnes, born in 1889, had dental problems too, an occupational hazard for those in his field (he played trombone, too). The seedy environments he performed in may shed light on why he contracted syphilis and how he was afflicted with a tumor—“big as a baseball,” he said. And yet, despite his skill as a musician, he was forced to work almost two decades as a flue welder, simply to pay the bills.101 Born in 1891, Joseph “Fan” Borgeau, whose nickname stemmed from his Chinese appearance, worked as a lottery vendor for thirty-six years, despite his ability as a pianist; one job was typical: the piano keys were so sharp that his hands could be left bloodied.102
Suggestive of the discomfiting reality that horrendous conditions endured by skilled musicians have yet to disappear is that Herbie Hancock, one of today’s leading keyboardists and now an elder statesman, recalled his early days when he was “playing music into the wee hours every night and then trying to deliver mail all day….” He was a “complete wreck,” he confessed, and “actually fell asleep standing up….” Unsurprisingly, he “got sick too.”103
There was also the occupational hazard of getting from one gig to another. Saxophonist Arnett Cobb, born in 1918, suffered from pleurisy and tuberculosis, but in 1956 he endured “a nearly fatal car accident [that] necessitated spinal surgeries and the use of crutches he’d require” until he died in 1989.104
Drummer
