In Memorium: Anita, Carolyn, Mike, Lance, Harry (Johnny), Kenny, and Bill
John William Coltrane - September 23, 1926 - July 17, 1967
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John William Coltrane - September 23, 1926 - July 17, 1967
MUSCATEL ON A SUMMER EVENING: "TING-A-LING" & "TRANEING IN"
A Summer Evening in the Park (circa 1957)
We're talkin' stuff, talkin' smack, talkin' trash, playin' the dozens - "Talkin' 'bout
your mama, she’s a good old soul . . . ". Had we been in Manhattan or the Bronx we’d have been waiting for Cowboy. But here in the mid-west, in Highland Park, Michigan - one of Henry Ford's corporate towns (Inkster, Mi. was another); we're waiting for Leroy, our connection, our king for this day. Leroy rolls up on his bicycle that’s fitted with a basket attached to the bike's handlebar. The bike's basket is fitted with bottles of Cadillac Club Muscatel and a couple of Carling Black Label 40 oz. ice cold brews - the main thing (wine) and wine-chaser (beer). Our main thing, the muscatel when uncapped, filled the heavy night air with an aroma of sweet youth itself - we weren’t connoisseurs of the grape as such, but rather we were connoisseurs of the muscatel followed but the ice cold Carling Black Label chaser - think about it: What could be more fitting for Highland Park’s smart set?
For me, the feelings connected with the aroma of muscatel -"These Foolish Things"
- are as heavy as the feelings that I have remembering my pre-school self and the shrimp lunch that I had at the Galveston Bay restaurant in Texas with my grandmother and her elegant lady friend, the one with the Studebaker automobile who lived in the Hollywood-style film-noir crib.
The park where my friends and I had our wine-tastings, sang our street-corner
jams, and parsed the girls that we wished we knew into the aesthetic categories of fineness and bat-hood was located at the corner of Massachusetts Street (my street) and Woodward Avenue (Detroit’s main street that runs from downtown Detroit
to Bloomfield Hills and beyond). This park, our country club, was between the McGregor Library and Howard Johnson’s restaurant; and across Woodward facing a drug store, camera shop, grocery store, and American Legion Hall. Behind Howard Johnson’s was a field that was later developed into a motel.
The members of my set of friends, those with 'park passes', were Johnny H., George G., Donald P. (the Massachusetts St. subset), Jerry M. of Connecticut St,, Pieter W. of Colorado St., Kenny S. and Ken H. of Midland St. - not quite out of Goodfellas, rather more out of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
I don't recall any girls having 'park passes'. We certainly would have issued passes
to girls - if we had known any. And when a member of our set was lucky enough to
meet a girl who would date him, our park was temporally off limits; since poaching
could be a problem. But after being dumped, the dudes always came back to the
park's benches. If a member of our set wanted to show us the he actually had a date
with a fine girl (no one dated "bats"), he’d show her off by taking her to
Howard Johnson's for coffee. However, in the fall and winter we all hung out at
Howard Johnson's and McGregor library.
I don't remember any girls attending our 'wine-tasting' functions. Later, when
members of the park-set finally got hooked up with members of the opposite sex
the 'wine-tastings' took place on weekends at my house at 124 Massachusetts.
And once indoors, our muscatel days were behind us; we had developed a taste for
gin martinis. Leroy remained our primary connection, since we were still in high school.
I won't go into the details of my parties, others are/were in a better position to account for the attendees, since I was either elsewhere, or when I was on the case, my primary interest was in controlling the music - I had a jazz only policy. (I did have one 45 rpm R & B disc - "Gum Drop"- that I had just in case I got an unmusical girl alone in my lair. I don’t think that I ever had to stoop to playing it - Chet Baker usually served my purposes quite well, in preliminary ways.) That's not to say that I only liked jazz. I listened to "Frantic" Ernie Durham's radio program, and I was a devotee of his music programming, Red Prysock's "Hand Clapping" and Jessie Belvin's "Goodnight My Love" were his opening and closings themes; he was the best DJ in Detroit for our time.
During my Highland Park High School days (1956 - 1959) the ratio of cars to members of my now expanded set of friends was about 1 to 5. Many of us had steady girlfriends, but "steady" meant two or three weeks at a go - we all had girl-trouble all the time.
Many of us covered a lot of Highland Park on foot. For longer trips to Olympia Arena for the Red Wings, Briggs Stadium for the Tigers and Lions, Masonic Temple and Ford Auditorium for concerts there were the efficient and wonderful streetcars - April 8, 1956 marked the end of Detroit's streetcars. Parental supervision amongst my friends and me was rarely enforced. Many of us were of 'broken homes' and our single parents had full-time jobs. My mother worked evenings at the Post Office, leaving me with a lot of room to wander. I was only in jail once, in Grand Haven, Mi. Illegal possession of a six pack of Schlitz beer! Two friends, Doug R. and Lance V., and I were in jail over night. Our fines were $33 each - we had $100 among us - collect calls home and Western Union straightened us out. The judge or magistrate claimed to have grown up in Highland Park, so he cut us a deal; leaving us with 33¢ each.
Most of my friends and I smoked cigarettes. I got my nicotine habit in Boy Scouts. The other thing that I got from scouting was an aversion to the out of doors - camping, fishing, sleeping on the ground. We rarely smoked weed or "boo" as it was called by some. A friend of mine who lived across the street had an older brother called "Puddin'" who claimed to be a pimp. Puddin' lived at home with his parents. This circumstance often went along with being a pimp or mac-man. He didn't own a car either. But Puddin's appearance was that of a tenor saxophone man, it touched on Ben Webster or Lucky Thompson: gabardine slacks and shirt, Stacy Adams shoes, etc. He was mac enough for me. One day the brains trust of my happy set of friends wanted to buy some weed (boo). My friend suggested that his brother the mac-man could "hook us up" (as one hears today). So I found myself in a car with Puddin' and some other guys heading to Detroit's East side to cop some boo (I like the heavy sounding "cop some boo"). Well this bad-ass Highland Park crew copped two joints each for our one-time personal bad-ass use. We liked being around gangster action - no matter how low budget. Unlike today, where weed is purchased by the kilo (or so it seems); in the mellow days of my Highland Park youth, weed was purchased in individual cigarette form - joints. A friend of mine's wife could roll the hell out of a batch of weed, she was faster than a Cuban cigar roller. The resulting joint was pleasing to behold: special high-gloss paper, with the ends tucked in. There's so little style today.
Cars or "Are the Stars Out Tonight?"
George G. had a 1957 Chevy with moon-style hubcaps. He was a north Woodward, Totem Pole drive-in, drag-racin' man. Each of us at one time or another rode shotgun with him. We loved our wine and stuff; George loved his ride, so he wasn't a 'park ranger'; we had to catch him on the fly for a ride and drag-racing thrills.
Doug R. had a very powerful Olds coupe. We were night hawks, Batmen - no Robins among us - dedicated to the crispness and clarity of the night. We were dedicated Night flight listeners - its theme song was "That's All".
Mike S. drove a grand DeSoto. His dad worked for the Chrysler Corporation. Mike didn't hang out with us during our normal playtime. We usually met up with Mike after hours when we took in the after hours jam session at the West End Hotel near the Cadillac plant at West End and Fort Streets in Delray. Mike was devoted to his girl friend Gloria L. who later became his wife. They were regular attendees at my Massachusetts St. parties. In the wee hours of the morning, after a West End jam session Mike and I would go to a Syrian bakery on Orleans St. for freshly baked bread - 'jam' and bread were heaven to us.
Ken H. drove a huge dark blue Chrysler convertible. This was the babe machine, its back seat was greater than any other. Preparation for our night flights were quite complex and labor intensive. Although gas was priced at between 19¢ and 21¢ a gallon, Ken's love machine had an immense gasoline dependency. Its gasoline-jones were fixed by means of two primary methods: foraging for returnable pop bottles and siphoning gasoline from other automobiles. The Midland St. boys were especially adept at the latter. Foraging was a daytime activity, whilst siphoning occurred at night. Were there mints of some kind for gasoline-breath?
Ken's Chrysler once gassed-up took us and our female companions to various dark corners of Highland Park. If we couldn't corner 'dates', we'd hang out at the West End Hotel jam session. The Chrysler was a mission-specific ride, only amorous or musical joys were permitted, given the price of gasoline.
West End Hotel News
Otis “Bu Bu” Turner
At the baby-grand piano,
Sings If You Could See Me Now beneath a triumphal arch,
Separating two rooms of beboppers, night-owls,
Separating two rooms of beboppers, night-owls,
‘Players’ who knew what Bu Bu was saying,
Knew what he was playing,
Knew Diz and Dameron.
Blues In The Phone Booth
Alvin Jackson, a double-bass playin’ brother,
Brother of Bags, has completed his phone-call,
Leaves the door wide-open for the trumpet player who,
Prefers to jam sitting down - get down sitting down then.
Roy! Brooks! drummin' man,
Has set up his drummin’ stuff to one side of Bu Bu’s baby-grand.
Trumpet’s in the phone booth - was that Lonnie,
Lonnie Hillyer, inside with his Trumpet,
Pet?
Lonnie Hillyer, inside with his Trumpet,
Pet?
Phone booth action happened on the other side of Bu Bu - at his left hand.
In Walked Charles of the McPherson clan - an alto playin’ Man!
Worst coffee in the world! But the West End Hotel's after-hours' hang,
Provided everything else that this young man’s soul required.
Provided everything else that this young man’s soul required.
Man!
A Fabulous Concert, 3 March 1957:
A Fabulous Concert, 3 March 1957:
"Traneing In"
I participated in basketball at Highland Park High School - Freshman, JV, and Varsity. I was not a starter on the Varsity team. The first time that I heard John Coltrane in person was in 1959, on a Friday, the night of the HPHS basketball team's game at Monroe High School. Instead of enjoying the long bus ride to Monroe, Michigan, I decided to attend the Miles Davis Sextet's concert at Ford Auditorium in downtown Detroit with my girl friend. I had heard Miles Davis before, but not with Trane. The auditorium's stage had a segment that could be lowered and raised to the level of the main stage. At the beginning of the concert, Miles's band was raised up on the sub-stage segment while firing away with Thelonous Monk's tune, "Straight No Chaser" - needless to say, Ford Auditorium was lit up musically. My team didn't miss me, but I wouldn't have missed that fabulous concert. I was fortunate to be in the presence of Miles and Trane many times after the Ford concert. My wife and I were in London England when Miles Davis died on September 28, 1991. The Brits made a big deal about Miles then - an hour-plus TV program. I have no idea what the Americans did, but I'm certain that it wasn't much.
Basketball-Jones
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| Ferris Elementary School |
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| Bill Sarver, Longworth Mapp, No. 24?, Richard Krivak & John Fundukian |
Basketball was a way of life for many of us in Highland Park. The high school's teams were justly celebrated by journalists like Hal Schram and others who knew the game. Jim Wink was our celebrated varsity basketball coach. Coach Wink served in the Marines during WW II, and was on Iwo Jima. He specialized in zone defenses and shooting foul shots underhanded. That's a 3-2 zone in the picture above. At the end the end of the school year Coach Wink would give each of his players who were returning next year a leather basketball to wear out during the summer vacation.
A typical summer weekday went as follows. Wake up at noon or later. Fix myself breakfast. Head over to Ferris school playground with my basketball. Meet up with my basketball playing friends (“ballers”), and play 3 on 3 until 7 or 8 o’clock.
We had two connections now for our 40 oz. refreshment: Leroy who was himself a very good basketball player and Roy who thought he could ball, but couldn’t. We had to let Roy play because he was one of our connections.
So we'd put our quarters together, get a 40 oz. Carling and talk about who was the baddest and maddest, who had game, which girls we'd like to hook up with &c.
Sometimes we'd have games with ballers from other school playgrounds - e.g., Bobby Joe Hill and his boys from the Willard. Bobby Joe Hill (R.I.P.) is undoubtedly the most famous baller from Highland Park. His Texas Western team won the NCAA Championship, beating Kentucky. He and George 'Baby' Duncan (R.I.P.) were the best of the best. Guys in Highland Park played basketball all the time, in snow, on dirt, in back yards, everywhere. Ballin' and drinkin' cold ones - sublime.
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| George "Baby" Duncan #3, George Lee #13, Coach Jim Wink |
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| Bobby Joe Hill |
We took Manhattan, but it took a while
The Park set of which I was a member took music very seriously. While we certainly liked the blues and rhythm & blues, jazz was our music (this included the great band and ballad singers). We especially obsessed over Thelonious Monk, James Moody, Lady Day, and John Lee Hooker. Another Midland guy I need to mention is Jimmy C. Jimmy C. was especially taken with the alto saxophonist Jackie McLean. I didn't get Jackie at the time, when we were in high school. Today when asked if I have any regrets in life, I answer with my sole regret: I didn't hear Jackie McLean in person.
On two occasions whilst in high school a few of us travelled to Manhattan. The first time, two of the girls secured a hotel room while the rest of the party crept in. We heard Chris Connor and and Kenny Burrell's trio with Richard Davis and Roy Haynes at the Village Vanguard and Al Cohn and Zoot Sims with Mose Allison on piano. The second time was during the Christmas break. John Z. and I sat and talked with multi-instrumentalist Roland Kirk at the Half Note. A former classmate of ours, Mike M. had moved our east, first to Nutley, N. J. then to Manhattan. Mike was an artist and gypsy cab driver. He pops up again later in our little tale.
I must mention Pieter W. here. Pieter drove our gang to Manhattan the first time in the family Chevy station wagon. Pieter's dad, Karl chose our route for us. It consisted of avoiding each and every freeway to the east coast, and using instead the back roads of Ohio and Pennsylvania. The trip took 24 hours with all of the stop signs and all. Pieter was one of my best friends in high school. And he remains one of my best friends.
To Launch or To Crash
We partied at my Massachusetts address. Pieter's Colorado address was both a staging pad for us if we were going to parties or doing some other stuff and a Sunday rest home for weary party animals. Though Pieter's dad was an advertising executive at McCann-Erickson ( a "Mad Man", but who knew what evils television would bring), Karl and Peg (Pops and Moms) ran an antique business out of their home, under the trade-style of Sign of the Blue Onion. As a result of their antique business, they were away from home on weekends - traipsing through the back roads of Pennsylvania no doubt, hence our Manhattan directions.
Sundays at Sign of the Blue Onion were quiet times. Sometimes there would be caraway seed cake. Pieter had a facility for mixing orange juice and milk and thereby creating a creamsicle like drink. We talked about people we disliked, pricks we met a parties or on the playground. We talked about our unsuccessful doings with the fair sex. We talked about our sexual no-contests. We spoke of our girl troubles mostly. We gave each other advice.
There was no music on Sundays. "Frantic" Ernie Durham was not on he air then. One summer we sat on the Hamilton-Davidson overpass near Willard school many nights at about 11 PM. Ernie D. drove a Cadillac convertible. It appeared that the Frantic One was engaged in a "creep". You know he was seeing his lady who lived in the neighborhood between his radio broadcasts. You know the Luther Vandross tune, "Superstar". So we'd sit on the overpass and wave to Frantic Ernie, encouraging our main man in making his visit. "Frantic" Ernie Durham was one of my heroes then. Doc Greene the columnist for the Detroit News was another of my heroes. Both Frantic and Doc drove Cadillac convertibles. Both were regal. I remember being at the Minor Key one evening when Doc Greene walked in with Stan Getz who was performing there that evening. I thought two gods had walked in. Doc's cadillac was parked right in front of the place. Doc reminded me of Stan Kenton in appearance; he was tall, with silver hair, and very well dressed. Again that much-missed style-thing was in play. No one watched television back then. That's the stylistic difference. We were better off, I think, without CNN, MSNBC, FOX, and ESPN.
I moved from Massachusetts St. in Highland Park in my senior year. I commuted to school from our flat at 16202 Princeton St. on the west side of Detroit. After I graduated, my family and I moved to 16856 Baylis near 6 mile which was also on the west side and closer to Highland Park. My Highland Park friendships remained in tact. I still had parties at the Princeton address.
After we moved to the Baylis address, I went to Manhattan with Lance V. and Pete D. We stayed with Mike M. and his friend Joel P. in an artist loft at 326 Bowery, across the street from the famous Five Spot jazz club down from Cooper Union. Lance drove his gigantic convertible some make or other. I remained in Manhattan after Lance V. and Pete D. split. Mike, Joel and I worked at Stouffer's Top of The Sixes at 666 Fifth Ave. near MOMA. I had a great time while I lived there. I heard Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, Rahsaan Roland Kirk together at the Village Gate. I heard Ornette Coleman at the Five Spot. I heard Teddy Charles with Mal Waldron at the Jazz Gallery.
We all worked six days a week. We got two meals a day at Stouffer's. We had enough money left over on Sunday for a potato pancake from the deli. Mike M. became a successful artist in New York. I returned to Detroit in the fall of 1961.
Well that's it for the Highland Park thing. There are other close friendships that I also developed with other Highland Park folks especially with Bill H., Thom P. and Jim M. I treated my special relationships with Paperbacks Unlimited and its partners and with Kenny Cockrel, Sr. (R.I.P.) at length in earlier posts.
Regarding the absence of surnames: such additions would not mean much to readers who didn't know the bearers of the missing surname; readers who knew or know these persons can supply the names for themselves (makes it more fun); the persons whose surnames I have included are worthy of mention; and yes, I am lazy.
R. W. White
18 September 2013
Soundtrack
