J. Thomas Pride
Something Very Hip Happened
In Highland Park
R. W. White
12 October 2012
This evening at 11:15 PM, October 12, 2012 I am thinking about Thom Pride.
Thom has leukemia. He was diagnosed with this awful, painful disease within the
last month. Because of his age–nearly 73 years old—there is little that the doctors
can do for him, except pain medication for his terrible pain that he experiences
around the clock. He cannot eat regular foods because of the intense pain that
eating brings with it. As a pre-teen, I witnessed my maternal grandparents suffer
from the intense pain that came with their cancers. Thinking about Thom’s present
painful life this evening, and feeling both his presence and the presences of Hobert
and Mamie Thomas; and considering Thom’s present pain and the past pains of my
grandparents, has disturbed me and upset my calm life—I can’t find the right music
this evening. So, I’m writing down these inadequate thoughts against the music—
it’s Bach’s Goldberg Variations playing now, previously it was Bobby Hackett with
Jackie Gleason’s Orchestra, before that it was Chopin, before Chopin it was Liszt.
Usually I cannot read while listening to music; but most often I can write while
listening to music. This evening I need music and I need to write about Thom Pride
and me. Gustav Leonhardt’s harpsichord and his Goldberg Variations sound awful
to these ears this evening. I’m afraid to try Lady Day; Billie Holiday would destroy
me I fear. Ah, let’s try James Moody—someone who Thom and I grew up with
(musically) in Highland Park—has to be hip doesn’t it?
This evening I’m thinking about my first vivid impression of Thom Pride—
T. Pride to some. The image that I keep coming back to concerns an afternoon,
lunchtime DJ program that Thom hosted in the auditorium of Highland Park High
School. (I’ve got Mr Moody’s “Flute N The Blues” with “Little” Johnny Coles nice
trumpet solo followed by “Birdland Story” with that fabulous vocal by Eddie Jefferson
helping me now.) This impression is from 1958. Thom was spinning Yusef Lateef’s
recent LP Jazz for Thinkers. During these halcyon days, days without mobile
phones, text messaging, email and associated bothers; we liked to think of ourselves
in soulful, knowing terms; we convened for weekly symposia on Fridays and Saturdays;
often these drinks parties filled with music, discussions, and lame hits on those
present—the objects of our desires—were held at my house at 124 Massachusetts.
Our Sunday evenings were often spent at Pieter Wiest’s Colorado address. These
Sunday symposia were held without drinks and without music. At Pieter’s house
on Sunday evenings we tried to get our stories of the previous Friday and Saturday
straight, going on about our lame or non-existent hits and surfeit misses with the
Misses. These were quiet beautiful times. Whether Thom was involved in all of these
weekend sets or get-togethers, I do not remember; but I feel today that his presence
was everywhere in Highland Park—he was indeed a “big man” on the HPHS campus.
After having been released from Highland Park High School (HPHS), Thom and
I ran the streets together—Twelfth Street, Hamilton Avenue, Boston and Chicago
Blvd.s; in the Chit-Chat Lounge talking to a couple of prostitutes just back from a
Baptist convention in Windsor, Ontario, Canada; staying out of sight in the Rage Bar
on Davidson when the nightly brawl was underway; trying to get next to sadity girls
on Boston and Chicago Blvd.s; attending “get-togethers” or “sets” in the company
of Percy Lyle, Floyd Bright, Frank Paritee, Ralph Cooper et al., in our three or four
button, three piece suits, button-down shirts, print ties looking like the Modern Jazz
Quartet or straight out of GQ. There were basement parties with very hip music—
rhythm and blues and Blue Note jazz (Brubeck’s Jazz Goes to College, especially
“Balcony Rock” recorded at Hill Auditorium in Ann Arbor thrilled us too).
Then there were other nights when Thom heard that something was going on at
a cousin’s crib. So we’d fall by cousin X’s. Even in our formative, post-HPHS days,
Thom knew everyone—I’ve rarely been anyplace with Thom when we didn’t run into
someone who Thom knew. There were occasions when Thom and I actually did get
next to a couple of young women. On one of these occasions Thom was paired with
Miss Y and I was paired with Miss Z, or so I believed. Thom had another idea. He
called me to inquire about a trade , his Miss X for my Miss Z. He claimed that he
had done a survey and his proposed substitution of X for Z would be best. So long
as I was next to either X or Z it didn’t matter to me. And in fact the subsequent
arrangement was quite satisfactory for me.
When we were in high school, “Frantic” Ernie Durham was our disc-jockey. Our
DJ used to call on a woman who lived in the Willard Elementary School neighbor-
hood. Ernie-D’s creep occurred at a precise time each weekday night—around 11:30
PM, I think. Our gang would sit on the overpass at Davidson and Hamilton and
wait for Ernie-D’s Cadillac convertible (I recall that D’s ride was white, similar
to “Doc” Greene’s). When “Frantic” Ernie drove by we’d shout “Frantic, Frantic,
Frantic . . . ”. Highland Park “creeps” seldom went unnoticed.
Thom Pride conferred massive displays of kindness and generosity toward me
throughout much of my life. When Maria and I were married in 1965, Thom and
Ralph Cooper gave a large reception and party for us at the Pontchartrain Hotel in
downtown Detroit. He got me a job at J. Walter Thompson. And he gave me a job
with his company, JTP and Associates when I didn’t have a job—I did produce an
ad in The New Yorker for Turnbull’s Mustard while at JTP.
I imagine that Thom’s regard for me and my fortunes were among the reasons that
my mother, Joyce Lorraine (White) Kilpatrick regarded Thom so highly. It was also
because of my mother’s high regard that Thom regarded me as his brother.
Thom showed my mother and my stepfather, James Kilpatrick, a lot of love in return.
Thom was a very good athlete, especially in tennis and golf. After I was married,
I took up tennis - I was never very good; I thought I was good because I could serve
and return serve; but before and after serve and return of serve, I couldn’t “ball”,
as they say today. Thom and I used to play on Sunday mornings at Palmer Park.
Thom would appear sometimes with a tennis-ball canister of martinis, having been
up into the early morning hours enjoying, among other things, martini-like items. I
didn’t have a chance at beating Thom at tennis.
I never played golf with Thom; I wouldn’t have dared.
. . .
As Amiri Baraka wrote of the pianist Walter Davis, Jr., I’m sure that:
Wherever [Thom] is, something very hip is happening!
