And All That Jazz – Roy Cleife (40th)

I was very lucky when in the Autumn of 1964 I was posted to the British Embassy in Washington DC. When I had attended PMC for my special duties interview some months earlier, I had been told there was no chance when I had nominated DC as my first choice. The main reason I was so pleased to receive this posting was because I had been a jazz fan for almost 10 years, gratefully introduced to the music by an older cousin. Although I did not dislike the Beatles, Rolling Stones, and other bands of the era, for me it was Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster, Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson the bands of Duke Ellington and Count Basie, plus countless other musicians. So this cherished posting was going to allow me to see, first-hand, some of the people I idolized. Hopefully.

A few weeks after arriving in the States it was Thanksgiving Day and I received no less than seven invitations from new American friends I barely knew. I accepted one from Bill and Pattie Lauritzen who lived nearby in Silver Spring, Maryland. In accepting I had the temerity to say to Bill I might have to leave early in the evening. The Thanksgiving dinner was at 3pm in the afternoon. The reason for my apparently rude behavior was because the Oscar Peterson trio were playing a one-off show at The Showboat Lounge down in the city that evening. Bill assured me this was not a problem. Bill went on to become a lifelong friend until his death a few years ago. He made the journey from South Carolina (where he retired) over to the UK every October.

And so, to the Showboat Lounge. This was a dark, basement establishment in the north of the city, where the resident musician was the guitarist Charlie Byrd. He had earlier studied the instrument under the Spanish classical guitarist Andres Segovia. He also taught music at American University during the day. Needless to say, the Oscar Peterson trio were magnificent, and I was star-struck from the moment the show commenced. You could have heard a pin drop as the audience was so attentive and appreciative. Oscar was accompanied on drums by Ed Thigpen, and on bass by the legendary Ray Brown, who earlier had been married to Ella Fitzgerald. I was so star-struck that I found myself following the trio out of the building when they took their mid-show interval. I asked Oscar for his autograph, and he enquired if I was English. Having affirmed this, he then said we had something in common. “We have the same Queen” he replied, noting my look of incredulity, and then explained that he had been born in Montreal, Canada. “Look”, Oscar said to me, “we are going for a beer. Please join us”. Pinching myself, and with my mouth wide open, I accompanied them into a nearby bar for a cold Budweiser. Oscar was easy to talk to, telling me that he had always found British audiences the most appreciative of all. I could not wait to tell my mates of this, including Bill, the next day. What a night?

During my tour I was fortunate enough to see John Coltrane, Stan Getz, Ella Fitzgerald (3 times), Frank Sinatra (twice) and the Count Basie orchestra (twice) and a lot of other musicians.

In September 1965 it was my parents Silver Wedding anniversary and I was fortunate to get on an indulgence flight from Washington, on to Colorado Springs, then back to Bermuda and eventually to Lyneham. I was also able to obtain an indulgence flight 10 days later that got me back to Andrews Air Force base just outside DC. When I arrived at my apartment it was a Friday afternoon, and I rang a friend of mine to ask what the plans were for the weekend. “A gang of us are going to Shady Grove tomorrow evening”, he replied. “What’s on there”, I asked. “Tony Bennett, Oscar Peterson and the Duke Ellington orchestra”, he said. “We didn’t know when you were getting back so didn’t get you a ticket”. Shady Grove was a concert hall, designed like an amphitheater (but with a roof) and was in the countryside near Rockville, about 5 miles from where I was living. I immediately rang its box office to see if I could purchase a ticket. My call was answered by a charming American lady, who immediately asked if I was English. This was a common burden to us Brits. When I confirmed that I was, she then asked what I was doing in the US of A. Working at the British Embassy always seemed to impress. In answer to my question, she asked if I could call back first thing in the morning but did not explain why. She also asked if I was married. I called first thing in the morning with bated breath. My by now flirtatious friend then explained that the seating in the hall led down to a semi-circular stage. In the very middle and at the front were 3 seats. They had held these in the hope of selling them to 3 people. This had not occurred so they had just sold the pair and would I like the spare seat. “Would I”? I could not believe my luck and couldn’t wait to tell the gang.

We all drove out to Bill’s country club for a meal before the show and then went on to Shady Grove. I joined the queue to obtain my ticket from the box office and noticed there were several caravans parked nearby. As I was staring at them, the door of one of them opened and there stood Oscar Peterson. He glanced quizzically at me and then walked over in my direction. “Have we met some place?”, he asked. Barely able to get my words out, I reminded him of our meeting at the Showboat Lounge twelve months earlier. He said he remembered and then asked me to enjoy the show. My fellows in the queue gave me some strange looks.

I could not believe my good fortune as I took my seat. It was about ten feet from the stage and level with it. The show opened with the Oscar Peterson trio (he pretended not to recognize me). After almost an hour, the trio were replaced by Tony Bennett, accompanied by his long-term pianist Ralph Sharon (who was born in London). It was Ralph who gave Tony Bennett his signature song: “I left my heart in San Francisco”. Naturally, that number was included in Tony’s show. Throughout his whole performance, Mr Bennet stood just a few feet away from me. Unbelievable. I can still remember what he was wearing: a navy blue tuxedo, pale blue shirt, and a navy blue bow tie (which he loosened towards the end of his performance).

After the interval, it was the turn of the great Duke. The first man to stroll onto the stage was Johnny Hodges carrying his old, battered music case. He had commenced playing his alto saxophone with the Duke in 1928 and remained with it – apart from a few years in the 1950s. As he tuned up, other members of the orchestra began to take their places, some of whom I recognized, and when all had formed, they commenced playing a few numbers. When they played the signature tune: “Take the A Train”, the Duke himself pranced onto the stage wearing a gold lame suit. At the conclusion of this number, he announced to the audience: “The band and me want you to know that we love you madly!” Something he always said at every performance. It got the customary cheers. The orchestra played a few more numbers before the Duke, swiveling round on his pian stool, announced the following: “I am going to make a change to our schedule this evening. I am aware there is at least one Englishman in the audience tonight and I am going to play something I have never played in public before. It is called A Single Petal of a Rose. I have made two recordings. One is in the Library of Congress and the other I presented to the lovely lady it is dedicated to: Her Majesty the Queen of England.” I was completely spellbound. The following piano solo from the Duke was quite beautiful. Was I the English gentlemen the Duke had referred to? On the way home the gang told me not to be so “bloody daft!” Although I will never know I vainly like to pretend I was. One of the gang in the car was from Stirling and he kept grumbling about the Queen of England!