My father (not my dad)

Papa was a 50's jazz guy. Horn in hand, black sheep qualities stirring, he met my Oshawa born mom in Miami after one of his shows and the deal was immediately struck. Three weeks later they were married.

Now, most would say that the odds against such a combination would be astronomical, and they were right. However, it was the moments in between their brief 10 years together that smiled with a strange and haunting life experience.

They moved to Los Angeles in the mid fifties, had my older sister and settled on a life as club owners in the haze of all that was LA hip. As a nod to the original Storyville, they opened Storyville West in order to showcase what my mom to this day calls 'progressive jazz'. For her, that meant, a conversation between players that was never determined and always an adventure.

Most of the players came from the LA scene at the time. The Steve Allen band, the Tonite Show fella's, the cream of the local crop. My dad, sadly packed up his horn in its case and quietly hid it in the back of our Massuchusetts Avenue bungalow for his new role as a club owner. Oh he occaisionally borrowed an instrument to proudly join a conversation on stage, but it was rare and often uncomfortable.

The club had its moments of glory but for the most part, financially it proved to be a difficult living to raise a young family with. When I was born years later, the writing was already on the wall. Eventually, the club closed, my dad left with his pride lost, and my mom, sister and I were forced to fend for ourselves. Oshawa was our next destination.

I didn't really meet my Dad until I was twenty-one. To be honest, we may have had only 5 or 6 moments together in total before his passing a couple of years ago. The rare moments that we DID have together were always peppered with his love of music. He bought me my first copy of Sinatra and Basie's "it might as well be swing" in the Village in New York..... We drove along the coastal highway of California, and listened to the local jazz stations with an abundance of well thought out criticism and/or joy for each record that was played. We visited all of the jazz clubs and studios in New Jersey where he either played or was inspired by. A love of music, was our common ground.

I may not have received alot from my dad, but to be perfectly honest, i wouldn't be working at jazz fm 91 if it hadn't been for some of those moments, and for that, i'm entirely grateful.....