I
am sitting in the Diner on 116th Street, just opposite the Cat House.
I have on my best front, two tones, and a white cotton shirt with a
rounded collar and a gold tie pin under the knot pinned through the
points. I look the business. My skin tone is normally on the dark
side so I could pass for a light Mulato. But I have decided my story
is one of opportunist ship jumping. I have jumped ship from the
Carinthia, docked in the East River, and bound back to Liverpool. I
have $500 in my pocket and need work and a room. From my time as Fats
I know this Diner is frequented by muso's, I just have to wait. Sure
enough after two cups of coffee and a doughnut in walks half the
Ellington band. Well the sax section anyway. The small rabbit like
Johnny Hodges and the bull like Ben Webster amongst them. I let them
get settled and then go over and introduce myself. Say I"m
looking for a gig, is there any woodsheding going on? I say all this
in a Limey accent which intrigues them for a start. I relate how I
was part of the band in the first class lounge of the Carinthia, and
have decided to seek my fortune in the Big Apple.
They
tell me to sit down and quiz me on a few standards. Do I know the
changes. That sort of thing. I obviously pass the test and they give
me an address of a rehearsal room up on 118th St.
"A
few cats are setting their stall out, you might be just what they
need," says Ben Webster. "The piano may be missing a few
keys, though.
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