Originally scheduled for November 1, 2009, to coincide with the release of my book, Leroy 'Hog' Cooper on Sax, I have run into some minor problems. As a result, I expect o celebrate Leroy's life and career in early 2010.
I have been fortunate enough to locate a photo-journalist that knew Leroy in the '70s in Europe. Leroy was touring with Ray Charles at the time and the band returned to Europe annually. Val Wilmer and Leroy become strong acquaintances during those visits. In fact, I remember Leroy telling me that Val was one of the writers and photographers that took a particular interest in him, as opposed to other members of Ray Charles' band, and wrote articles about him. He specifically remembered her writing one for a publication named Melody Maker.
Val has chosen to be the last person to use a computer as her primary means of communicating. In fact, she does not have an email address or website, so finding her was a challenge. With the help of a researcher and musical archivist, Joel Dufour, I finally reached Val by way of cables under the 'pond' or through some complicated satellite device orbiting the earth. Val has provided me with some new (old, really, but new to me) photos and articles about Leroy. I feel that her contributions add enough value to the book to continue our mutual pursuit in preserving Leroy Cooper's memory.
Additionally, I have had the opportunity to speak to one of Leroy Cooper's high school teachers, Myrtle Sloane. We spoke once and she remembers Leroy. I am hoping to interview her in upcoming weeks.
As more information has become available, my decision was to postpone publication until all avenues and resources had been exhausted. It is important to me that this book provide a complete chronicle, or as close as possible, of Leroy's life story. There is so much I will never know that I can't share with the world, but every little piece of the puzzle adds more depth to his character and I don't want any of it to be lost.
Joel Dufour has sent me some detailed information about some of the musicians Leroy played with during his career. The humility that Leroy displayed prevented him from describing himself in terms of some of the great blues musicians that others in his field would want to learn about.
Deadlines can be moved. Tributes can be delayed. For the sake of my subject, it seems important to do both.
Including:
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Sneeze
At around 9:00 o’clock in the morning I was sitting in my car, on Park Avenue across from the Amtrak parking lot listening to B.B. King sing a duet with Roger Daltrey, the vocalist of The Who.
Between the prestigious college campus and the Morse Museum, Park Avenue was lined with shops and cafes on one side of the street. Across from the upscale boutiques and eateries was the park itself. Large oak trees shaded several blocks of open space. There were benches under some of the trees. The grass of the park was freshly mowed and the bushes of bright red pentas were in full bloom.
I watched as people made use of the parallel parking skills they learned in high school. They maneuvered their cars between the evenly spaced white lines, which became more difficult as the parking spots filled up. In this situation, the compulsion to arrive early paid off. Hungry parking meters lined the sidewalk waiting to eat coins. Those feeding them were literally buying time.
“One hour parking between 9 AM and 6 PM.” Red words painted on white signs.
I heard the clicking of heels and looked in my rearview mirror. The woman carried a large, scarlet leather satchel which matched her pumps. Her heart shaped face was framed with black hair that curved in toward her chin, accentuating perfectly painted red lips. Shoulders back, head erect, she was rushing down the sidewalk as if it were a fashion runway.
Instinct told me that she was late to work. Distracted, she didn’t notice my car or hear the music emanating from it.
She was almost even with my window when she stopped suddenly and sneezed. Then again. And again. She had tried to stifle the first sneeze but the second and third one could not be held back.
“God bless you,” I said, through the open window of my car.
She turned and stared at me silently for a moment. The impression was that of a manikin that had become human against her will.
“Thank you,” she said. In one fluid motion she leaned her head down pushing her hand into her red bag and pulling out a tissue just before another sneeze contorted her face. I watched to see how such a carefully put-together woman could blow her nose without messing her makeup. She dabbed at her nose with the tissue trying not to smudge the outline of lipstick. I looked away.
When I looked back, she had turned and was crossing the railroad tracks. She approached the Amtrak station’s ticket window and, once again, reached into her satchel retrieving a wallet. A transaction took place.
Within minutes I heard the horn and then the clacking of the train as it slowed to a full stop in front of the small station. The woman turned away from the building. She walked stiffly to the second car of the train and boarded.
A man had stepped off the train carrying a guitar case. Moments later, he saw my car, crossed the tracks, leaned into the window and kissed me.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. We kissed again.
“Get in,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Between the prestigious college campus and the Morse Museum, Park Avenue was lined with shops and cafes on one side of the street. Across from the upscale boutiques and eateries was the park itself. Large oak trees shaded several blocks of open space. There were benches under some of the trees. The grass of the park was freshly mowed and the bushes of bright red pentas were in full bloom.
I watched as people made use of the parallel parking skills they learned in high school. They maneuvered their cars between the evenly spaced white lines, which became more difficult as the parking spots filled up. In this situation, the compulsion to arrive early paid off. Hungry parking meters lined the sidewalk waiting to eat coins. Those feeding them were literally buying time.
“One hour parking between 9 AM and 6 PM.” Red words painted on white signs.
I heard the clicking of heels and looked in my rearview mirror. The woman carried a large, scarlet leather satchel which matched her pumps. Her heart shaped face was framed with black hair that curved in toward her chin, accentuating perfectly painted red lips. Shoulders back, head erect, she was rushing down the sidewalk as if it were a fashion runway.
Instinct told me that she was late to work. Distracted, she didn’t notice my car or hear the music emanating from it.
She was almost even with my window when she stopped suddenly and sneezed. Then again. And again. She had tried to stifle the first sneeze but the second and third one could not be held back.
“God bless you,” I said, through the open window of my car.
She turned and stared at me silently for a moment. The impression was that of a manikin that had become human against her will.
“Thank you,” she said. In one fluid motion she leaned her head down pushing her hand into her red bag and pulling out a tissue just before another sneeze contorted her face. I watched to see how such a carefully put-together woman could blow her nose without messing her makeup. She dabbed at her nose with the tissue trying not to smudge the outline of lipstick. I looked away.
When I looked back, she had turned and was crossing the railroad tracks. She approached the Amtrak station’s ticket window and, once again, reached into her satchel retrieving a wallet. A transaction took place.
Within minutes I heard the horn and then the clacking of the train as it slowed to a full stop in front of the small station. The woman turned away from the building. She walked stiffly to the second car of the train and boarded.
A man had stepped off the train carrying a guitar case. Moments later, he saw my car, crossed the tracks, leaned into the window and kissed me.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. We kissed again.
“Get in,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Quotes you found notable - challenge
I've shared some quotes taken from novels that are sentences or passages that can stand alone, out of context and still have some profound (maybe that's too strong a word) meaning.
I'd love to see some of yours.
When you're reading a book:
- Do you read simply for content?
- For the author's style?
- For character development?
- For plot development?
- Or do you just read to escape and enjoy a solitary, sometimes guilty pleasure. I call reading a guilty pleasure when my sink is full of dishes, the hamper is full of dirty clothes, the floor needs to be scrubbed or my desk needs to be cleaned. Sometimes, all of the above!
Please share some quotes, including authors and book titles. Also, let me know what specifics you enjoy most from the list above, or add your own, when you're reading a book.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Quotes I found notable
Looking through an old journal, I found several quotes that I had written from novels I was reading at the time. As a writer, I read every sentence carefully. Somewhere I heard that Hemingway often agonized over a single sentence for an entire day. After that, I realized that every sentence may be important as a stand-alone quote.
Here are some that I found in my journal. You can see from these that I have a wide variety of tastes when it comes to selecting books.
"It's a short walk from politics to hell." William Kennedy, Roscoe
"There was the upside of a garden, when one was digging and planting, heaving and hauling, and then the downside, when it was all weeding and grooming and watering and sweating. One had to be fleet to catch the moment in the middle, the mountaintop, when perfection was brief as the visit of a butterfly to an outstretched palm." Jan Karon, Out of Canaan
"Politics is an enemy to family, an opposing force." Nicholas Papandreou, A Crowded Heart
"Ha! I'd become an atheist if God would let me!" Nicholas Papadreou, A Crowded Heart
"Dios, said the waiters and his embarrassed children, he talks to much, they must have vaccinated with a Victrola needle when he was a baby." E. Annie Proulx, Accordion Crimes
"Without the presence of black people in America, European-Americans would not be 'white' -- they would only be Irish, Italians, Poles, Welsh and others engaged in class, ethnic and gender struggles over resources and identity." Cornel West, Race Matters
"Only he who gives thanks for the little things receives the big things." Jan Karon, These High Green Hills
"Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house." Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping
"I like the fastidious pleasure solitary people take in the smallest details of their small comforts. Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping
"Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to." Janet Fitch, White Oleander
After finding these, I will make it a point to document more sentences and passages that are meaningful to me, even when taken out of context.
Here are some that I found in my journal. You can see from these that I have a wide variety of tastes when it comes to selecting books.
"It's a short walk from politics to hell." William Kennedy, Roscoe
"There was the upside of a garden, when one was digging and planting, heaving and hauling, and then the downside, when it was all weeding and grooming and watering and sweating. One had to be fleet to catch the moment in the middle, the mountaintop, when perfection was brief as the visit of a butterfly to an outstretched palm." Jan Karon, Out of Canaan
"Politics is an enemy to family, an opposing force." Nicholas Papandreou, A Crowded Heart
"Ha! I'd become an atheist if God would let me!" Nicholas Papadreou, A Crowded Heart
"Dios, said the waiters and his embarrassed children, he talks to much, they must have vaccinated with a Victrola needle when he was a baby." E. Annie Proulx, Accordion Crimes
"Without the presence of black people in America, European-Americans would not be 'white' -- they would only be Irish, Italians, Poles, Welsh and others engaged in class, ethnic and gender struggles over resources and identity." Cornel West, Race Matters
"Only he who gives thanks for the little things receives the big things." Jan Karon, These High Green Hills
"Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house." Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping
"I like the fastidious pleasure solitary people take in the smallest details of their small comforts. Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping
"Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to." Janet Fitch, White Oleander
After finding these, I will make it a point to document more sentences and passages that are meaningful to me, even when taken out of context.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Adventures at the YMCA - Excerpt
"There was always some professor at the YMCA on weekends. Langston Hughes used to have these poetic sayings and we’d learn about them. They would always make us aware of the black heroes. They didn’t say what they were doing but they wanted us to be aware. Joe Louis used to come out and visit during his heyday.
"We weren’t allowed to go downtown because it was segregated back then. But we had a beautiful Y on the north side. We had a tumbling teacher named Charles Parker. We had whites come over to teach us but we couldn’t go to their Y. But we had everything we needed. On Saturdays they had basketball games all day. I used to take a bologna sandwich and watch games all day. During the summers I went to YMCA camp.
"At the Y we played every kind of music. Red Garland, the famous piano player that played with Miles Davis, was going to the Y at the same time. And Red had a little boys’ band at the Y, so I played clarinet in Red’s band. When I was a junior or senior in high school, Red used to hang around the school. He was older than us. And always playing piano. I knew Red very well.
"I wanted to play sports. That was the fashionable thing to do. At the YMCA my daddy took me away to play the horn. Guys would say, 'Man I thought you was going to be an athlete. Why are you messing with the horn?'"
Copyright Susan Cross, August 2009
It sounds to me like Leroy's dad knew what was best for him.
"We weren’t allowed to go downtown because it was segregated back then. But we had a beautiful Y on the north side. We had a tumbling teacher named Charles Parker. We had whites come over to teach us but we couldn’t go to their Y. But we had everything we needed. On Saturdays they had basketball games all day. I used to take a bologna sandwich and watch games all day. During the summers I went to YMCA camp.
"At the Y we played every kind of music. Red Garland, the famous piano player that played with Miles Davis, was going to the Y at the same time. And Red had a little boys’ band at the Y, so I played clarinet in Red’s band. When I was a junior or senior in high school, Red used to hang around the school. He was older than us. And always playing piano. I knew Red very well.
"I wanted to play sports. That was the fashionable thing to do. At the YMCA my daddy took me away to play the horn. Guys would say, 'Man I thought you was going to be an athlete. Why are you messing with the horn?'"
Copyright Susan Cross, August 2009
It sounds to me like Leroy's dad knew what was best for him.
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