Lush Life

by David Hajdu

  Some 350 mourners were seated for the 10:30 a.m. service as Ellington arrived and marched purposefully to a roped-off pew in the second row of the nineteenth-century Lutheran church; he sat alone. Before him, the altar was decorated with twenty floral arrangements sent by Strayhorn’s family members, friends, admirers, and colleagues like Louis Armstrong and ASCAP; behind him, the congregation included Lena Horne, the Robinsons, Otto Preminger, Benny Goodman, Carmen McRae, Milt Jackson, and Sylvia Syms, in addition to more than a dozen of Strayhorn’s family members, in from Pittsburgh. As a prelude to the service, Randy Weston performed a brooding piano rendition of his composition “Blues for Strayhorn”; at the piece’s conclusion, Weston told the assemblage, “I wrote the song for Billy two years ago. I never thought I’d end up playing it at his funeral. It was difficult for me.” There were brief Bible readings by the Reverend Ralph E. Peterson of St. Peter’s and a meditation by Gensel. Scheduled to give the service’s only eulogy, Ellington braced the front of his pew with two hands as he rose slowly and, gathering himself, walked up and took the pulpit. He had horror in his eyes and a nervous smile. Ellington read what he had written in his hotel room in Reno when he first heard of Strayhorn’s death:

  Poor little Swee’ Pea, Billy Strayhorn, William Thomas Strayhorn, the biggest human being who ever lived, a man with the greatest courage, the most majestic artistic stature, a highly skilled musician whose impeccable taste commanded the respect of all musicians and the admiration of all listeners.

  His audiences at home and abroad marveled at the grandeur of his talent and the mantle of tonal supremacy that he wore only with grace. He was a beautiful human being, adored by a wide range of friends, rich, poor, famous, and unknown. Great artists pay homage to Billy Strayhorn’s God-given ability and mastery of his craft.

  Because he had a rare sensitivity and applied himself to his gifts, Billy Strayhorn successfully married melody, words, and harmony, equating the fitting with happiness. His greatest virtue, I think, was his honesty, not only to others, but to himself. His listening-hearing self was totally intolerant of his writing-playing self when, or if, any compromise was expected, or considered expedient.

  He spoke English perfectly and French very well, but condescension did not enter into his mind. He demanded freedom of expression and lived in what we consider the most important and moral of freedoms: freedom from hate, unconditionally; freedom from self-pity (even throughout all the pain and bad news); freedom from fear of possibly doing something that might help another more than it might himself; and freedom from the kind of pride that could make a man feel he was better than his brother or neighbor.

  His patience was incomparable and unlimited. He had no aspirations to enter into any kind of competition, yet the legacy he leaves, his oeuvre, will never be less than the ultimate on the highest plateau of culture (whether by comparison or not).

  God bless Billy Strayhorn.

  Father Norman J. O’Connor, a Catholic priest active in the jazz world, said a prayer, and the service ended with Billy Taylor and Ray Nance, on piano and violin, performing “Take the ‘A’ Train” as a dirge. At Aaron Bridgers’s initiation, a small group—Grove, Cook, the Logans, and a few others—walked to the West Side and took the A train up to Harlem for a round of toasts to Strayhorn at the Showman’s.

  As he had stipulated in his will, Strayhorn’s body was cremated. On the Saturday morning following the public memorial, his closest intimates, except Ellington, who was back on the road, gathered at the 79th Street boat basin at the foot of Riverside Park, where Strayhorn used to take his morning strolls. It was a balmy, still summer morning, sunless. A sluggish breeze drifted off the Hudson. A few houseboats rocked on their moorings as Strayhorn’s friends—among them, Bill Grove, Marian and Arthur Logan, Ruth Ellington, Honi Coles, Cookie Cook, and Bill Coleman—huddled uneasily on the macadam waterway. The Reverend John Gensel, his back to the river, led the assemblage in prayer. “I read a few words,” said Gensel, “and everyone closed his eyes, and I remember thinking about the weather. It was so warm and calm, exactly like Strayhorn’s music.” He turned and emptied Strayhorn’s ashes into the air over the water, and a breeze lifted them away.

  Fulfilling his uncle’s request, Gregory Morris took over Strayhorn’s estate. Valued at under fifty thousand dollars in cash, property, and royalties (as they were estimated at the time), Strayhorn’s equity was divided among his family members by a formula they agreed on. None of Strayhorn’s male partners, including Bill Grove, sought or received anything, though rumors spread that Strayhorn had willed the rights to “Take the ‘A’ Train” to Aaron Bridgers. “Somehow, a lot of people got the impression that Billy had set me up,” said Bridgers. “All the way back to Paris, people were saying that they heard Billy had willed me ‘“A” Train.’ I had to call Ruth and tell her, ‘Please put a stop to this. Please tell everybody that Billy didn’t will me anything and I don’t want anything.” A bit of conflict sparked between the Strayhorns and Ruth Ellington (representing Tempo Music) over ownership of the music manuscripts and other papers related to Strayhorn’s work left in his apartment at the time of his death, some half-dozen boxes of original manuscripts, copyists’ scores, band parts, published sheet music, and so on. “She [Ruth Ellington] said, ‘That music was Billy’s. It belongs to us,’” said Gregory Morris. “In other words, ‘Billy belonged to us.’ We had a big problem with that point of view.” As Ruth Ellington Boatwright later explained her position, “I was simply looking after Edward’s business interests in my capacity as president of Tempo Music. Billy worked for Edward. Therefore, his work was rightfully Edward’s.”*

  Ellington himself, his veneer of insouciance scraped thin by grief, appeared more deeply affected by the loss of his longtime artistic companion than by any setback since his mother’s death thirty-two years earlier. “It was a big blow to the old man,” said Mercer Ellington. “He couldn’t accept any kind of misfortune—that was one of the secrets of his success. He couldn’t accept that Strayhorn really wasn’t there anymore. It was too huge a shock to his system.” A famous insomniac who rested with occasional catnaps, Ellington started heading to bed earlier (that is, around two or three in the morning, rather than five or six) and sleeping straight through to the next afternoon; yet he appeared more listless and, to some, detached. “Arthur told Edward he was depressed,” said Marian Logan. “He told him he had to do something to come out of it.” Within the first few months following Strayhorn’s death, Ellington decided to release his grief musically, much as he had by composing his seminal long-form work “Reminiscing in Tempo” after losing his mother. To start, he began arrangements for an all-star concert in tribute to Strayhorn (eventually held on October 6, 1968, at New York’s Philharmonic Hall and featuring Lena Horne, Tony Bennett, Joe Williams, and Lou Rawls, as well as Duke Ellington and His Orchestra); the proceeds would be donated to the Juilliard School of Music as seed money for an annual scholarship in Billy Strayhorn’s name. Joe Morgen handled publicity for the event, a task that he took to include responsibility for ensuring that Ellington’s public remorse would not be interpreted as anything other than collegial and purely fraternal affection. For an article on Ellington’s initiation of the Strayhorn scholarship in the black digest Jet, Morgen provided what he said was material from an unpublished exclusive interview in which Strayhorn defended his bachelorhood. “Look, I’m an individualist. The rugged kind. I don’t bat an eye when the fellows in the band call me a character,” he has Strayhorn blustering. “Love or not, I wouldn’t subject a wife to the road. It’s punishment. Often I work around the clock scoring the exacting music for Ellington. I’ve gone days without shaving. Kept awake with coffee, cigarettes and chewed pencil tips. I snarl at little children. I’m not fit company for man nor beast. The chosen Eve of my life surely has no reason to put up with that cross-section.” Morgen sent the “interview” to Leonard Feather, who commented, “It was quite accurate—as a description of Joe Morgen. Ellington
, to his credit, grieved terribly for Billy because he loved him. Unfortunately, some people couldn’t accept that any better than they accepted Billy when he was alive.”

  At the same time Ellington was putting together the Philharmonic benefit, he was preparing to record a musical tribute to Strayhorn: an album of new renditions of Strayhorn and Ellington-Strayhorn compositions. Made in the RCA Records studios in New York three months after Strayhorn’s death, the record included both well-known Strayhorn pieces (“Rain Check,” “Day Dream,” “My Little Brown Book”) and rarities (“Snibor” and “Boo-Dah,” the latter title derived from his friends’ nickname for him). The sessions were shaded gray by Strayhorn’s shadow. “You kept expecting to turn your head and see him,” said Jimmy Hamilton. “You knew all the guys was thinking about Swee’ Pea.” They played like it: the album is full of trenchant solos, particularly by Johnny Hodges (and especially on “Day Dream,” the first song he and Strayhorn recorded together, nearly forty years earlier). As one session ended, the band members packed up and talked a bit while Ellington sat alone at the piano, as he had done at the conclusion of so many performances, and played “Lotus Blossom” for himself. This time, however, one of the studio tape recorders hadn’t been turned off, and the performance—solemn, tormented, unnervingly intimate—was captured. At the urging of the producer, Brad McCuen, Ellington agreed to use it as the album’s final track, the flubbed notes and ambient studio noises only enhancing the dramatic reality of the moment, a coda of closure.

  Having paid musical tribute to Strayhorn, Ellington soon recovered his ardent regality and resumed his traditional schedule of touring and composing; indeed, he seemed to dedicate himself to his music with relentless drive. “I’m writing more than ever now,” Ellington told an interviewer. “I have to. Billy Strayhorn left that big, yawning void.”

  A year after Strayhorn’s death, on the last Sunday morning in May 1968, Marian and Arthur Logan led a few of Strayhorn’s friends back to the 79th Street boat basin, where they had watched Strayhorn’s ashes blow away. “We said a few prayers, and a boatkeeper came up and asked what we were doing there,” said Marian Logan. “I told him a friend of ours died a year ago today and we came here to remember him. He said, ‘I was just curious, because another fellow had been here a little while ago.’ We looked down the walkway, and there was Duke, all alone in the distance, slowly walking along the river.” Ellington honored Strayhorn aptly, in the eloquence of anonymity.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to:

  Aaron Bridgers, Gil Evans, and Gary Giddins for their support early on and when it mattered most.

  Editors Jonathan Galassi and Paul Elie of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, whose patient nurturing and clear-eyed guidance made this book this book.

  Walter van de Leur, the musicologist I met trying to map the same twisting and sometimes dark road that I was, who soon became my companion in research, my most trusted counselor, and my dear friend.

  Chris Calhoun, agent and more.

  Stanley Crouch, Karla Eoff, Robert Frenay, Krin Gabbard, Roy Hemming, Fred Hersch, Mary Makarushka, Dan Morgenstern, Albert Murray, Loren Schoenberg, Roslyn Schloss, Mark Tucker, Jerry Valburn, Michele Wallace, and, again, Walter van de Leur, for reading the manuscript and galleys in various stages and providing invaluable advice on matters large and small.

  Barbara Lea, Mary Cleere Haran, and, again, Loren Schoenberg and Fred Hersch, for musical aid.

  Strayhorn family members: Cheryll Chakrabarti, Adrienne Alyce Claerbaut, Michael Conaway, Robert Conaway, Donna Strayhorn Davis, Leslie Demus, Lillian Strayhorn Dicks, Creola Grady, Thelma Morris, Carole Strayhorn, Darryl A. Strayhorn, Deborah Strayhorn, James Strayhorn, Larry Strayhorn, William Strayhorn, and especially Gregory Morris, executor of the Billy Strayhorn estate.

  Ellington family members: Ruth Ellington Boatwright, Mercedes Ellington, Mercer Ellington, and Michael James.

  My good friends at the New York arm of the Duke Ellington Society (TDES, Inc.), especially presidents Douglas Bray, Tom Detienne, Tom Harris, Morris Hodara, and Lynne Mueller, as well as Rich Ehrenzeller, Bruce Kennan, and all my fellow members.

  Those I interviewed and quoted in this book: Lionel Abel, Muriel Boyd Albitz, Sally Amato, Edmund Anderson, Louis Applebaum, Svend Asmussen, Cholly Atkins, George Avakian, Dave Bailey, Harold Belcher, Louie Bellson, Sathima Bea Benjamin, Jean Berdin, Abba Bogin, Claude Bolling, Frederick Brewington, Clyde Broadus, Ernest Brown, William Brown, Perry Bruskin, Ralph Burns, Diahann Carroll, Benny Carter, Billy Catizone, Dini Clarke, Rosemary Clooney, Maria Ellington Cole, Bill Coleman, Willie Cook, Buster Cooper, Maurice Cullaz, Helen Oakley Dance, Stanley Dance, Blossom Dearie, Carmen DeLavallade, Alan Douglas, Miriam Machiz Dworkin, Jerome Eisner, Rolf Ericson, Merlie Evers, Bill Finegan, Dorothy Ford Gardin, Linton Garner, Michel Gaudry, Pastor John Garcia Gensel, Frank Goldberg, Claire Gordon, Norman Granz, Stephane Grappelli, George Greenlee, Dick Gregory, Johnny Griffin, Chico Hamilton, Slide Hampton, Luther Henderson, Jon Hendricks, Harry Herforth, Al Hibbler, Kenneth Hill, Lois Hill, Lena Horne, Dr. Orva Lee Ice, Phoebe Jacobs, Ahmad Jamal, Marshall Jamison, Herb Jeffries, Mary Joliffe, Herbie Jones, Orrin Keep-news, Eartha Kitt, Ralph Kroger, John Lamb, Irwin Landau, Ray Leavy, Henry Lee, Gerhart Lehner, Alfred Leslie, Willard Levitas, John Lewis, Teo Macero, Marian McPartland, Jimmy McPhail, Christopher Manos, Mildred Dixon Manos, Wendell Marshall, Herbert Martin, Samuel Matlovsky, Peter Matz, Jimmy Maxwell, Billy May, James Minor, Dwike Mitchell, Jimmy Monici, Joyce Mordecai, LeRoy Myers, Dorcas Neal, Paul Newman, Bernard Oshei, Gustava Goldberg Pagan, Gordon Parks, Bill Patterson, Thomas Patterson, Mimi Perrin, Brock Peters, Michael Phelan, Marie Pleasant, Albert Popwell, Hope Preminger, Jack Purcell, Frank Raucci, Helen Reis, Larry Rivers, Max Roach, Henry “Phace” Roberts, Rachel Robinson, Timmie Rogers, Jimmy Rowles, Willie Ruff, Pete Rugolo, Bruno Salvaterra, Michael Scrima, Sam Shaw, Joya Sherrill, Roy Shoemaker, Bobby Short, Silvestri Silvestri, Art Simmons, Alice Babs Sjoblom, Wonderful Smith, Frank Spangler, Thelma Spangler, Fred Staton, James Stevens, James Stewart, John Stitt, Harold Strange, Creed Taylor, Clark Terry, Rudy Van Gelder, Royce Wallace, George Wein, Beatrice W. Westbrooks, Randy Weston, Fred Whit-linger, Bob Wilber, Haywood Williams, Madeline Grove Williams, Gerald Wilson, John S. Wilson, Kay Davis Wimp, Janet Wolfe, Jimmy Woode, Britt Woodman, Leo Yagella, and Lee Young.

  Those interviewed and not quoted directly: George Arthur, Harold Ashby, Charles Austin, Jean Bach, Butch Ballard, “Peg-Leg” Bates, Nanette Beardon, Aaron Bell, David Berger, Betty Berry, Bill Berry, Dottie Bigard, George Birt, Leona Bishop, Johnny Blowers, Larry Buster, Kenny Cannon, Claude Carriere, Irma Smith Crippen, Maurice Cullaz, Yvonette Cullaz, Jimmy Davis, Dr. Nathan Davis, Pat D’Emilio, Ilene Denver, Mario DiLeo, Alice Eisner, Karen Esch, Ray Esch, Art Farmer, Tommy Flanagan, Robert E. Furgeson, Bubba Gaines, Olive Douglas Gambrell, Herb Gentry, Milt Grayson, Nazeh Islam Hameed, Lionel Hampton, Herbie Hancock, Cleo Hayes, Jimmy Heath, Joe Henderson, Henri, Milt Hinton, Nancy Holloway, Hildred Humphries, Ilene Boyd Hutchinson, Eddie Johnson, Quincy Jones, Dick Katz, Michael Langham, Milton Larkin, Anna Lescsak, Irving Machiz, Junior Mance, Johnny Mandel, Sarah Marks, Jean Mayer, Joe Merenda, Louise Michelle, Grover Mitchell, James Moody, Joyce S. Moore, Gloria Nance, Harold Nicholas, Larry O’Leno, Stewart Prager, “Red” Press, Alexandre Rado, Henri Renaud, Betty Roche, Annie Ross, Nipsy Russell, Monsignor John Sanders, Mary Sanford, Hal Schaeffer, Artie Shaw, George Shearing, Dr. Donald Shirley, Walt Silver, Stanley Silverman, Robert Spatafore, Dakota Staton, Delores Gomez Stevens, Grady Tate, Dr. Billy Taylor, Joe Temperley, Teri Thornton, Norris Turney, Leslie Uggams, George Van Eps, Benny Waters, Hamilton Whitlinger, Geneva Wood, and Marie Pleasant Woods.

  Chip Deffaa for his answers to countless questions, usually before I had to ask.

  James W. Seymore, managing editor of Entertainment Weekly, for support above and beyond the call.

  Brooks Kerr for his passionate interest in this and all things Ellingtonian.

  Ni
sid Hajari and Chris Nashawaty, for innumerable assists.

  The many people who helped in my research, most importantly Deirdre Cossman, James Wardrop, and Marge Wardrop; John Edward Hasse and the staff at the Duke Ellington Collection of the Smithsonian Institution, the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers University, Will Friedwald, the Yale Music Library, the Lincoln Center Library for the Performing Arts, the Schomburg Center for Black Culture, Tom McNulty of the Bobst Library at New York University, Stephen Novak of the Juilliard School Archives, Joan Anderson and the staff of the Pittsburgh Public Library, Steve Doell and the Western Pennsylvania Historical Society, Mary Sanford of the Hillsborough Historical Society, Richard Wang of the Jazz Institute of Chicago, Charles Silver of the Museum of Modern Art research department, Sedge Clark, Stacie Fenster, Tawanda Williams, Jeff Austin, Gretchen Haller, Kipp Cheng, the administration of Westinghouse High School, Irene Dee, Christopher Beall, and members of the Duke Ellington Internet list-serve.

  The staff of Solway House, where I wrote.

  Some conscientious readers of the first hardcover edition, who recommended additions, changes, and corrections: Lucille Orr Crooks, David Fleming, Claire Gordon, George F. Murray, Art Pilkington, and Terry Teachout.

  Those I interviewed who are now gone, including George Abbott, Ted Allen, Talley Beatty, Henry Blankfort, Billy Byers, Sammy Cahn, Cab Calloway, Honi Coles, Chuck Connors, “Wild Bill” Davis, Tibor de Nagy, Bill Dillard, Billy Eckstine, Mercer Ellington, Ray Esch, Veronica Esch, Gil Evans, Leonard Feather, Oliver Fowler, Dizzy Gillespie, Jimmy Hamilton, Roy Hemming, Felrath Hines, Edith “Cue” Hodges, Fran Hunter, Oliver Jackson, Sid Kuller, Marian Logan, Jimmy Lyons, Carmen McRae, Carl McVicker, Dr. Jake Milliones, Gerry Mulligan, Mitchell Parrish, Leslie Peacock, Lee Remick, Marshall Royal, Oliver Smith, Sylvia Syms, Bob Thiele, and Lana Turner.