by Renée Rosen
PRAISE FOR
WINDY CITY BLUES
“Bursting with the vitality of the new blues scene in Chicago in the 1950s and 1960s, and the clash of black and white, Windy City Blues combines big themes of segregation and ill-fated romance with warmth, believability and iconic characters. Like a soaring sax solo, I dug this book.”
—Andrew Gross, author of The One Man
“Rosen does it again! With gorgeous, authentic historical detail and star-crossed lovers you can’t help but root for, Windy City Blues is an up-tempo song of love, music and the civil rights movement.”
—Stephanie Dray, New York Times bestselling coauthor of America’s First Daughter
“Rosen captures the birth of Chicago blues from its shabby inception to its raucous success. She gives us a world of blacks and Jews, migrants and immigrants, musicians and their admirers. I was engrossed by this novel.”
—Mary Morris, author of The Jazz Palace
PRAISE FOR
WHITE COLLAR GIRL
“An unforgettable novel about an ambitious woman’s struggle to break into the male-dominated newspaper world of the 1950s.”
—Sara Gruen, New York Times bestselling author of At the Water’s Edge
“White Collar Girl has it all—a plucky girl reporter, a colorful cast of newsroom characters, a gripping mystery and, best of all, a terrific depiction of the 1950s.”
—Melanie Benjamin, New York Times bestselling author of The Swans of Fifth Avenue
“This story had me from the first sentence.”
—Jeanne Mackin, author of A Lady of Good Family
“A world you will not want to leave.”
—Priya Parmar, author of Vanessa and Her Sister
“As insightful as it is exciting.”
—Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling author of Forever Beach
“Realistic and fascinating . . . At times it appears Rosen has written a romance, and at others that she’s crafted a crime drama worthy of TV. All in all, a compelling must-read.”
—RT Book Reviews (4½ stars, Top Pick, 2015 Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Awards nominee for best historical fiction)
“An entertaining and transportive page-turner.”
—Publishers Weekly
ALSO BY RENÉE ROSEN
White Collar Girl
What the Lady Wants
Dollface
Every Crooked Pot
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Renée Rosen
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Rosen, Renée, author.
Title: Windy City blues / Renee Rosen.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley, [2017]
Identifiers: LCCN 2016049062 (print) | LCCN 2016057078 (ebook) | ISBN 9781101991121 (softcover) | ISBN 9781101991138 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Jewish women—Fiction. | Blues musicians—Fiction. | Interracial dating—Fiction. | Race relations—Illinois—Chicago—Fiction. | Chicago (Ill.)—History—20th century—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Historical. | FICTION / African American / Historical. | FICTION / Literary. | GSAFD: Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3618.O83156 W56 2017 (print) | LCC PS3618.O83156 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016049062
First Edition: February 2017
Cover photos: saxophone player © Blend Images - Jon Feingersh / Getty Images; sixties woman © Rolf Brenner / Getty Images; piano © lbtn/Shutterstock; vinyl record © donatas1205/Shutterstock
Cover design by Sarah Oberrender
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To John Dul for sharing your love of music with me as well as your heart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
• • •
When it comes to writing a novel, it takes a village. At least for me it does, so here is my heartfelt thanks to all those who helped make this book possible.
In terms of my research for Windy City Blues, you’ll see a complete list of sources in my author’s note, but I am also very grateful to Lorra Rudman, who asked, “Do you know Pam Chess?” From there I had the great pleasure of speaking with Pam, who in turn put me in touch with her brother, Terry Chess, and his wife, Roberta. The Chess family graciously shared many stories about growing up with their father, Phil Chess, and their uncle Leonard Chess. Terry was also kind enough to provide me with a copy of Who Do You Love, a movie about Chess Records. Without the support of the Chess family and their willingness to trust me with their memories, I could not have written this book with the kind of authenticity I tried to convey.
Special thanks as well to Keith Dixon, who was a tremendous help and shared many stories with me about his late grandfather, Willie Dixon, the famous blues musician, songwriter and producer. His contributions to the Chicago blues, as well as rock ’n’ roll, are ever present.
My brother, Jerry Rosen, led me to Shelley Stewart, who greatly influenced the character of Red Dupree and helped me take this book to a new level. Shelley is an inspiration and played a pivotal role in what he calls the human rights movement. If I could, I would put a copy of Mattie C.’s Boy: The Shelley Stewart Story by Don Keith into the hands of everyone who thinks life has been unfair to them.
Thank you to my friend Julie Anderson, who came through for me with a coveted copy of Record Row, for turning me onto Born in Chicago and for introducing me to Syl Johnson, who graciously invited us to his home and shared his recollections of Chess, Vee-Jay and the Chicago blues of the fifties and sixties.
The original Maxwell Street sadly no longer exists, but thankfully blues musician Bonnie McKeown put me in touch with Steve Balkin, one of the leading experts on Maxwell Street. Over lox and bagels Steve explained the importance of what was known as Jewtown to Chicago and especially to the birth of the Chicago blues.
Dr. Irving Cutler gave me a guided tour of the old Lawndale neighborhood and what used to be the Maxwell Street market. He also took me by the home that the Chess brothers grew up in on Karlov Avenue. His books have served as valuable reference material for me.
Along the way I was lucky enough to meet blues guitarist Chuck Crane and blues singer Gail Reid. Their insights and generosity and friendship are much appreciated. If you are in Chicago, go see them at Linda’s Place—you can thank me later!
I’d like to thank Teddy Johnson, owner of Teddy’s Juke Joint in Zachary, Louisiana. This is a must-see for those who love the blues. Teddy, you are the real deal. Thank you for your hospitality.
To Phil Ranstrom, who, thanks to a shipping error, hand delivered his brilliant documentary film Cheat You Fair and stuck around long enough for us to become friends.
My education in blues music began with a
stack of CDs from Manny Utset, who is still patiently waiting for their return. My friend Chris Lee was good enough to read this manuscript, and his friendship and support are much appreciated. Thank you to Linda Yellin for her challah metaphor and to Trish Haywood for vetting this book for historical musical accuracy. Additional thanks go out to Jennifer Fisher for her early read and to Andrew Grant for helping me navigate through 1958 London.
I also want to express my appreciation to Joanne Steinback and Ed Finkelstein for their efforts and support for this project in its earliest stages.
A shout-out to those who came to my rescue when I needed a title—especially Stephanie Nelson, who spent much time brainstorming with me and the three people who all came up with the title Windy City Blues: Caryn Sandler Strean, Sara Jordan-Heintz and Berkley’s own Executive Director of Publicity, Craig Burke—thank you, all! Great minds think alike.
I am extremely fortunate to have the support and wisdom of publishing’s very best in my corner. My trusted agent, Kevan Lyon, continues to shepherd my career and soothe my panicky moments. Her assistant and fellow agent, Patricia Nelson, has been instrumental along the way with her razor-sharp eye. At Penguin Random House, the Berkley team is extraordinary, starting with Claire Zion, my editor, who has helped me grow with each book and was the first to say those magic words: “What about the blues?” Lily Choi, who gave us one final and thoughtful read. Craig Burke (again), Danielle Dill and Ryanne Probst, who all work tirelessly to publicize my titles, and Jeanne-Marie Hudson and Fareeda Bullert and all the wonderful folks behind the scenes in marketing who have done an outstanding job promoting my work. Thanks also to Yuki Hirose for her legal expertise. My local sales reps Stefan Moorehead and my dear friend and confidante Brian Wilson—thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Speaking of friends—Karen Abbott, Tasha Alexander, Stacey Ballis, Lisa Kotin, Kelly O’Connor McNees, Amy Sue Nathan, Marianne Nee, Javier Ramirez and the Sushi Lunch Bunch—you make the isolated writing life much less lonely. A special thought of thanks to the late Joe Esselin—you are deeply missed.
To my special girls, Sara Gruen, Brenda Klem and Mindy Mailman—I love you all.
Special love and gratitude for all the support of my family: Debbie Rosen, Pam Rosen, Jerry Rosen, Andrea Rosen, Joey Perilman and Devon Rosen.
To John Dul, who has been part of this book from the very beginning, who rode the Blues Highway with me and has taken me and this book further than I could have imagined—I love you.
Lastly, thanks to all the people who traveled near and far to make Chicago their home, bringing their music and traditions with them.
The blues had a baby and they named it rock ’n’ roll.
—McKinley Morganfield, a.k.a. Muddy Waters
CONTENTS
• • •
Praise for Renée Rosen
Also by Renée Rosen
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue: “Sweet Little Angel”
Part One: 1947–1950 Chapter One: “So Many Roads, So Many Trains”
Chapter Two: “Fishin’ Pole”
Chapter Three: “Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl”
Chapter Four: “Chi-Baba Chi-Baba”
Chapter Five: “Shake for Me”
Chapter Six: “Bilbo Is Dead”
Chapter Seven: “Brown Eyed Handsome Man”
Chapter Eight: “You’ve Got to Love Her with a Feeling”
Chapter Nine: “Sweet Home Chicago”
Chapter Ten: “I Can’t Be Satisfied”
Chapter Eleven: “Old Buttermilk Sky”
Chapter Twelve: “Pistol Slapper Blues”
Chapter Thirteen: “Blow Wind Blow”
Chapter Fourteen: “Ain’t Gonna Give Nobody None of My Jelly Roll”
Chapter Fifteen: “Paying the Cost to Be the Boss”
Chapter Sixteen: “Worried Life Blues”
Chapter Seventeen: “Got My Mojo Working”
Chapter Eighteen: “Something’s Got a Hold on Me”
Chapter Nineteen: “My Sweet Lovin’ Woman”
Chapter Twenty: “Rollin’ and Tumblin’”
Chapter Twenty-one: “I Be’s Troubled”
Chapter Twenty-two: “Smoke Stack Lightning”
Part Two: 1951–1953 Chapter Twenty-three: “Rocket ‘88’”
Chapter Twenty-four: “Tell Mama”
Chapter Twenty-five: “Cross Road Blues”
Chapter Twenty-six: “Hideaway Man”
Chapter Twenty-seven: “I Ain’t Superstitious”
Chapter Twenty-eight: “Call It Stormy Monday”
Chapter Twenty-nine: “The Wolf Is at Your Door”
Chapter Thirty: “Key to the Highway”
Chapter Thirty-one: “Jealous Kinda Love”
Chapter Thirty-two: “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out”
Part Three: 1955–1956 Chapter Thirty-three: “Maybellene”
Chapter Thirty-four: “Mannish Boy”
Chapter Thirty-five: “Every Day I Have the Blues”
Chapter Thirty-six: “It Hurts Me Too”
Chapter Thirty-seven: “Rock and Roll Music”
Chapter Thirty-eight: “Evil Is Going On”
Chapter Thirty-nine: “Shake Your Moneymaker”
Chapter Forty: “The Sky Is Crying”
Chapter Forty-one: “Dust My Broom”
Chapter Forty-two: “I Feel Like Going Home”
Part Four: 1957–1964 Chapter Forty-three: “Blues Before Sunrise”
Chapter Forty-four: “See You Later, Alligator”
Chapter Forty-five: “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man”
Chapter Forty-six: “Ramblin’ on My Mind”
Chapter Forty-seven: “Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do”
Chapter Forty-eight: “Messing with the Kid”
Chapter Forty-nine: “I’d Rather Go Blind”
Chapter Fifty: “Sweet Little Sixteen”
Chapter Fifty-one: “A Change Is Gonna Come”
Chapter Fifty-two: “Rescue Me”
Chapter Fifty-three: “Boom, Boom Out Goes the Lights”
Chapter Fifty-four: “Green Onions”
Chapter Fifty-five: “We Shall Overcome”
Chapter Fifty-six: “Roll Over Beethoven”
Chapter Fifty-seven: “Rollin’ Stone”
Epilogue: “Windy City Blues”
Author’s Note
Readers Guide
About the Author
PROLOGUE
• • •
“Sweet Little Angel”
1933
She did her worshipping from the hood of a rusted-out Chevrolet in a junkyard on Twenty-ninth and State Street across from the church. Leeba Groski felt closer to God there than she ever did in a synagogue. It was a Sunday morning and she’d tagged along with the neighbor boys, Leonard and Phil Chess. They sat three in a row on the hood, their feet resting on the bumper while they listened to the gospel music pouring out of the church’s open door and windows. Even in Chicago’s August heat the piano music and voices gave Leeba goose bumps as she clapped and sang along to “Jesus Gave Me Water.” Leeba didn’t have a great voice, but when she sang you couldn’t hear her accent. If she could, she would have said everything in a song.
She was seven years old when her family arrived from Poland. The only English word she knew back then was okay. So everything was okay.
“How old are you?”
“Okay.”
“Where do you live?”
“Okay.”
“Stupid kike.”
“Okay.”
Now she was eleven, sitting in a junkyard singing without holding back, tapping her toes inside her hand-me-down shoes. Music so magical, it made her body move, her fingers snapping as effortlessly as her heart pumped, as her lungs took in air. As Leeba swayed to the music all else disappeared. Gone were the rows of decrepit autos, the chain-link fence, the scent of gasoline and the stench from the nearby stockyards. Even the empty liquor bottles and trodden trash on the ground vanished. All that existed in that moment was the music. She surrendered to it, letting it lift her up inside.
When the song ended, Leonard tapped her on the shoulder, offering her a Lucky Strike before cupping his hand around a match, blocking the wind while he lit his. He was sixteen and had been smoking for as long as Leeba could remember. Phil, four years younger and enamored of his big brother, patted down his flattop and reached for a cigarette of his own. Leeba contemplated trying one, until she became distracted by a young girl standing outside the church in a flowing white robe, the breeze catching her sleeves, billowing them up like angel wings. The young girl with skin the color of cocoa tilted her head toward the heavens and opened wide, singing “Move On Up a Little Higher.” The words boomed from her with a force that seemed to shoot forth from the earth and move through her. Leeba watched, listened, astonished. Was that coming from her?
“Motherfucker,” said Leonard, as that was his favorite word, suitable for any and all occasions and often employed as a term of endearment.
“Yeah, motherfucker,” said Phil, nodding. He liked that word, too, mostly because Leonard liked it so much.
When the song was over, the singing angel kicked a cluster of pebbles that sent dust across the lot before she was summoned back inside the church.
“Boys, get back to work,” Mr. Chess called out in a thick Yiddish accent. He owned the junkyard and Leonard and Phil worked there in the summertime and on weekends. “Boys,” he called again. “We have lots to do.”
