I Remember Jazz: Six Decades Among the Great Jazzmen

Eddie Condon

72 • I Remember Jazz with his Legends of Jazz for a European tour as band manager. Chris wrote to me frequently about their progress and his delight that Barney was one of the "legends." The aging maestro apparently helped Chris a great deal. Chris came back to New Orleans and married an American girl (whose name is Chris, too), and became a citizen. Early in 1985, while in New Orleans, I stopped by the Gazebo in the French Market where he was playingwith the best band I'd heard in many years. He gave me a copy of a new LP they'd made, which I've played perhaps thirty times by now. Chris, happy as can be, has become part of the city's jazz establishment. His dress is more subdued, and he's divested himself of his golden earring. And even though this appraisal is sure to embarrass him, there's no doubt in my mind that he's become the best jazz clarinet player in New Orleans, that his taste and understanding of the form will eventually win him a pedestal in the pantheon of Crescent City jazz gods. Eddie Condon We were walking together toward our rooms in the Downtowner Motor Inn in Manassas, Virginia. I was the only one sober enough to count that there were three of us on that winter night in 1969. There was me, for one. I was in Manassas to attend Johnson McCrees annual jazz bash at the local high school. I also counted Bob Greene, the shadow of Jelly Roll Morton, but not the Johnny Walker he was carrying. And finally I counted Eddie Condon, who was, by this time, no longer speaking, but dedicating his not inconsiderable powers of concentration to getting his room key out of his pocket. Our three rooms were situated in a row, with Eddies in the middle. We told each other goodnight and retired. It may have been two in the morning. Since it takes me no time to get to sleep, I'd gotten a full hour of shut-eye when a sudden loud and eerie noise set me rigidly upright in bed. I went through the process of satisfying myself that I was in a motel room. A little added attentiveness retrieved for me the fact that I was in Manassas. And with the noise level increasing as it was, I deduced that someone had broken into Condons room and was in the process of pulling his fingernails out. I immediately put on my bathrobe and charged out into the frigid night to rescue our little friend from the demented attackers. Once I Remember Jazz • 73 outside, I noted that Bob Greene, too, had emerged from his room. We faced each other in front of Condons door and I tried the knob. No dice. Bob knocked. The painful groans and screeches continued unabated. I stepped back, preparatory to charging the door with the intent of breaking it down. Just as I was about to make my initial lunge, we saw Phyllis, Eddies wife, coming our way down the walk and carrying what looked like an overnight bag. "Good morning, boys," she greeted us, reacting not a tittle to the howls and screams we knew she couldn't help hearing. "Trouble getting to sleep?" "Eddies in trouble!" Bob shouted excitedly. Phyllis had her room key out. "No," she said calmly. "He's all right. He's just singing. He sings in his sleep." Phyllisexplained that she was the one who always checked them in at hotels. Without telling Eddie, she always rented an extra room so she could get some sleep, too. Then, early in the morning, she would join him in his room and he would never know the difference. We still insisted on looking inside after she opened the door, just to make sure that this time it wasn't mayhem instead of music. We saw Eddie, flat on his back, still fully dressed, emitting these terrifying sounds. Having satisfied ourselves that he was indeed alone, we left Phyllis with him and returned to our rooms. The last thing I said to Bob was, "Everybody Loves My Baby." We met Eddie in the coffee shop at noon, and I began to report to him the events of the early morning. Halfway through the recital, he interrupted, turned in his chair, and stared squarely into my face. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. Now its true that we hadn't...