Doc: The Story of a Birmingham Jazz Man by Frank “Doc” Adams and Burgin Matthews (review)

The best way to experience clarinetist and saxophonist Frank “Doc” Adams is by sitting close to the stage when he plays, catching each note and listening carefully—when he pauses between songs to share a story or teach a lesson—to every soft-spoken word. If you live in Birmingham or visit the right places, you still have that opportunity. Doc: The Story of a Birmingham Jazz Man collects those stories in the voice of an Alabama musical legend.

The book is synthesized from an extensive series of oral history interviews with Adams that were conducted from 2009 to 2011 by coauthor Burgin Matthews, a Birmingham area writer and teacher. Matthews provides an excellent, gracefully written introduction that discusses Adams’ life within the context of Birmingham’s racial history and American musical history. There is no comprehensive history of Birmingham jazz—although Matthews plans to write such a book—so the reminiscences of pivotal figures like Adams provide an important perspective on that history.

Born in Birmingham in 1928, Frank Adams comes from a distinguished family. His father, Oscar Adams, Sr., was editor of the African American newspaper The Birmingham Reporter, and his older brother, Oscar Adams, Jr., became the first African American to serve on the Alabama Supreme Court. Because of his father’s position, young Frank had the opportunity to meet and know accomplished and prominent people. He recalls being roused out of bed one night by his father, who brought his pajama–clad sons into the living room so he could introduce them to W. C. Handy. Not appreciating the fact that they were meeting the father of the blues, the boys were most impressed by Handy’s felt hat and fur coat.

Frank Adams graduated from Birmingham’s segregated Parker High School and attended Howard University, where he helped found the school’s first jazz band. After college he spent two years playing with the Duke Ellington Orchestra and other groups before returning to Birmingham. Back home, Adams founded his own band and taught music in Birmingham City Schools. When offered a spot with the Count Basie Orchestra, Adams declined, preferring to spend his career as an educator. Adams taught music at Birmingham’s Lincoln Elementary School for 27 years and later served as music director for the school system. He was a member of the first class of inductees into the Alabama Jazz Hall of Fame in 1978 and was the museum’s executive director from 1997 to 2001. Adams still serves as a tour guide at the Hall of Fame and plays with the Birmingham Heritage Band.

Adams worked with, taught, and learned from many musicians, but one of his most influential acquaintances, and easily the strangest, was Sun Ra. Born Herman Blount, Sun Ra claimed he was a member of an “Angel Race” that hailed from the planet Saturn. “You meet some pretty weird people,” Adams recalls, “but not like Sun Ra” (68). Despite the weirdness, Adams flourished playing with Sun Ra in his dilapidated house near Birmingham’s Terminal Station. Sun Ra encouraged improvisation and allowed his band members to express themselves freely in their music and their dress. Schooled in the decorum of big bands, where everyone wore tuxedos and observed strict rules of behavior on stage and off, Adams found the freedom exhilarating. “Man, Sun Ra,” Adams says, “that was jazz music” (72).

Readers should always approach oral history with caution, and Doc is no exception. Human memory is fallible, especially when dealing with fine detail or the sequence of events. The human mind also creates false memories, as when Adams describes watching the great Negro league pitcher Satchel Paige play at Birmingham’s Rickwood Field. This is unlikely because Paige left Birmingham in 1930 when Adams was just two years old. Adams probably heard stories about Paige from his father...