Bernie Woods When The - Biblio (1994)

188 Pages·1994·6.7 MB·English

WHEN THE MUSIC STOPPED

Published by Barricade Books Inc.
150 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10011
Copyright © 1994 by Bemie Woods
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or trans¬ InlWuctioii/ 9
mitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photo¬
copying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the * 2 Va/iidij/ 11
publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connec-
Printed in the United States of America Uetuiij Goodman/ 33
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Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication Data ammij/LVo/ioeij/ 39
Woods, Bemie.
WoodWs.h en the music stopped: the big band era remembered / by Bernie 5 Jimmij/DaMiUj/ 57
ISBN 1-56980-022-7 pter « KdinSlwd 61
1. Big band music—History and criticism. I. Title.
ML3518.W66 1994
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This book is not designed to
denigrate those who peopled the great “Era of the Big Bands.”
1 DlAapjMtMOItf*/ 283 Rather it is my intention to faithfully chronicle the lives and loves
of the men and women who conducted the overall music industry
i DaftOWJ/ 291 of that time, as distinct from the completely different world of
music in the modem manner.
r BmiclLujll/ 293 chanTghei,n igts i sc huasnugalel.y T fhoar tt’hs et ob ebtete er.x Spaedcltye,d .I dHoo wnoetv bere,l iwevhee nt htahte rhea’ss
occurred in the music industry. I believe that, excepting for a rel¬
I FuiX 295 ative handful of personalities with excellent writing and perform¬
ing credentials, the level of music industry talent in both those
categories has badly deteriorated.
297 One of the old-time gag lines epitomizes the accepted
approach to today’s music: “If you can’t be good, be loud.”
9
The world I talk about here was wild, sexy, often mad, always
interesting, and a lot of fun. It was a solidly professional world
that captivated and held close everyone concerned—until rock
reared its ugly head and all the fun and frolic went up in the
smoke of the weed and the giddiness of coke.
Most of the bandleaders noted here were the standout names
of the “Era.” I did not make a special effort then to associate only
with the stars, but did so because stars make the news and my
function was to get and print the news.
I was Music Editor of Variety, the theatrical weekly that
covers all phases of show business, now nearing its 100th
anniversary.
I sought news interesting to the entire music business, which
encompassed bandleaders, their booking agencies and execu¬
tives, songwriters and music publishers, recording executives and
their staffs, and the owners and operators of the hundreds of ball¬
rooms, cafes, and hotels from coast to coast, all of whom were I sat in front of the big radio
involved with and subsisted on the “product” provided by the Big feeling quite giddy. I’d never had such an exhilarating feeling. I
Bands. already knew I had two left feet in response to music, but listen¬
ing to what was coming out of that speaker I thought I might have
made up for that with two right ears.
It wasn’t the overall Big Band sound that I was appreciating
for the first time that got to me; rather it was the way I could plain¬
ly hear every nuance of what was being played that had my rapt
attention. Each section of the band came through loud and clear.
The radio was pouring out one of the most exciting big band com¬
positions ever written—Benny Goodman’s theme.
It was 1935 and I had never before heard of big bands or
Benny Goodman. I worked at my father’s print shop as a messen¬
ger. My world was hooking rides, to pocket the carfare, on trucks
running east or west on Chambers Street in downtown New York
II
i k t v 13
City, and hooking fresh fruit from open display boxes as I ran Journal of the subw&y set of that day, and hied myself to an
through the old Washington Market. employment agency on Madison Avenue in New York which, I
My dad’s shop was on old City Hall Place, New York, now the hoped, might come up with a way of making a living that did not
site of Police Headquarters. The main office was at Franklin and involve running errands, hitching onto trucks, or pouring hot lead
Washington Streets a block from the Hudson River piers where
the fruit from Central America, for which the shop printed whole¬ I outlined my “skills” on a job application. A fellow behind a
sale auction catalogs, arrived. desk scanned my “resume” with the proper perspective. He
I ran like a yo-yo between the two points for a couple of years, promptly announced he had an “excellent job”—a post as a mes¬
meanwhile acquiring other future-polishing skills such as regu¬ senger which paid two bucks more a week than my dad had been
larly flunking school subjects, spending time in detention rooms, providing and recovering.
becoming a pool shark good enough to make a living playing nine- When I got to the address—154 West 46th Street just off
ball (occasionally defeating world-championship contenders in Times Square—I stood across the street and read the huge one-
straight-pool exhibition matches), driving sprint and midget race word sign that occupied the entire plate glass of the old-fashioned
cars under assumed names to escape my father’s wrath (his heads ground-level store front. It said. Variety.
of steam were frequent and explosive on almost anything that did I’d never heard of it. “What the hell is that?” I asked myself.
not meet his standards), and otherwise showing all the promise of Nevertheless, I went into what seemed a weird setting. The down¬
a completely backward youth. stairs floor of the four-story building was walled from front to back
My schooling ended in 1926 at graduation from St. Fidelis with huge mirrors. (The place was once a dress shop and never
Elementary, College Point, Long Island. My dad didn’t believe in redone.)
education, an attitude very likely developed after the birth of my I was interviewed and told to call back at 6 RM. In my usual
seventh sister (one brother). We needed the twelve bucks a week front- car-window position on the subway going home, with what I
he was paying me, almost all of which went from one of his pock¬ thought was plenty of time to make the call, I spotted a huge clock
ets to another, which left me to develop my own sources of as we approached the Queens Plaza station. It read 6:05.1 raced
income—hence the pool-table gambling and racing. off the train and down to a phone. Mr. Harold Erichs seemed non¬
Those aptitudes made it difficult to get out of bed in the early plused when I reached him, but finally agreed I could begin using
morning, and there came the day when he’d had enough. He fired my fleet feet for Variety the following morning at nine sharp.
me. His action thankfully bounced me out of the well of printer’s Months later, I found out why Erichs seemed thrown by my
ink that contained him all his life and which might have mired me. call. He had not intended to give the job to me because I lived
I believe he only intended to scare me into what he termed “far out” in Queens (12 miles). He had another youngster in mind
“responsible behavior,” but I didn’t wait. The next morning I who lived a few blocks from the office (an area from which he
picked a name out of the New York Daily Mirror, the Wall Street originated). His attitude was based on the fact that errand boys
R ■ E T V 15
were required to work late certain nights delivering edited copy Speaking of Sime Silverman, the founder of Variety, is to
from the editorial rooms to the press, on Pearl Street just east of speak of rare people. He ran the newspaper with an iron hand and
Park Row, less than two blocks from my dad’s shop. And he felt I wielded tremendous influence throughout every phase of the show
might have trouble getting home at late hours. business of his time. He had the power to see men of his choos¬
However, the clock which read 6:05 wasn’t telling the truth. ing installed into high executive positions in various organiza¬
This was a few days after clocks had been set back to EST from tions, which gave the paper access to important industry news as
DST (October 1930) and the huge timepiece I noticed had not yet well as potential advertising revenues.
been revised. Erichs, impressed with the eagerness and enthusi¬ Before Variety ever reached that level, however, there were
asm I showed by calling him at five instead of six o’clock, gave years of struggle and privation, punctuated by bitter fights for sur¬
the job to me. Thus, I was saved from a life of printer’s ink. vival with industry heavyweights who disagreed with Variety's
Little did I realize that in a few years I would be projected into approach to news and, particularly, honest reviews. His disputes
the middle of a scene that began to focus dimly the night I flipped with some of the most powerful nabobs in the world of vaudeville
over Benny Goodman’s radio broadcast—that there would come a and legit (Broadway plays), almost sank the paper.
time when I would be looked upon as a respected and knowl¬ For no known reason, Sime seemed partial to me as a general
edgeable member of the exciting music business community, “gofer.” Very often on Friday and Monday evenings, when the staff
which encompassed then only the great bands, the recording was pounding out copy against the paper’s Tuesday evening dead¬
industry, then a smidgen of what it is now, and the music pub¬ line, I would be called to the editorial room. Sime occupied a desk
lishing business. at the rear of the long room, overlooking the clacking typewriters,
As a Variety messenger I found a life always different, always waiting for copy to edit. As each writer finished a page I would
interesting, even from my worm’s-eye view. My assignments often almost literally yank it out of the machine and relay it to Sime.
involved delivering to or picking up things from the celebrities of Sime was tough on his staff men and tough on his errand
that day, all of whom were friends of the founder and owner of boys. More than one runner was instantly fired because he could
Variety—Sime Silverman. not understand the “oF boy’s” mumbled orders. Sime never lift¬
I “met” Eddie Cantor, A1 Jolson, Ruth Etting, Olsen & ed his head when he issued instructions, so intent was he on the
Johnson (later of Hellzapoppin fame). Bums & Allen, and many copy he usually was editing, which made it difficult to under¬
more of the older stars in their waning show-biz years. Most were stand him. This led to a game among the boys of how to sidestep
from the heyday of vaudeville, then doing a fast fade. It was an era Sime’s summons.
of show business that spawned the stars of the succeeding level of When his number came up on the downstairs callbox (six or
public acclaim—radio broadcasting. Jack Benny, Bob Hope, so editorial executives also had buzzers to summon boys) they
Edgar Bergen—virtually every star of the early days of radio would scatter like a covey of quail facing a barrelful of buckshot.
sprang from vaudeville. They’d dive down the basement stairs, into the men’s room, even