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 "BULLETS WAS FLYIN' ALL OVER THE BANDSTAND..." Trumpeter Oliver Todd Remembers Piney Brown's Sunset Crystal Palace... and a young Charlie Parker. Interview by John Anthony Brisbin
Oliver Todd played with Jay McShann and Charlie Parker in their earliest years, as well as Count Basie, Joe Turner, George E. Lee, Orville "Piggy" Minor and Ben Kynard. The diminutive Todd, a Kansas City, Kansas native, tends to get forgotten because, even though Parker, McShann and many others begged him to, he rarely went on the road. The reason he stayed home? Mrs. Todd. Theirs was a rare love story, especially given the rap on musicians and their aversion to settling down. "It ain't no use to ask that guy to go anywhere," Charlie Parker used to say. "He's gonna stay over there tied to her apron strings." "My marriage meant a whole lot to me," Mr. Todd stated emphatically in January of 2000. "It was a bit of a sacrifice, but I don't care. To me, music was one thing, but marriage was another. If you got a lady that you care enough to stick it out with, I think that's good. We raised five kids together. It's goin' on 63 years that I've been married to Mrs. Todd and it's been a nice little time." Bernice and Oliver met in 1935 at Sumner high School. He was a senior, she was younger. "She says I robbed the cradle. She wasn't nothin' but fifteen years old. A friend of mine, Earl Boyd, he set up the scene. He said, 'Man, she likes you. Why don't you take advantage of it?'" Todd took Bernice to a horror movie hoping she'd jump in his lap at the scary part. She did. He also took her to the prom, but his band was performing, so they didn't do much dancing that night. After high school, Todd's group, the Hottentots, played clubs on 15th Street, and at the Brookside Tavern at 63rd and Brookside, for a dollar and fifty cents a night. "If you got some little tips in the kitty, well, in the '30s, you could get along on that," he said. "In the white places you played 'Tennessee Rose,' 'Missouri Waltz' and 'My Blue Heaven.' In the black places you did 'White Heat,' 'All Your Love,' 'I Can't Believe (That You're In Love With Me)' by Fats Waller, and 'Solitude.'" His band members included saxophonist Ben Kynard -- another Sumner High grad who would go on to fame penning the jazz standard, "Red Top" while in Lionel Hampton's band -- and trumpeter Orville "Piggy" Minor, who would later join Jay McShann's big band. The Hottentots were taken over by "an older musician," Charles Green, in 1936 when Oliver Todd was spending time in the hospital with his ailing father. A fifteen-year old Charlie Parker joined a subsequent Todd group when Parker's playing was "lousy." More on that later. Todd did hit the road once, and briefly, in 1940; and he took Bernice with him. Stops included Kalamazoo, Michigan, Springfield and Quincy, Illinois. At the downstairs casino of Bob Kris' ballroom in Quincy, Todd's band was prevented from playing its normal repertoire for a live radio broadcast by the terms of the famous BMI and ASCAP lawsuit. A young Lawrence Welk came to his aid. "'Don't worry,' Welk told us. 'I have some music you can use for broadcast. It's presentable.' He gave us 'Ida, Sweet as Apple Cider' and 'The Nearness of You' and about three or four old numbers that we could broadcast. You don't forget a person like that." Parker, Piggy Minor, and Todd went with Jay McShann in 1941 until the group left Kansas City. Then Oliver Todd stayed home. "Jay McShann tried to get me to go to the '42 recording session in Dallas, and to New York to the Savoy and the Apollo with him in '43. I told him I was on short notice from the Navy and wanted to spend those few days with my family. My family, I always tried to put them first." He recorded for Capitol with Jay McShann's Kansas City Stompers, featuring Julia Lee, in November of 1944. Selections included "Moten Swing," "Come On Over to My House," "Trouble in Mind," and "On the Sunny Side of the Street." For the last few years of his life, Oliver Todd played at the Mutual Musicians Foundation every Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. sharp with lifelong friends Henry Hoard on alto sax, Elmer Price on trumpet, Ben Kynard on tenor sax and Morris Ellisey on drums. The group also gigged at King's Retirement Home and at schools in Kansas City, Kansas. Kynard, who was in Bernice Todd's class in high school, described Oliver as "a very good trumpet player. Instead of playing a lot of high notes, he played real melodic lines because he was a piano player, too. Piano players always hit the right chords." In January, May and October of 2000, Oliver Todd spoke at length about coming of age in Kansas City's Jazz District. He also spoke about how Charlie Parker went from "lousy" to "righteous" in a few short months. That interview was already transcribed and set to appear in JAM when Todd passed away. It now becomes not only a living memorial, but a hell of a lively one. God bless you, Oliver. And thank you. On 18th Street and 12th Street here in Kansas City you'd find some of the greatest exhibitors of blues. You can't imagine all those blues and how the people responded and all the musicians who enjoyed playin' 'em. Sure, I was there right out of high school, playin' just the old natural blues. Played with Jerry Westbrook, Pete Johnson, Eric Hugh, Nick Colpaine and guys like that. The Sunset Crystal Palace, between Woodland and Vine, that's where Joe Turner was standin' there jumpin' the blues. When you go around clubs like that, you had to play those blues. Don't come in there with anything more sophisticated. No! You kep' them people jumpin'! I played the Sunset. Go to work on Saturday and you don't get off till Sunday mornin' 'bout nine, ten o'clock. My chops would be hangin'. My mother used to say, "If my lips looked like yours, I'd give it up." The Sunset Crystal Palace was Piney Brown's and that other gambler's place. Felix Payne. Piney Brown was just a plain, down to earth fella. All ya got to do is be punctual with when you're s'pose'da start and when you're s'pose'da end each set... and you could get along with Piney Brown. He was a wonderful guy. We used to swim together over at Edgerton Pool. They got a place where ya go to change your clothes and put on your swimmin' suit. That's where he and I first started talkin' together. I was just a kid then. I didn't know he was a power with the night clubs until I started playin' for him. Piney Brown was a gambler, no doubt about it. You come through the front door to get where the entertainment was happenin'. There was dice all over the place, and beautiful women. Another thing you had to be careful about, some men could dress up and look like women, too. They had cards, dice games, craps games goin' on and all that. They had whatever you wanted right there. The craps game used to get raided some time. What they were doin', they were shootin' in the joint. I had to get out of there one time and two fat musicians got stuck in the back doorway. It was Walter Knight, a very nice saxophone player, and Murl Johnson. They got stuck in that doorway and, boy, I hit 'em and pushed 'em both through there. Good thing. The bullets was flyin' all over the bandstand. Everyone really believed in playin' them blues. Everett Johnson could get down nasty with ya. He had a penetratin' performance. He gave 'em to ya. (Count) Basie and I, we used to have a wonderful time, too. We'd sit up till two o'clock at the Sunset Crystal Palace. He'd say: "Where you goin' with that horn?" I'd say, "I'm goin' home." He'd say, "Naaah, stay!" Ya see, blues, at that particular time, was played by what we called scuffle-along people. Wasn't makin' the big bread. This was pre-war days. What you did, you scuffled to make it. And if you made it, you'd share it with somebody else and try to help them make it. That was the attitude about it. Blues was when a guy get so damned lowdown he didn't know what to do, so he enjoyed singin' the blues or hearin' somebody else sing 'em. That's what it was. And the guys could sing it from their heart. After we played, around two o'clock, I'd put liquor on the table and we'd sit around the table till four o'clock enjoyin' one another. There was a fella around here by the name of Pete Johnson. He had a lot of blues. Joe Turner was another one. (Starts singing) "Come here pretty baby, set down on your daddy's knee; I want to tell everybody how you pleasin' me." Pete Johnson and Joe Turner were Piney Brown's top players at the Sunset Crystal Palace and the Subway. And a club on 18th Street, too. And they should have been. Joe Turner could rock the house. Him and Pete. Pete was a steady, from the old school piano player. And he could swing. He played slouch style piano, which means you swingin' with both those hands goin' one way and then the other. He stayed at the Sunset for I don't know how long. Joe? (sings) "Take me, pretty baby, put me in your big brass bed. And rock me, pretty mama, till my face turns cherry red..." I played with Jimmy Rushing at the Sunset Crystal Palace. He'd sing, "Hurry down sunshine, see what tomorrow bring. Tomorrow might bring us a beautiful sunshine, it might bring us rain..." He and Joe Turner would try to outdo the other, but the other would come right back. Jimmy Rushing was a little bit older than Joe Turner. Joe had to fight for what he got. Jimmy Rushing had got his self pretty well set with the Bennie Moten band on the Victor label. In 1938, Kansas City was jumpin'. Little foxes just used to walk along 18th Street; Everett Johnson used to play there. Edith Griffin played nice piano at Wolfe's. She made that place, and she could swing. They called her Bunny Rabbit. Jay (McShann) played there, too. Vera Smith played 18th Street. Forest Sykes used to come in, sit down and play the piano. When he hit town, I was one of the first people he met. Blues was his style. He could boogie his self outa here! (laughs) He'd pound that damned piano. When he get through playin', man, you had to get a piano tuner to get the keys up offa there. Leah Smith was one of the oooold standard piano players. Her and Mary Lou Williams used to get hung up... and that would be war! They would go at it like mad, to see who could cut each other's heads. Leah was steady, one of the better piano players I played with. I played trumpet with her. Roscoe White was in the group, too. She would make you play. I remember one time Mary Lou Williams made Edith Griffin cry. She played so much that night and, well, Mary Lou said, "Why didn't you tell me not to play no piano? Now I've made that woman cry?" I said, "I didn't tell you to do that. You did that on your own." "I never woulda did that to that child," she said. I said, "Well, she's a youngster. She's got to learn." Them older musicians, they would get on your case and they would blow you out. Like me. I'd be blowin' my horn and here come Hot Lips Page behind me. Boy, he'd tear me down. What they had was experience. It was a great help to me; made me wanna try harder. 18th Street was faster than 12th Street. Those young ladies used the street as a place for the presentation of their wares. A lot of 'em weren't prostitutes but, of course, a lot of 'em were. They just like to walk down there and let the guys admire them. Hemlines for the ladies was below the knee, but nevertheless, the way they wore those dresses, they could show their figure. "Look at me!" The men on 18th Street, they kept their wares in shape, too. We had a place, Wolferman's Tailors, used to sell the high priced suits. Guys who couldn't afford it, they'd go to the window and ogle at it anyway. Back in the '30s, you'd pay 80-some dollars for a good suit. J. P. Simpson, he made more of the cheaper garments for the young fellers that couldn't afford it. 12th Street had more action. After you leave 12th and Tracy, go down to 12th and Woodland, man, you couldn't get by there. People'd be all out on the sidewalks, goin' in and out of clubs. 18th Street was not as pronounced as 12th Street was. It was a little bit quieter. We used to broadcast from Lucille's Paradise on 18th Street. That was a jumpin' little place. Independence Avenue had a scene, too; but it had a bad reputation. They would cut and shoot so much down there that people were hesitant to go there. I seen some guys get cut up pretty bad down there. I played the Miami Club. They started shootin' one time. Man, I had to hit the back door and jump behind the bushes. They shot a fella. I happened to look over and I saw they had killed him. He was layin' up beside the night club, the Greenleaf. After that shooting, I said, "I'm not comin' back no more." The Reno Club was the place in the '30s. It stayed packed practically every night. And we had to play there Sunday nights, too, see. They didn't feature too much of a floorshow, but Cassandra would come out and dance. We had guys that we used to call hoofers, used to tap dance. I remember Bennie Moten's band at the Reno Club. Hot Lips Page was in his band. Bennie Moten, he died, and then his cousin, Bus Moten, took over the band. The guys began to go in different ways. (Buck) Clayton, he went one way and, uh, Buster Smith, he went another way. Buster went to Chicago, but he didn't last there long. Basie, he started his group up at the Reno and played there for quite awhile. I think Buster Smith was there, yeah, with Basie. I think Lester played there, too. Then this big booker guy come through here, (producer John) Hammond. He heard 'em, liked what he saw, and pulled him out of here. Claude "The Fiddler" (Williams) was with Basie on guitar. I talked with Count. He said he wanted Claude to meditate on the guitar, not the fiddle. Count admired Claude for his playin' but he wanted that rhythm that Freddie Green had. We had a rehearsal one day. Chris Chantabubba, a floor show attraction at the Reno Club, came over in her car and she said, "Fellas, the Reno Club is no more. Get in and I'll show ya." We went over and the sign said, "Closed." There was a lot of hustlin' goin' on around there. It had gotten to be a place where the riff-raff hung out. It wasn't just a whorehouse upstairs. It was a whorehouse all the way 'round. You'd see women fighting, exposing their bodies. That was commonplace. I didn't know it then, but my band was the last to play the Reno Club. Sol Jacobs was the owner. When he saw me after that, he'd always say, "I spy the man who closed The Reno Club!" The top three bands in Kansas City were Clarence Love, Andy Kirk, and George E. Lee. Then there was Tommy Douglas, but he wasn't as prominent as they were. Oh, he was a wonderful guy if you understand him. Played nice alto sax. I played with him many times. Clarence Love had a smooth band. He could sway smoothly. Ben Kynard's brother, B.C., was on first chair alto. I played at the Pla-Mor Ballroom with George E. Lee. He sang. His sister, Julia, played piano and sang, too. George made some nice musicians come out of his band: Walter Knight. Bob Hall, too. The Pla-Mor was one of the most popular ballrooms in Kansas City and the middle west. They brought in nationally known bands like Paul Penjarvis and Red Nichols. That dance floor, it was magnificent! They had all kinds of balls suspended from the ceiling, with lights on 'em. Decorations were all around the walls, with lights. Their dining area was one of their main features. In 1936, after the Hottentots broke up, a fella that helped me, he said, "I want you to start a big band again." Charlie Parker was one of the first ones he got for me. "That's your first alto," the fella said. Charlie was ahead of me in school but I hadn't seen him in a long time. He was fifteen years old. I asked him a few questions. I said, "Hey man, ain't you s'posed-a be in school?" He said, "Now, do you want a quiz session or a first alto man?" (laughs) His playing at that time was lousy. Lousy! Guys used to make fun of him. He played old raggedy horns, old raggedy bushings and everything. He'd take the horn out of his mouth and they'd drop around that a way. Pinky, the guy that owned the club, he didn't like that. He said, "That guy can't play no horn!" We'd gone back into the club on 15th Street. We were keepin' that place packed. The guys in the band -- Claybourne Grey, James Ross, Jimmy Keith, Jessie MacEnroe and Albert King -- they often went to jam sessions after the gig. But if they saw Charlie walk in, they'd walk off. Piano players wouldn't play with him. He stayed with us almost about six months. I kep' him on. But when that band broke up, Charlie and I lost touch with each other. He went down into the Ozarks with a piano player named Rozell Claxton... used to play beautiful piano, worked for Harlan Leonard. Charlie had asked me if I wanted to go, but I didn't wanna. The Ozarks Mountains are in Missouri, Jefferson area. He played down there for quite awhile. When Charlie Parker came back up here from the Ozarks, I never shall forget. I was workin' at the Orchid Room up there on 12th St. He was lookin' good, lookin' neat. He came in with a new horn. The public kind of gave him the cold shoulder. He said, "Look-it my horn." It was a pretty Conn alto. Guys say, "You gonna let that guy sit in?" I said, "Yeah." They said, "Okay! Get you another drummer! Get you another bass player!" Guys sittin' around there could take their places. And so they all replaced the ones that didn't wanna play. I said, "Charlie, what do you wanna play?" He said, "How about a little 'I Never Knew'?" And he took that brand new horn and started a-playin'. He played the melody down just perfect. Then he got a-loose and tears came streamin' down my face. He looked at me, said, "What are you cryin' for?" I said, "I seen a miracle." And I mean it was a miracle. He showed you what study will do for you. He went down to the Ozarks and came back swingin'. He was righteous! (laughs) You better believe him! From then on he got to be what he was: a top man on alto with all the professional standards you could ask for. It was astounding. RETURN TO OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2001 MAIN INDEX © Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved. |
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