o Bunny came over and asked, 'Do you know this song, kid?' Of course I
did, I knew every one of the popular ones, because I was making the
rehearsal band scene -- so instead of having the girl singer sing the
chorus, I played it solo on trombone. I knew it note for note in any key,
so I could watch the band as I played. Bunny looked over at Georgie, the
best sax player in town, for approval -- and Georgie gave him the code -- the
old index finger to the eye trick -- meaning 'get a load of this' -- I knew I
was in. Touring with Bunny was my first gig and it was one of the highlights of my life. I got that gig because I believed, and because I
practiced, because I loved to play, and because I was real lucky and the
timing was right. If you're good, and your put your energy and your
talent out -- people will feel it, and things will fall into place."
I nodded and looked down at my hands. "I know what you are saying,
but I just don't think it's that easy." My dad sighed and was silent for
a moment. "No, it's not easy -- I've had hard times. I moved to Los Angeles
after touring with the Artie Shaw band in 1945. I was in the service from
1945-1946 playing with the Armed Forces Radio Service in Hollywood, and
when I was discharged I wrote arrangements for Harry James. When he
wanted me to start writing Bop instead of Swing, I walked out and said he
should find someone else, it just wasn't my style. I was sure I would get
another gig -- but I didn't, and I ended up digging ditches for two years
trying to support a family. I was pretty beaten down. I remember running
into a friend of mine -- told him my sob story and asked him to lend me
twenty bucks. He gave me the twenty on the condition that I read a
pamphlet on Christian Science. I did, and it really changed my attitude.
For two years, I was dragging my heals, feeling sorry for myself, telling
everyone how badly I was doing, and to please give me some work--instead
of holding my head high and being positive. People want to work with
people who have something to give, and when my attitude changed, I stated
getting work again." He paused for a moment, searching the remember the
timeline of events.
"I moved back to New York City in 1952, because more was happening
there, and I got a staff gig for the NBC studio orchestra. I was also
getting into conducting -- while I was digging ditches for a living, in my
spare time, I would lock myself up in the shed in the back of my house in
Reseda and teach myself how to conduct. Things started happening again in
New York City -- and my outlook of music changed -- when I was with the big
bands -- all of us musicians, we played to impress the guys in the band, not
for the audience. Music for musicians -- and it was fun -- but who is the
music really for -- it's for the people who listen to it. I started doing
research, looking at all the pop charts, looking at what worked and what
didn't. Mitch Miller, the head of A&R for Columbia Records, and I started
working together while I was thinking all this s tuff through, he loved my
ideas. While I was engineering and arranging for Frank Sinatra and Don
Cherry -- I really got into voices -- using voices and instruments together,
not as separate entities, but to complement each other. I then arranged
Jonny Mathis' 'Chances Are,' and Johnny Ray's 'Just Walking in the
Rain.'"
He got up to make two more double espressos. When I was a kid, before the bonding espresso machine -- my dad would make me food 'inventions' -- things like toasted bagels with peanut butter and bananas, and various ice cream drinks. We would both get very excited about these inventions, which always made my mom smile. When I was a little older, we would go on beach excursions in Paradise Cove, a Los Angeles beach, and spend the day combing the sands for lost treasures, sending out messages in bottles, and writing roman numerals in the sand. My dad placed double espresso number two in front of me.