The Reverend

-- You led me on. Let me think it could happen

Maybe. The father had taken the son into The City to see Duke Ellington struttin' on Lenox Avenue, and to watch Cab Calloway dancin' with Minnie. The most seductive experience had been with Count Basie. Somewhere, somehow, sometime the father and The Count had shared a special moment. Nothing that lead to letters or phone calls; not even to tickets....

-- Maybe it had something to do with my mother. But every time my father and the Count were in the same space they eased off to put an arm around a shoulder and share a smile. They could both smile special.

One night the son and father had arrived at Birdland very early. There was nobody but Basie and Freddie Green. After a longer talk than usual The Count wiggled a finger at the son. "Come on up here and see how you like this big one. Mr. Green is goin' to start you out and you just play what you want."

So he had raced and jumped and stumbled his way into Shake It and Break It. He caught a smile or two and when he was done he wanted to hide. The Count sat down beside him on the stool and hit those first notes like a man who had to lift each finger with the other hand.

"You got a nice touch, but you got to listen to The Man. Mr. Green here gets me straight every night and I do what he says."

"I was goin' too fast and...."

An arm around the waist. "That's all right. Sometimes I go too fast. The trouble is we couldn't hear you for the noise."

-- Jesus, I'll never forget that word noise.

"You playin' too much. Save those notes. They are precious and you wastin' them. Keep 'em till you find the right place. We's here to hear you not a machine."

The boy did not understand then, or for many years, the strange configurations of love. He went home and in his room cursed his father and cried. Then he went back to the piano hours on hours on hours. Cried and cursed some more and back to the piano still another time. Then one night when he was playing 6:20 Special he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Basie would like that, son."

"Yeah, too late now." And up and off to lock the door of his room. But he did not curse his father that time or after.

Nor did he run away, and he did go to Howard. A feckless romantic would spin and gambol into a mirage to emerge telling us that everything worked out just dandy. A shrugging cynic would explain everything by blaming the father or the mother or the son or the school-or some newly minted villain. Although missing much of the complexity, including most of the human nuances, the cynic edged closest to reality.

The years of pre-med were defined by much boredom tinged with the terror that his memory would get scrambled and assign the correct facts to the wrong question. Those were the times when the father helped the most. At first the anger and defiance that he had generated supplied a fund of necessary energy. But he had also emphasized more than just the importance of medicine; and in his boredom the son remembered that and began to take courses in literature, history, politics, and religion. In turn, the father encouraged him to take his time and explore those worlds. They would make him a better doctor.

Gradually the visits back an forth became more regular and easier; and the son realized that the father knew very many things about life in Washington and Baltimore, including musicians who began to call with invitations to sit-in on a gig. Basie had been right-he did have a touch. That meant more money which bought more time. So did the modest continuing scholarship he was awarded by an unknown benefactor.

Table of Contents

• Introduction

1. Maggie and Mr. Hank
2. The Reverend
3. Squalls Along the Flight Line
4. Flying Home to Church
5. A Visit with The Judge
6. Communion
7. Afterthoughts
8. Monday Morning With The Admiral
9. Into the Dining Room
10. On Toward Walking the Streets
11. Glimpses of An Election
12. The Dream and The Reality of Violence
13. The Admiral Loses More Than a Few Good Men
14. Down That Lonesome Road

• Cast of Characters
• Credits and Acknowledgements