Best of the ITA Journal

(International Trombone Association)

From 1998-2005, Tom Smith was a frequent contributor to the ITA Journal, known

mostly for his reviews of new jazz trombone recordings, and sometimes as a featurist

who explored subjects other than jazz.

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Tom's Top Five Audio Trombone Reviews

For several years Tom was the ITA Journal's primary reviewer of new jazz recordings, and

throughout that time was known to point out weakness as quickly as strength. But in

his estimation, he considered five submitted recordings the best of the best, while not all

came from better known performers.

1. Stance: Shigeharu Mukai

SHIGEHARU MUKAI, TROMBONE; Billy Hart, drums; Mulgrew Miller piano; Rufus Reid, bass; John Stubblefield, sax; Nicholos Payton, trumpet; Yoichi Murata, trombone. P-VINE RECORDS PVCP-9411 (Tokyo, Japan; distributed by BMG Japan, Inc.) Shigeharu Mukai: Stance; Moon; Spiritual Calling; Shuffle. Yoichi Muroto: A Good Train; The Second Hart. Charlie Porker/Dizzy Gillespie: Anthropology. Freddie Hubbard: Up Jumped Spring. Slide Hampton: A New Thing. Tadd Dameron: If You Could See Me Now.

Jazz enthusiasts not already familiar with Shigeharu Mukai soon will be. This superbly engineered recording is the latest in a series of remarkable projects where Japan's foremost jazz trombonist has collaborated with top-flight American musicians. STANCE is the culmination of Mukai's efforts, having assembled a supporting cast of eclectic veterans contributing mightily to his expansive vision. Among them are some of New York's finest hardbop performers, including trumpeter Nicholas Payton, whose contributions result in some of his best recorded music. In fact, all of the musicians possess an essential chemistry to be a working band, if they are not already. Special recognition must go to producer Yoichi for supervising one of the best productions of recorded jazz trombone in recent memory, while Murata adds to his growing reputation as a trombonist, by way of his beautiful collaboration on Slide Hampton's A New Thing. It is hoped another collaboration will showcase their limitless duo potential.

STANCE is probably the breakthrough recording Mukai has needed to establish his foothold in North American and European markets. It is absolutely one of the best jazz recordings issued over the last couple of years, of any genre, while Its discovery and subsequent appreciation cannot be undervalued.

Tom Smith

Pfeiffer University

2. Nice and Easy: Carl Fontana and Jiggs Whigham

JIGGS WHIGHAM, CARL FONTANA, TROMBONE; Stefan Karlsson, piano; Tom Warrington, bass; Ed Soph, drums. TNC JAZZ CD-1701 (Box 374, Lomita,

CA 90717) Ray Noble/Frank Mantooth: The Touch of Your Lips. Clifford Burwell: Sweet Lorraine. Duke Ellington: Take the Coltrane. Jimmy Van Heusen: Here's That Rainy Day; It Could Happen to You. Harold Arlen: If I Only Had A Brain. Spence/Bergman/Keith: Nice 'n' Easy. Jiggs Whigham: Incident;

Cape Clip So.

Despite a totemic stature afforded them by other trombonists, Jiggs Whigham and Carl Fontana remain two under-appreciated members of the jazz pantheon. This is especially true of Whigham; who outside of his adopted Europe is seldom mentioned in the same breath with many lesser deserving contemporaries.

Needless to say, this impressive TNC Jazz debut is a welcome addition to the discographies of both men. It showcases superb trombone playing, and

a veteran rhythm section led by pianist Stefan Karlsson. Comparisons with this effort and the legendary duo recordings of J.J. Johnson and Kai

Winding are inevitable, as Whigham's playing in particular, invokes a confident lead sound that personified Winding's contributions, while his ballad playing on Jimmy Van Heusen's Here's That Rainy Day demonstrates a similar warmth and confidence while maintaining a trademark stylistic voice.

Carl Fontana, at 70, shows few, if any signs of slowing down. His unparalleled technical skills are still intact and can be implemented at a moment's notice. But, in recent years, he has opted for a more introspective approach. His ability to construct a solo much in the way a composer develops a theme, is most apparent in his adaptation of Harold Arlen's If I Only Had A Brain, while performances of this genre demonstrate the obvious depths

of a true master.

It is hoped that all aspiring improvisers purchase this CD. With its stellar craftsmanship and expertly annotated notes and transcriptions, it reads and plays like a "how to" manual for the successful performance of jazz trombone.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

3. No Laughing Matter: Bob McChesney

SUMMIT RECORDS DCD 261 (P.O. Box 26850, Tempe, AZ 85285; Phone: 480/491-6432480/491-6432; Fax: 480/491-6433; E-mail: darby@summitrecords. com; Web: www.summitrecords.com) Steve Allen: Meet Me Where They Play The Blues; Time; Road Rage; Pretty People; Chittlins; Steve's Blues: Cutie Face; Sultry Samba; This Is Where We Came In; Playing The Field.

Lately within the jazz trombone community, there is a ground swell of Bob McChesney talk, with much of that enthusiasm generated by

the same young trombonists who embraced J.J. Johnson in the '40s, Carl Fontana in the '60s, and Bill Watrous in the '70s. These rapidly evolving students yearn to be dexterous jazz technicians, without being labeled unsubstantial by myopic critics who fail to understand that agile trombone improvisation is in of itself an innovation. They are the latest generation to pay homage to the magically elusive "doodle tongue," and right now Bob McChesney is among their handpicked favorites.

From a stand point of sheer technical prowess, NO LAUGHING MATTER is in a class by itself. McChesney is perfecting doodle tonguing in ways almost incalculable, while demonstrating unheard of body and substance into the overall sound, while still maintaining remarkable speed and clarity. Throughout this recording, McChesney addresses the dynamics issue raised by opponents of doodle tonguing, whose disclaimer "they have to use a microphone" remains the most overused. I doubt anyone could fairly assess McChesney as incapable of any volume that suited him.

Bob has surrounded himself with a fabulous rhythm section, performing surprisingly neglected compositions by Steve Allen, one of the

most underrated creators of American song. The fact that Allen was personally involved in this project only adds to McChesney's growing stock as a major player in the music business.

After several years of prominent studio work and apprenticeship in world-class organizations (like the Bob Florence Big Band), Bob McChesney has arrived. There are times when hearing him is like hearing the trombone played for the first time. No serious jazz trombone collection can be complete without this recording.

Tom Smith
Pfeiffer University

4. Lyold Ulyate and His Trombone

LLOYD ULYATE, TROMBONE; Bruce McDonald, Don Trenner, piano; Phil "The Chief" Stevens, Red Mitchell, boss; Dick Shanahan, drums. H & L RECORDS (111 B5 Hoyden, Tustin, CA 92782) Hugh Mortin/Rolph Blane: The Trolly Song. Duke Ellington/Eddie DeLange/Mills: In My Solitude. Cole Porter: Anything Goes. George Gershwin/Ira Gershwin/D. Heyward: I Loves You Porgy. Todd: Trombosis. Rose: Holiday For Trombones. Allie Wrubel/Herb Mogidson: Gone With The Wind. Con Conrad/Herb Mogidson: The Continental. Oliver: Trombolero. Irving Berlin: Steppin'

Out With My Baby.

LLOYD ULYATE AND HIS TROMBONE is the fortuitous re-release of one of the most influential technical recordings of its time. When

originally produced in the early '60s it was considered something of a studio miracle. Ulyate, manned only with primitive three track recording equipment, single handedly stretched the parameters of overdubbing, with the process duplicated innumerable times until 10 perfectly synchronized (and static free) Lloyd Ulyates had been created. There were probably no more than three studio trombonists at that time (other than Ulyate) capable of a similar feat: Dick Nash, George Roberts and Urbie Green. Still, despite Green's significant contribution,

it can never be forgotten that Ulyate was the first; a distinction providing him a unique asterisk in the annals of modern recording/ engineering.

During the late '60s, Ulyate's efforts were overshadowed by Greens's well crafted and better promoted 21 TROMBONES series... and when compared to nearly two dozen of the world's greatest trombonists (to the superficial listener) his mere 10 trombones seemed less

ambitious. But the album built for itself an underground cult following, comprised of knowledgeable professional trombonists and enterprising students, who through the years maintained its formidable legacy.

Objectively speaking, there is nothing so innovative about the music, in light of its sole purpose being to serve the vehicle in and of itself.

With that said, it should still be reaffirmed that the ballads are fantastic, with the Solitude track especially remarkable, and one of the finest versions of that work ever recorded. By compact disc standards, the 25 minutes is quite meager. Yet, by the time you have replayed this recording again and again (as will inevitably be the case) you will have more than recieved your money's worth, while in all fairness, those trivial concerns are considered insignificant in light of Ulyate's tremendous accomplishment.

Real trombone collectors would be loathe not to experience LLOYD ULYATE AND HIS TROMBONE. If you are not already familiar with it, acquire it without delay. If it represents for you the historical personal reference it does for so many of us, put aside your frayed and

scratchy LP, buy the cd and relive the experience.

Tom Smith

Pfeiffer University

5. Smile: Gunther Bollmann

GUNTER BOLLMANN, TROMBONE; Olaf Polziehn, piano;Ingmar Heller, bass; Oliver Mewes, drums; Andy Haderer, trumpet; Stefan Pfeifer,

alto sax; Bruno Moller, guitar; The Symphonic Laboratory Orchestra; Manfred Honetschlager, conductor.MONS RECORDS MR874-348 (Taubenplatz 42, 67705 Trippstadt, Germany; Phone: 49 (0) 06306 993223)Jerome Kern: Nobody Else But Me. M. Bauza: Tango. J. van

Rooyen: Violets. E. Daniels: Soft Shoe for Thad. S. Mihanovich: Sometime Ago. Thad Jones: Mean What You Say. Manfred Honetschlager:

Cien anos de Soledad. Ray Noble: Cherokee.

The jazz trombone world had better start clearing a wide path for 29-year-old Gunter Bollmann. This German born apprentice of Jiggs Whigham and the late Bobby Burgess has serious game... so much that it is difficult to mask his present greatness. One does not have to

be clairvoyant to predict that large numbers will proclaim him "the next big thing," and they would not be too far off the mark.

What especially impresses is Bollmann's great improvisational maturity displayed in face of outrageous technique. Beautiful tone also weighs in on creative/ eclectic ballads like van Rooyen's Violets and Manfred Honetschlager's beautiful Cien anos de Soledad, the latter wonderfully accompanied by the Symphonic Laboratory Orchestra of Warsaw. That said, his startling chops seek to redefine how one approaches chordal navigation, seeing as it is so effortless that one gets wrapped up in the saying more than the doing, while at the same time wonderful characterizations of Cherokee and Bauza's Tango jump out in heroic fashion.

Bollmann also surrounds himself with a powerful supporting cast. Pianist Polziehn especially stands out for his ability to empathically

comprehend what is required for best played small group trombone, while saxophonist Pfeiffer also shines. His tasteful contrapuntal interplay with Bollmann on Thad Jones' Mean What You Say evokes memories of J.J. Johnson and Stan Getz in a similar genre. As a rule,

this band plays like 60-year-old icons instead of the 20-something young lions they actually are.

Make no mistake. This review is an unadulterated rave. SMILE represents an amazing achievement for one so young and unknown. Yet, problems associated with anonymity have a way of working out when you produce one of the most complete jazz trombone recordings of

the past couple of years, to say nothing of the finest European small group recording of any classification. Bollmann is that good, and deserves support. SMILE is aptly titled. It certainly put one on my face.

Tom Smith
National Music University, Bucharest, Romania

John Coffey Remembered

By Tommy Smith as told to and adapted by Tom Smith (Winter, 2001)

Sometimes I feel like John Coffey has become our instrument's most forgotten names, because during his lifetime, he was a magnificent performer and one of the most durable trombone teachers ever known. Yet, I seldom observe his legacy featured as prominently as when he received the ITA Award (1977) or when he passed in 1981. Still, there are few trombone teachers of the modern era who are not indebted to him in at least some

small way. He was a passionate lover of music and life, who yearned for the interplay between himself and his students. When you were with John Coffey, you never absorbed the punitive dictation of a self absorbed taskmaster. Instead, he made you believe in the wise counsel of a true friend. As

we all know, it is extremely difficult for a successful teacher to weigh the balance between respect and comraderie. But I think John probably

mastered that skill as well as anyone, while that was the primary reason I regarded him as my most important teacher and one of my closest friends.

Early Days 1957-1963

I first met John when I arrived in Boston the Fall of 1957. I was a green country boy from a North Carolina backwater, visiting the big city for the very first time. After a couple of semesters at a local college, I had decided to bank my musical aspirations on a relatively new institution called (at that

time) the Berklee School of Music. A friend of mine who was already in Boston, sent back fantastic stories of a place that taught jazz exclusively.

With the music of Stan Kenton and Count Basie firmly assimilated, I found the prospect of experiencing such a place too difficult to resist. With that

in mind, and with a very young family in tow, I ernestly ventured to the great unknown.

John Coffey

Upon arriving, John Coffey was one of the first people I came to know. His unassuming demeanor immediately put me at ease and alleviated the remaining tinges of homesickness and second thoughts. In those days, Berklee was just one of a number of schools where John hung a shingle. I

know he was giving lessons for the New England Conservatory, Boston University and most of the other colleges in the area. In those days everyone went to his studio at 250 Huntington Avenue, regardless of the school you attended. It was easy to find because it was located directly over the Leo Hirsch Clothing Store across the street from Symphony Hall. John ran a makeshift music store from within the tight confines of the studio, making it seem even smaller than it actually was. Among the scattered remnants of music and accessories was a veritable assembly line of students from

every imaginable location. It was not your garden variety musical establishment.

My first impression of John was one of a harried middle aged man with little regard for formality or punctuality. That first day I had no sooner

reached his second floor waiting room before he came barreling out of his studio to inform me of his impending tardiness. “Can you wait a minute

kid?” he asked, I’m running a little late.” Later I was to understand that to be one of his most revered catch phrases. It derived from his propensity for allowing lessons to run past their allotted times. There were a number of John Coffeyisms circulating around Boston back then, but that was one of

the two you heard most often.

The other was “tongue and blow kid;” a rudimentary explanation for maintaining a consistent air stream and devoting paramount attention to correct tongue placement and execution. There was never anything especially “groundbreaking” about John’s approach. He was a “meat and potatoes” kind

of teacher; lots of Arban for technique, Melodious Etudes for tone development, and an ample supply of “tongue and blow.” This was not to say he downplayed the more elaborate, if not scientific approaches that many of his contemporaries used, or that he considered such approaches unsubstantial or frivolous. Nor did he hy away from an occasional expert analysis when the situation warranted. It simply was not his preferred way

of conducting business. John felt that a mastery of basic fundamentals was the key to succeeding in most situations.

John and I hit it off immediately. He was fascinated by my thick Southern drawl and easy going demeanor. Initially, I lacked the gravitas to

understand the significance of studying with such a man. I would watch a few of the other students walk into the Coffey studio with great

apprehension, and I always wondered why that was the case. Some would actually rehearse what they were going to say to him. “Don’t you realize

who he is?” I was once asked incredulously. At that time, I had no way of knowing the answer to that question. I was merely happy to be studying with

a really good trombone teacher. Then one day the bandleader Les Elgart called John to request a trombone recommendation for his band. Now that impressed me, and was the first time I had been that close to a respected associate of name bandleaders.

On a cold Winter afternoon, for no particular reason, John asked me to follow him across the street to the hallowed confines of Symphony Hall.

“Follow me kid, (he called most of his students kid), I want you to hear something.” I had no sooner opened the door before I was enveloped by the amazing sounds of the Boston Symphony, having never heard anything like that. But in my estimation, what followed was the most amazing thing of

all. When rehearsal was over, the brass section of this legendary ensemble greeted John as if he were the president of the United States. That was

the first time I truly understood who this man actually was. This was the great John Coffey, former bass trombonist of the Cleveland Symphony, the Boston Symphony and the NBC Orchestra conducted by Arturo Toscaninni. After appropriate greetings had been exchanged and the musicians began

to disperse, I found myself slack jawed and devoid of thought. “What’s the matter kid?” he laughed. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Indeed, I thought I had.

As months passed, I found myself spending more and more time with John. Fortunately for me, he amiably tolerated company and willingly volunteered his plans for expanding the store. “You know Reb, (a name he used to describe Southern people), when I reopen this place, why don’t you come work for me?”

As desirable as I found the prospect, I had to face up to the reality that my finances were in dire need of repair. I also had to remind myself that I was still a very young man. My first child Tom was only a year old and my daughter Kathy had just been born. After significant reflection and

contemplation, my wife Julia and I decided it best to return home and establish a more reliable cash flow. “Make sure you get back here kid,” he told

me the day I left Boston. “There will be things for you to do when I finish expanding the store. I do plan to stay in touch.” I remember seeing John’s contagious smile through my rearview mirror as I turned the corner to Newberry Street, wondering with some justification if I would ever see him again.

It was not long before I realized that most of those previous fears were unfounded. John did indeed keep in touch. Every month or so, he would write

a letter or initiate an impromptu phone call. His conversations were seldom about music, usually inquiring about activities, family; that sort of thing.

If one were to gauge John Coffey strictly on the basis of work ethic, you would probably assume his life was consumed with music at all times. But

that reasonable assessment was largely incorrect. This is not to say that he did not adore his chosen occupation. Nobody enjoyed teaching trombone more than John Coffey. But, I have always believed he could have attained the same degree of happiness in any profession that kept him in the

vicinity of large numbers of people. The happiest I ever saw him was on those Sunday afternoons, when he would sit in his screened in patio at

his beautiful Cape Cod home, shooting the breeze with anyone who happened by.

For a number of summers (following my exodus from Boston) I was John’s house guest at his sprawling estate in Barnstable. In mid June, Julia and I, accompanied by our three young children, (by this time our third child Andy was born), would travel the long twenty hours to Massachusetts, where

we would take in the beautiful New England sunsets, compliments of John and his abundantly patient wife Helen. Of course, my favorite parts were those conversations on John’s patio, where we talked into the wee hours of the morning about everything, including music. Some of his favorite

stories detailed his eventful days as bass trombonist for the NBC Orchestra, under Toscaninni.

It was during this time that I learned he also had served as first trombonist with the orchestra during the opening season of Radio City Music Hall and at radio station WNEW.

“The maestro had no patience for mediocrity, so you always had to on your toes. People sometimes forget that the NBC performed a number of live shows, in addition to those national radio broadcasts. Sometimes, I had to perform that damned Bolero solo three times a day with the old man

staring right at me. So, there was always pressure. But, you know something kid, I thrived on it. I loved it. And, you want to know something else? I

have had to work like crazy for everything. Nothing has ever come easy for me.”

When John told me this, I stared at him in a manner telegraphing obvious disbelief. How could anything linking John Coffey to a trombone be difficult? “It’s true Reb. I kid you not….it’s true.”

Second Time Around

In early Spring 1963, I returned to Boston and worked for John as a music store road man and occasional trombone instructor. I was not surprised

to discover that his musical enterprises had expanded far beyond original expectations. By this time, John’s son Jack had started working there, and we became very close friends. He was just a couple of years younger than me, and we shared a lot of the same interests. This was probably the era when John was at his peak, both as teacher and musical entrepreneur. He maintained a studio of over one hundred students, while at the same time supplying band instruments for most of the secondary schools in New England. The “Who’s Who” of the brass world made it one of their mandatory Boston passovers. Subsequently, more than a few came to pay homage to the master and/or take in a lesson. Usually, they came to address a

recently acquired tonguing problem, or some minor crisis resulting from improper breathing. John was one of those rare teachers who had a knack

for quickly identifying fundamental problems. I am quite certain that his insistence to “tongue and blow” was reinforced to the “name” players while they were behind closed doors, in the same manner that he had tutored those with less experience. In John’s estimation, such principles were universal constants for all players. Around this time, I started to pay a lot more attention to John’s monumental work habits, and his delightfully eccentric behavior. He routinely accepted students from the early morning, and would continue without a lunch break until nine-thirty or ten o’clock

at night... five days a week. In order to do this and maintain his Cape Cod residence, he kept an apartment in the city, where he slept on week nights. After teaching even more students on Saturdays, he would make the two hour drive to Barnstable, before heading back to Boston Monday morning. Everybody wondered how he kept it up.

Probably in order to alleviate stress and maintain his sanity, John went to great lengths to keep things light around the studio. He really loved to kid people. I especially remember a contingent of trombone playing nuns who came to take lessons with him. “Take off your habit sister, so I can observe the muscles in your neck,” he would tell them. “Not in your lifetime John Coffey,” they would reply. Upon hearing this he would laugh himself into convulsions. He was also not beyond partaking in the occasional practical joke. One day, he became especially irritated with a gifted conservatory musician who refused to practice. John was further incensed when he discovered the young man’s lessons hidden behind a music stand. “I’ll show

that kid,” he said. John reached into a drawer and retrieved a large bottle of Elmer’s glue. He then proceeded to glue together every page of the

lesson. Later, the unsuspecting student returned to the scene of his previous transgressions, surprised to find John Coffey smiling like a canary

eating cat.

“So kid, how did your lesson go this week?” John asked. “Just great Mr. Coffey,” the young liar replied. Before the lesson started, John intentionally turned his back just long enough for the student to retrieve his music from its hiding place. “Alright kid, let’s begin on page three.” Immediately, the student frantically scratched and tore at the glued music in such a way that John could no longer contain himself. The embarrassed student learned

an important lesson that day and never returned to John’s studio unprepared.

Perhaps John’s most celebrated escapade regarded what everyone has come to know as the “selling of the hymnals.” For years, he sold

unauthorized “fake books” out of a drawer, and would camouflage them in brown paper. He called them hymnals and never told me what they were. One day, a clean cut man in his thirties requested trumpet lessons, and for several weeks was a regular fixture. He appeared to be a very knowledgeable musician, and a pretty decent player, so I never gave it a second thought when he asked me to sell him one of John’s hymnals. A few months later, two men in trench coats stormed the premises flashing FBI badges. Apparently, John’s unassuming student had been an undercover agent for the government. Later, John was served a summons and forced to pay a hefty fine. That was the last time I sold anybody one of John’s hymnals.

I always believed John’s greatest attribute was his innate proclivity for kind acts. The day I returned to Boston, my only trombone was stolen when I turned my back in a subway station for what was only a few seconds. Demoralized, I called John asking if he had something I could borrow. He told

me he did, and to report to Coffey Music immediately. When I entered the store, a beautiful new York trombone was sitting next to the cash register. I looked over and found John smiling broadly. “When do you need this back?” I asked. “What are you talking about?” he replied. “It’s your horn.” “I can’t accept something like this!” I shot back. “Don’t knock a good thing kid” was his final word. I heard him use that same expression on another occasion, when he inadvertently wrote me an extra paycheck. “John, you already paid me for this week.” “Don’t knock a good thing kid. Never knock a good

thing.”

After a year of working at Huntington Avenue, John pushed me to expand my horizons as a trombone player. He aggressively started recommending me around town as a substitute for sick and vacationing trombonists. You have to remember that in those days, there was a lot of work for Boston trombonists. I remember an especially memorable handful of engagements with the Boston Pops, where I was exhilarated and scared to death at the same time.

Then there came a day when a first rate orchestra from the Western United States called John about a substitute for a player who was taking an extended leave of absence. I forget the details about the arrangement, or why there was no search or audition process. All I remember is they asked John to recommend a long term “fill in” and he recommended me. “This is just what you need kid,” he told me. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always come back to the store.” Such a move was going to be a major undertaking for me. I had never traveled west of the Mississippi River, much less

cross country.

Then, there was the matter of my extended family, who saw our planned move as a trip to the moon. Therefore, as a means of reassuring Southern relatives, I moved myself, my wife and our three children back to North Carolina until the start of the performing season. In the meantime, I made

extra money working for my father. A few weeks later, I called the symphony manager to ask when to arrive. “What are you talking about,” he replied. “The guy Coffey recommended has been in town for the past week.” Apparently, another of John’s students heard about the job and had arrived claiming he was the trombonist John had recommended. Feeling more than a little victimized by the perils of the music business, I decided to remain

in North Carolina and finish my college degree. It would be six long years before I would see John again.

Reunions

The Smith family traveled to Barnstable for the last time in the Summer of 1970. John and Helen welcomed us as if no time had passed. As always,

the highlight of our visit was John holding court in his favorite patio chair, regaling us with his wonderful stories. By this time, he was spending less time at the store. Jack had long assumed the reigns of the business, and had moved the rapidly expanding operation to a much larger facility in Norwood. Still, John remained a remarkably active teacher. He also continued to commute from Boston to the Cape on weekends; although

complaining that increased traffic had turned the commute into a miserable experience. I told him I was entertaining the idea of accepting a band director’s position in nearby Bourne. He eagerly hoped I would take the job, and move to Boston. Unfortunately, too much time had passed, and I had become re acclimated to the slower pace of Southern life. I did not accept the job in Bourne, and again I wondered if I would see my old mentor again. “Don’t worry about it Reb,” he replied upon hearing of my decision. “We’ll see each other again… and soon.” As always, he was true to his word.

Two years later, John and Helen stopped in my home town for a brief visit enroute to Florida. As always, John appeared not to have aged a day, and seemed genuinely interested in my position at a local college and my comparatively “low key” performing opportunities. “When are you coming back

to Boston Reb?” he asked, knowing full well that I no longer harbored such intentions. I remembered how odd it was to see John situated against the back drop of my own environment; and how for a brief time our two worlds melded into a singular, albeit confusing entity. It was a picture I would always remember and cherish. It would also be the last time I would ever see John Coffey.

As the years passed, we lost touch. A few years later, my family moved to New Orleans where I made a living playing jazz music. I thought a lot

about John in those days, but never got around to calling him. Uncharacteristically, he too had lost touch. Later I was to learn from Jack that he didn’t get around as much as he used to, and that the rigors of his busy life had finally caught up. For several years, and fearing the worst, I was afraid to

contact Boston. Then, one day in 1986, my son Tom called Jack regarding a music competition he was sponsoring. Reluctantly, he asked him if the

“old man” was still alive. “No, he passed away five years ago,” Jack answered. It had always been tough for me to remain ignorant about such news,

yet more difficult to finally come to grips with the awful truth.

Coda

After Tom shared what had happened, I reconnected with Jack and we promised to always stay in touch. For the past sixteen years we have stayed

true to our word, while Jack has turned Coffey Music into a business easily surpassing John’s wildest dreams. Still, it is difficult not to reflect on those wonderful, more innocent times back on Huntington Avenue, when the persona of one of history’s greatest bone men occupied supreme precedence, with a sense of dignity and good humor not soon forgotten.