Jack of Diamonds (17 page)

I know I might be beginning to sound like a bit of a smart alec but I think it was mostly all the reading that I’d done that put me ahead, and Cabbagetown primary was hardly the benchmark for Canadian scholarly excellence. But, anyhow, I was lucky, thanks to Miss Mony and a letter from Miss Frostbite and Miss Bates, that I was asked in March of my final year in primary school to sit the first exam at UTS (that stands for University of Toronto Schools) in Bloor Street, only about two miles from home. I managed to pass in the top quarter, so they asked me to sit a second exam, based on writing an essay. I can tell you now I was grateful for all the years of reading and looking up stuff in the library dictionary and encyclopaedia, because I managed to pass this as well. So I got to the last part, which was an interview with two teachers and an old boy from the school who now taught at the university.

By this time I was doing fourth-grade piano and I think it was this that got me through, especially when I told them my teacher was Mona Bates. It seemed the music school at UTS was excellent. Then later, close to my eleventh birthday, we got a letter accepting me as a bursary student at UTS. We learned that over 600 kids had sat for the entrance exams and only seventy-five of us were accepted. They weren’t only bursary students. Most were clever guys who wanted to get one of the very limited UTS places. My mom cried and cried when she heard the news, then started to worry about paying for the school uniform. Fortunately, they had a free clothing pool where parents donated their kids’ outgrown uniforms, so I was okay for school clothes. When I told Mac, he clapped me on the back and said, ‘Best news ever, Jack. If I could afford fireworks, we’d let them off from every rooftop in Cabbagetown.’

Now here’s a lucky thing . . . sort of. The school had lots of extracurricular activities, where parents paid for their kids to go places and see special things, skiing and camp in the summer, excursions to the theatre or sailing on Lake Ontario, and then, when I got a bit older, there were parties with girls in private homes. But, of course, we didn’t have money for equipment or fares or anything else, and my clothes were too shabby for parties – I wore my school uniform for concerts. The reason I say I was sort of lucky was that I could easily have felt just like my mom after that first concert, but because the school accepted that I was a serious music student and had to practise for two hours a day and all through the summer vacation, I had the best excuse not to go on the various excursions, skiing trips, camps and so on, which saved me from being completely humiliated.

My mom proved she could be as stubborn as Miss Frostbite, and when she discovered that there was no union involvement at the Jazz Warehouse, she insisted on continuing to work an extra morning a week for Miss Frostbite after her teeth were fixed. Now she no longer worked in the kitchen doing the dirty work, but had become Miss Frostbite’s house cleaner four mornings a week. Like I said before, I know she felt proud that we weren’t taking Miss Frostbite’s charity without giving something back.

And so time passed and I grew into my teenage years, and the worst part was that I hardly ever had time to play the harmonica, except during the summer school vacation. I took to playing it on the streetcar going home from my piano lessons at night. The passengers became my very first jazz audience and seemed to love it, invariably clapping as I got off at my stop. More often than not the conductor wouldn’t accept my fare, so it was almost like being paid to play.

I was doing an awful lot of piano practice, but Mona Bates was a pretty formidable teacher in more ways than one. She demanded technical perfection as well as beautifully expressive playing. I worked my way through the grades and learned to play with absolute precision, as well as great feeling. ‘Emotion, Jack! It’s what makes the difference. It’s a great part of your musical signature,’ she would often say. Music is addictive and I loved the piano and all the classical music I learned, but I still hungered for jazz. I told myself all this technique I was learning would translate to jazz when I had more time. I learned theory, harmony and counterpoint and began to study Bach’s fugues, after a lot of work with Miss Bates ‘stupid boy-ing’ me and ‘wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong-ing’ me. I also worked at being able to modulate from any key intuitively, knowing it would be a great asset when I turned to serious jazz piano.

Of course, I said nothing to Mona Bates. I could see she had this big career in mind for me but it wasn’t where my heart was. By this time I knew a fair bit about the life of a concert pianist, and even if I made the big time, it wasn’t where I wanted to end up. If I’d told Miss Bates I had decided to turn to jazz when I left school she’d have had a major heart seizure. She was obsessed with my large hands and made me learn challenging pieces of music just to test me. When I succeeded, she was very pleased. ‘See, Jack, you can do it. It’s the hands, the Rachmaninoff hands!’

I told my mom about my feelings on one of our Sunday walks in the park. We’d just heard massed military bands playing in Queen’s Park, then a politician had spoken to the crowd about how war in Europe in the coming months was almost a certainty. His final words were ‘If you’re a man over eighteen and under forty, Canada will expect you to do your bit on behalf of the British Empire!’ Everywhere you went people were talking about the coming war and that Canada must be involved. Lots of the older final-year guys at school said they’d be joining up for sure, but I’d be too young if it came in the next few months. I was still in year eleven, and you had to be eighteen to enlist. But if war was declared and continued into late 1941, I’d certainly join up. It wasn’t the reason I didn’t want to go to the conservatory and study classical music, but it was certainly a good reason for not going. I pointed to a park bench. ‘Mom, I have something to tell you. Why don’t we sit down for a moment.’

‘Oh, Jack, it’s not about joining up and going to the war when you leave school, is it?’ she asked, clearly worried.

‘Mom, I’d be too young. It will probably be over by the time I turn eighteen.’ I then proceeded to tell her that I’d decided I didn’t want to go to the conservatory and that I wanted to become a professional jazz pianist.

‘Oh, dear. Jack, what will Miss Frostbite and Miss Bates say?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose they’re going to be happy. But I wanted to talk to you first.’

‘Oh, deary me, however shall we pay her back the money she’s spent on you?’ she said, clearly distressed.

‘Mom, I’ll find a way, I promise.’

‘I’ll work as her housekeeper forever,’ she said firmly. ‘That way we can eventually pay the money back.’

‘Mom, I told you I’d find a way and I will, I promise. But how do
you
feel about it? I mean, are you angry?’

‘No, Jack, just very shocked and sad. Everyone had such high hopes for you.’

‘You mean I’ve failed you?’

My mom looked at me tearfully. ‘Jack, you’ve never failed me for one minute of your life. It’s . . . it’s just that it comes as a tremendous shock.’ She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘One thing I know for sure, you’ll become a very good jazz pianist and that’s all that matters.’

‘Mom, I haven’t wasted my time. Almost everything I’ve learned from Miss Bates can be adapted to the jazz piano. Miss Frostbite once said an education in classical music was the very best training a jazz musician could have. Mom, jazz is the coming music, it’s not as though I’ll be going backwards. Bands like Count Basie’s, Louis Armstrong’s, Cab Calloway’s and Duke Ellington’s are leading the way. I can spend the next five years at the conservatory or learn my trade as a jazz musician. I’ll be scuffing – I mean, earning very little – but it will be better than the nothing I’m earning now.’

‘Oh, Jack, you won’t be leaving your school as well, will you?’

‘No, of course not. I think I can get an A-grade pass that would allow me to get into university.’

She looked relieved. ‘Maybe you could study something else as well, Jack?’

With only a year to go at school, I knew I also needed to tell Miss Frostbite about how I felt. I was scared stiff. After all, she’d been the one who’d paid for my lessons all these years and she’d never once mentioned that she hoped I’d turn back to jazz one day. Though jazz was gaining in popularity, it still wasn’t what talented young white musicians were expected to choose. Even though I knew Miss Frostbite loved jazz, it would probably still come as a big and unpleasant surprise. I plucked up sufficient courage after four days of rehearsing what I was going to say, then one afternoon after school, instead of going directly to her piano room to practise, I knocked on her office door.

‘Come in!’ she called.

‘It’s me, Jack, Miss Frostbite. May I see you, please?’

She had her back to the door. ‘In the lounge, two minutes, be right there. Just completing a schedule for the club,’ she answered.

We sat opposite each other on the yellow couches, just like the first time.

‘What is it, Jack?’ she asked.

‘Ah, hmm, er . . . I wanted to ask your advice, Miss Frostbite.’

‘Oh, that’s nice, Jack. Nothing bad, I hope?’

‘I don’t know, I hope not,’ I replied.

‘Well, go ahead. In my experience most things can be worked out.’

This was when I was supposed to launch into my prepared speech, but all that came out was, ‘Miss Frostbite, I don’t want to be a classical musician.’

‘Oh, Jack, you’re not thinking of giving up music?’ she exclaimed, plainly shocked.

‘No, of course not,’ I hastened to assure her, ‘I could never do that! Just classical music. I want to play jazz piano when I leave school.’

She put her hand up to her breast and sighed deeply and then took a deep breath. ‘My goodness, for a moment there I thought I was about to have a heart attack.’ Then she laughed. ‘Jack, I can’t say I’m not surprised. You’re doing so well and we are all so very proud of you. Next year you complete high school, and then, of course, we all took it for granted you’d attend the conservatory. But you’re old enough to know your own mind. However, you should be aware that making a living as a jazz musician, unless you’re at the very top, isn’t going to be easy. Most of the band here are scuffing and would be out of work if we didn’t have the club, and goodness knows how long this Depression will continue. But I respect your decision and, as you know, I’m a jazz fanatic.’ She laughed. ‘I ask you, why else would a well-bred gal from Burlington run a place like this?’

‘I can’t say, Miss Frostbite, but Miss Bates said you always did exactly as you wanted and were stubborn as a mule, even as a young girl.’

‘Oh, did she now! I must say, that’s a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black. She expects to get her own way as much as I do.’ Her lips puckered and then she said crisply, ‘Although, she usually goes about it less pleasantly. By the way, have you told her about your decision?’

‘No, I wanted to tell you first, to see how you felt. Then, if you weren’t very angry, I wanted to ask for your advice.’

‘Thank you, Jack, that’s nice and I appreciate it. No, I’m not angry, but I am surprised. As for telling Mona Bates, I suggest you don’t . . . well, not for the time being, anyhow. She’s likely to have a conniption!’ (Another word I had to look up.)

‘I thought you’d be very angry with me, Miss Frostbite. What I mean is, you giving me such a wonderful chance in life and then me not wanting to go on to the conservatory. I thought I should tell you now because if you kicked me out, then I could concentrate on schoolwork and getting into university.’

Miss Frostbite leaned back and smiled. ‘If you’re going to be a jazz musician, it’s always as well to have a contingency plan, Jack. I know your music takes up all your available time but do try to do well at school.’

‘Even if I did go to university, or if there is a war and it’s still on in 1941, I’d still want to play jazz piano.’

‘We probably have a great deal more in common than you may think, Jack. I suspect I know just how you feel. While we are from different backgrounds, I felt the same about being a popular singer when I was eighteen and had just left school. I’d studied piano and voice at school and privately, like every well-bred Burlington gal. I was even considered quite promising, though I admit I was no Mona Bates, who everyone knew even then was going places. My parents wanted me to study for the opera because I had a pleasant contralto voice. But I wanted to sing ragtime and the blues and be an entertainer. In those days singing in men’s clubs, taverns or music halls was considered wicked and probably regarded in much the same way as becoming a prostitute. Besides, you did what you were told, and so I dutifully studied classical singing, as my teacher called it. It was excellent voice training, just as classical music is wonderful music training for you, Jack.

‘But when I was twenty-one and free to leave home, the war broke out and I flew the coop and came to Toronto. My father never spoke to me again. He wrote to me to say that, as far as he was concerned, I was dead and he had instructed my mother to accept this notion. He was a dreadful old curmudgeon and I was glad to be free of him. But I missed my mother desperately. In those times a man’s wife was expected to obey his wishes.’ She paused and smiled. ‘So you see, Jack, we are not all that different.’

I was becoming increasingly amazed at Miss Frostbite’s story. It seemed that bad things could also happen to the rich and not just to poor people.

Miss Frostbite continued. ‘I had been singing blues and ragtime in my spare time, as well as playing the piano, for four years without my parents’ permission, so I wasn’t wholly unprepared for what awaited me in Toronto. But I got lucky: I did an audition for a nightclub and I got the job. By the end of the war I guess I was pretty famous among the troops. It was the soldiers who gave me the sobriquet Miss Fairy Floss.’