“In a Blue Moon, Once” — a short story by Richard Herring

December 16th, 2014

“In a Blue Moon, Once” — a story by Richard Herring about being swept away by the life-changing effects of discovering jazz music — was a finalist in our recent 37th Short Fiction Award competition.  It is published with the permission of the author.

 

*

herring

 

  Richard Herring grew up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. He explored a range of blue collar jobs across the South before a change of course took him through 35 years in the field of education and a Ph.D. from Texas A&M University. He has been a dedicated fan since a jazz epiphany took him in 1985. He now lives and writes full time on the Florida Gulf Coast.

_______________________________

 

 

In a Blue Moon, Once

by

Richard Herring

 

“Night of the living dead,” a voice screamed in Tom’s head. A softer voice pointed out it was still late afternoon. It sure wasn’t life as he wanted to know it. In reality, it was just another long Thursday afternoon of monthly staff meetings, with new mandates and standards flowing downhill from the top. All the nodding mannequins around the conference room would take it all in, shoot a few inane, brown nose comments back at the presenter, then go back to do their jobs tomorrow the same as always.

Sylvia’s attention was on the crochet hoop in her lap. Jack’s eyes had been closed for the better part of 45 minutes. Tom’s life support system came through the cord fed neatly up beneath the lapel, to the headphones partially obscured by thick sideburns and abundant head of hair. A collection of earpieces was present among these old codgers, but his was connected to the brand new cassette player in his suit coat pocket.

The tape Mikki turned him on to seemed to emanate from a place beyond his routine, tired existence. It was as if the music offered a tangible escape from the dreadfully predictable pace and sequence of life. The cycle he lived dealt with ever changing faces, always asking the same questions, always satisfied with the same old, jaded answers. There had to be more. If not, he’d have to be content with his regular walk among the zombies.

At the break, refreshments were set up in the alcove, and that’s where she ran into him. It was always good to see Mikki, even if she did look better in men’s dress clothing than him.

“Hey, lighten up, man,” she reacted to his somber expression, “it can’t be that bad.”

“You weren’t in my session,” he told her. “This John Coltrane stuff you gave me seems to help, though. How was yours?

“Oh, the usual. But in a few hours this will be the last thing on my mind.” Mikki told him about a great vocalist playing at the club that night in Midtown. “You look in the dictionary under ‘torch singer,’ they might just insert her picture,” she nodded her own slow, repeated affirmative. “Can you make it?” she pressed a styrofoam cup of coffee into an oval against her lower lip, “or do you have a calendar entry to go home and kill yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” he told her. “I have a late conference call but after that, yeah. If you’ll be there.”

“Naturally,” she smiled, “Couldn’t miss April’s set. That’s my girl.” And tonight, well, there’s always that chance.” The serious gaze she fixed on him came in advance of her inquiry. “If you know what I mean.” He didn’t.

That chance had to do with another act in town that night. Brandon was one of the ‘Young Lions’ involved in the reemergence of the jazz canon. He was a name in his own right now, playing across town at the symphony hall. In a town like this, a class B venue for jazz tours, nationally known artists came in on weeknights, playing concert halls for high-brow season ticket holders. Then, if it worked out, they might drop in for an improvised late night set at a more an intimate venue, like the best straight ahead jazz club in town.

Brandon’s brother, a ‘lion’ in his own right, showed up one night last spring after his concert downtown. With one of his guys and a two from the great house band, they smoked through a set so hot it became the stuff of legends in the small, but fervent, jazz community. Mikki was fortunate to be there that night and, although the fire marshal’s plaque on the second floor posted a capacity of 140 occupants, she guessed maybe 300 people since that night talked it up like they were there.

The beeper tone to reassemble sounded and the zombies began to shuffle back to their designated meeting rooms. Groups were determined by scores on a personality profile earlier in the session. Tom’s name label was a different color than hers, so they went in separate directions.

“Hey,” she called after him, “whoever is first, get us a table by the stage. Right up front.” His wink signaled agreement with the plan.

*

     Tom had driven by the place several times but never been inside. Scattered downpours on the way slowed traffic, and torrential rains over the last few days caused several detours due to street flooding. Later than he intended, he still found a decent parking spot, under a canopy of trees, about half way down the block. Owner of the Blue Moon, David was greeting patrons at the door this night and had the word to watch for Tom’s arrival.

“Hey there, Doc. Pleased to meet ya. Go on up,” he said. “Doc Mikki already has your table.”

At the top of narrow staircase, he saw that she did; a table within short arm reach of the stage, centered under the old wood beam ceiling; the best acoustics in the house.

“Wow, this is great,” he told her at the table. A couple dozen people were seated throughout the room, and a well-dressed crowd, too. In the aftermath of the young lions’ decade, musicians and fans alike dressed like Miles on a 60’s album cover. Mikki caught the waitress’ eye and signaled for a two shots and draft beers to follow the empty glasses on the table. “Ever bring anyone else from work over here?”

“No, I took a chance. I thought it just might happen to you. In our work day universe,” she told him, “you may be a singularity.”

“How so?” he wondered.

“Well, everything we deal with in our department involves dead, cold facts,” she started, “but, if you venture from subject matter with those folks, you risk pulling politics or resurrecting Jesus right into the middle of the conversation.” The tilt of his head and an arched eyebrow signaled he was working to follow her point. “So, you try to stay innocuous when the topic strays to, say, what kind of music are you into?” The blank expression she affected was broken by his silent chuckle. ‘Oh, they say, jazz. Yeah, me too! Nothing makes for a good time like that Dixieland sound.’ Or, ‘Oh yes, indeed, that Kenny G. really speaks to me,’ with a far off, elevator music look in their eyes?

“So, you’re saying the straight-ahead jazz you’re talking about is like communicating in Aramaic or Sanskrit,” he added. “Just another dead language to that vanilla crew.”

“Let’s not be so hard on them. It’s a trend that extends to the general population. Not everyone can hear it. All anyone can do is put themselves in proximity to the music, and maybe it happens. Maybe jazz chooses you rather than the other way around.”

Their attention was diverted by musicians addressing their instruments on the band stand. Following a few tuning notes, piano and bass tore into a double time rendition of “I’ll Remember April” as a long introductory piece for the night’s vocalist. She was gorgeous, coming out scatting from the start of the third stanza and took the piece to a soaring crescendo. Then somehow, to the delight of the attentive crowd, they segued into a sultry version of “Autumn Leaves,” with the rest of the band members filtering on and off stage as their solo spots came up. They worked through brilliant sets, authentic but imaginative, technically flawless. April sang timeless lyrics like a personal, oral history. When the final notes of last piece faded, a stunning, harmonically rich version of ‘But Beautiful,’ paced as slow as a glacier, Tom held both cheeks in his upturned hands and a trace of tears in his eyes.

“Whew,” he spoke quietly to Mikki. “I think I’m in love.”

“Poor baby, I hope it’s not your first case of unrequited.”

“Oh, you mean she’s already spoken for?” Tom explored.

“No, I mean she and I go to the same church,” she laid out for him to consider. She enjoyed his blank expression before closing the loop. “Sacred Heart of the Lipstick Lesbian.”

“Ahh, so there goes that chance, then.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” Mikki raised hands to either side of her head, as if showing she
was unarmed. “Like I said, all you can do is put yourself in proximity,” she laughed, “and see if it happens.”

They shared many more drinks and laughs through an equally killer second set. Mikki kept looking for an opening to make an exit when hoots and screams from the appreciative audience swelled between numbers. Then, she couldn’t tear herself away when the next piece started. Then the next. It went that way until the houselights came up with the ‘thanks for coming out’ talk from the bandstand. A ripple of mixed sounds, rain on the roof and the scuttle of chair legs, came from the edge of the numb quiet that followed the last set.

“Wow, I-Got-To-Go,” Mikki over enunciated, holding her glasses in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. “That eight o’clock will come mighty early tomorrow.” Recorded music came on the P.A. and filled the void. When she reached for her purse and the check, Tom covered it with his hand.

“You can get it next time,” he told her. “Thanks for the invite. But, hey, before you go, what’s with this?” He pointed at the speaker in the ceiling above their heads. “I don’t get it. This is from a different mix than anything we heard tonight.”

“That’s from the new Miles release. Some old school purists are horrified by that mix of genres, past and future sounds. If I’m still articulate, let me put it to you this way — jazz is a realm where old is made new, and new is never all that it might become.” She was proud of her explanation and stood up to gather her things. “Say, this cut’s right up your alley. Called ‘Hannibal.’ Let it take you and you might hear the elephants crossing the Alps. I’m gone,” she turned to go. Then she was.

“Under local ordinance, we have to officially lock the doors and close in fifteen minutes,” Dave was at the mic. “Not like we won’t let you out after that, but, you might have to find somebody with a key.” As some of the crowd filtered out, the rest were told they were welcome to stay and enjoy. “So if you’re ready to go, as Charlie Parker said, now’s the time.”

Tom wasn’t ready. He knew he was loaded, riveted, and uncommonly alive. He had the rest of his drink to finish along with most of Mikki’s, and a flood of thought racing through his mind. Now’s the time. If music is another tool to measure time, and time is immutable, how is time so indisputably bent in a blue note?

The remaining patrons began to fill tables around him, closer to the bandstand. A few people stepped behind the curtains and came back to the stage wetting their reeds and settling in for an impromptu set. The bartender sat in on the drums and a server brought her vintage Gibson L-5 from somewhere in the back. The bar was closed but drinks kept coming from somewhere and fat lines of powder were chopped out at the adjacent table.

The guys on stage spoke a few song titles between them before agreeing on one. Their train pulled slowly away from the station, picked up speed in rapidly changing increments and took everyone along. The diminished crowd applauded approvingly in what would be the last lull of the night. Some guy in the audience did his best Brando, grabbed his head with both hands, calling out in mock anguish, “Stella, Stell-aahh.” At that moment, his cry was like flicking a wooden match onto a pile of oily rags.

The musicians took off, using a bop version of the old standard as a bridge to whatever improvisational fancy materialized between them. There turned out to be no celebrity sightings that night, but no one seemed to notice. Tom was mesmerized by the energy and interplay and, at one point, overwhelmed by emotion. His hands were gripped in front of him on the table, as if in prayer. He felt the apprehension, the edge of fear, of a young boy with his face pressed to a fence, looking through a knothole at something he was not supposed to see. The power of the maelstrom on the other side sucked him through.

*

     “Just leaving,” he called to the policeman placing a ticket on the car parked behind him. The club made coffee to go at dawn and he shifted the cup from hand to hand, feeling for his keys. The officer gestured to the sign; no parking after eight a.m. on weekdays. “Thanks,” Tom called, quickly getting in the car and maneuvering out in traffic. He faced two immediate missions; taking this unfamiliar route across town in morning rush hour, and concocting a plan before ten o’clock. It stopped raining sometime overnight. It might just be a beautiful Friday morning.

First stop was the faculty rest room to splash water in his face and try to shake the rumple out of yesterday’s clothes. Next would be the office to check messages and get a grip. He pushed through the door, glass panel painted with the letters, Thomas Moran, Ph.D. He was inside the small rectangle that constituted his second home. On the desk, a pair of cheap sunglasses were placed on a handwritten note. Painted on the lenses were crude, open eyes in liquid Whiteout. The note said, ‘Thought these might come in handy. Love, Mikki,’ punctuated with smiley faces above the ‘i’s.’

He sat down to pull himself together and typed a note on the Smith-Corona for Leslie, his new graduate assistant this semester. He scraped off the eyeballs with a paperclip, and wore the glasses as he walked down to the teaching theater.

Most students were already seated as he walked down the aisle to Leslie at the dais, grading this week’s essays. She read the note and nodded affirmatively. Before he was out the door, she was at the microphone.

“Spend 20 minutes or so assembling your notes, then the rest of the class in your discussion groups to align your answers and understanding on the following topic: Consider lasting outcomes of the Second Punic War, including Hannibal’s strategic use of elephants to cross from . . .” Tangential thoughts continued to glance off Tom’s head but, walking away, he was secure that morning in two certainties: the mysticism of jazz chose to take him, and tenure is a beautiful thing.

_____

 

Read “Homage,” by Kenneth Levine, the winning story in the most recent Short Fiction Contest

Read another finalist’s story, “Silent City,” by Adam Murray

Click here for details on how you can submit your story for consideration in our next competition.

 

 

Share this:

Comment on this article:

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

A Letter From the Publisher

An appeal for contributions to support the ongoing publishing efforts of Jerry Jazz Musician

In This Issue

The Modern Jazz Quintet by Everett Spruill
A Collection of Jazz Poetry — Summer, 2023 Edition

A wide range of topics are found in this collection. Tributes are paid to Tony Bennett and Ahmad Jamal and to the abstract worlds of musicians like Ornette Coleman and Pharoah Sanders; the complex lives of Chet Baker and Nina Simone are considered; devotions to Ellington and Basie are revealed; and personal solace is found in the music of Tommy Flanagan and Quartet West. These are poems of peace, reflection, time, venue and humor – all with jazz at their core. (Featuring the art of Everett Spruill)

The Sunday Poem

photo by William Gottlieb/Library of Congress
“Fledging” by John L. Stanizzi

Interview

photo courtesy of Henry Threadgill
Interview with Brent Hayes Edwards, co-author (with Henry Threadgill) of Easily Slip Into Another World: A Life in Music...The author discusses his work co-written with Threadgill, the composer and multi-instrumentalist widely recognized as one of the most original and innovative voices in contemporary music, and the winner of the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Music.

Poetry

painting by Henry Denander
A collection of jazz haiku...This collection, featuring 22 poets, is an example of how much love, humor, sentimentality, reverence, joy and sorrow poets can fit into their haiku devoted to jazz.

In Memoriam

Fotograaf Onbekend / Anefo, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
A thought or two about Tony Bennett

Podcast

"BG Boogie’s musical tour of indictment season"...The podcaster “BG Boogie” has weaponized the most recent drama facing The Former Guy, creating a 30 minute playlist “with all the latest up-to-date-est musical indictments of political ineptitude.”

Interview

Chick Webb/photographer unknown
Interview with Stephanie Stein Crease, author of Rhythm Man: Chick Webb and the Beat That Changed America...The author talks about her book and Chick Webb, once at the center of America’s popular music, and among the most influential musicians in jazz history.

Community

FOTO:FORTEPAN / Kölcsey Ferenc Dunakeszi Városi Könyvtár / Petanovics fényképek, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
.“Community Bookshelf, #1"...a twice-yearly space where writers who have been published on Jerry Jazz Musician can share news about their recently authored books. This edition includes information about books published within the last six months or so…

Short Fiction

photo vi Wallpaper Flare
Short Fiction Contest-winning story #63 — “Company” by Anastasia Jill...Twenty-year-old Priscilla Habel lives with her wannabe flapper mother who remains stuck in the jazz age 40 years later. Life is monotonous and sad until Cil meets Willie Flasterstain, a beatnik lesbian who offers an escape from her mother's ever-imposing shadow.

Poetry

Trading Fours, with Douglas Cole, No. 16: “Little Waltz” and “Summertime”...Trading Fours with Douglas Cole is an occasional series of the writer’s poetic interpretations of jazz recordings and film. In this edition, he connects the recordings of Jessica Williams' "Little Waltz" and Gene Harris' "Summertime."

Playlist

photo by Bob Hecht
This 28-song Spotify playlist, curated by Jerry Jazz Musician contributing writer Bob Hecht, features great tunes performed by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Sarah Vaughan, Charlie Parker, Sonny Rollins, Bill Evans, Lester Young, Stan Getz, and…well, you get the idea.

Poetry

photo of Wolfman Jack via Wikimedia Commons
“Wolfman and The Righteous Brothers” – a poem by John Briscoe

Jazz History Quiz #167

GuardianH, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Before becoming one of television’s biggest stars, he was a competent ragtime and jazz piano player greatly influenced by Scott Joplin (pictured), and employed a band of New Orleans musicians similar to the Original Dixieland Jazz Band to play during his vaudeville revue. Who was he?

Short Fiction

photo via PIXNIO/CC0
“The Sound Barrier” – a short story by Bex Hansen

Short Fiction

back cover of Diana Krall's album "The Girl in the Other Room" [Verve]
“Improvised: A life in 7ths, 9ths and Suspended 4ths” – a short story by Vikki C.

Interview

photo by William Gottlieb/Library of Congress
Long regarded as jazz music’s most eminent baritone saxophonist, Gerry Mulligan was a central figure in “cool” jazz whose contributions to it also included his important work as a composer and arranger. Noted jazz scholar Alyn Shipton, author of The Gerry Mulligan 1950s Quartets, and Jerry Jazz Musician contributing writer Bob Hecht discuss Mulligan’s unique contributions to modern jazz.

Photography

photo by Giovanni Piesco
Giovanni Piesco’s photographs of Tristan Honsinger

Poetry

Maurice Mickle considers jazz venues, in two poems

In Memoriam

David Becker, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
“Tony Bennett, In Memoriam” – a poem by Erren Kelly

Poetry

IISG, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Ella Fitzgerald, in poems by Claire Andreani and Michael L. Newell

Book Excerpt

“Chick” Webb was one of the first virtuoso drummers in jazz and an innovative bandleader dubbed the “Savoy King,” who reigned at Harlem’s world-famous Savoy Ballroom. Stephanie Stein Crease is the first to fully tell Webb’s story in her biography, Rhythm Man: Chick Webb and the Beat that Changed America…The book’s entire introduction is excerpted here.

Feature

Hans Christian Hagedorn, professor for German and Comparative Literature at the University of Castilla-La Mancha in Ciudad Real (Spain) reveals the remarkable presence of Miguel de Cervantes’ classic Don Quixote in the history of jazz.

Short Fiction

Dmitry Rozhkov, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
“A Skull on the Moscow Leningrad Sleeper” – a short story by Robert Kibble...A story revolving around a jazz record which means so much to a couple that they risk being discovered while attempting to escape the Soviet Union

Book Excerpt

Book excerpt from Easily Slip Into Another World: A Life in Music, by Henry Threadgill and Brent Hayes Edwards

Short Fiction

photo via Appletreeauction.com
“Streamline Moderne” – a short story by Amadea Tanner

Publisher’s Notes

“C’est Si Bon” – at trip's end, a D-Day experience, and an abundance of gratitude

Poetry

photo by William Gottlieb/Library of Congress
A Charlie Parker Poetry Collection...Nine poets, nine poems on the leading figure in the development of bebop…

Contributing Writers

Click the image to view the writers, poets and artists whose work has been published on Jerry Jazz Musician, and find links to their work

Interview

Photo of Stanley Crouch by Michael Jackson
Interview with Glenn Mott, editor of Victory is Assured: The Uncollected Writings of Stanley Crouch (photo of Stanley Crouch by Michael Jackson)

Interview

photo of Sonny Rollins by Brian McMillen
Interview with Aidan Levy, author of Saxophone Colossus: The Life and Music of Sonny Rollins...The author discusses his book about the iconic tenor saxophonist who is one of the greatest jazz improvisers of all time – a lasting link to the golden age of jazz

Art

Designed for Dancing: How Midcentury Records Taught America to Dance: “Outtakes” — Vol. 2...In this edition, the authors Janet Borgerson and Jonathan Schroeder share examples of Cha Cha Cha record album covers that didn't make the final cut in their book

Pressed for All Time

“Pressed For All Time,” Vol. 17 — producer Joel Dorn on Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s 1967 album, The Inflated Tear

Photography

© Veryl Oakland
John McLaughlin and Carlos Santana are featured in this edition of photographs and stories from Veryl Oakland’s book, Jazz in Available Light

Coming Soon

An interview with Judith Tick, author of Becoming Ella Fitzgerald: The Jazz Singer Who Transformed American Song; A new collection of jazz poetry; a new Jazz History Quiz; short fiction; poetry; photography; interviews; playlists; and lots more in the works...

Interview Archive

Eubie Blake
Click to view the complete 22 year archive of Jerry Jazz Musician interviews, including those recently published with Richard Carlin and Ken Bloom on Eubie Blake (pictured); Richard Brent Turner on jazz and Islam; Alyn Shipton on the art of jazz; Shawn Levy on the original queens of standup comedy; Travis Atria on the expatriate trumpeter Arthur Briggs; Kitt Shapiro on her life with her mother, Eartha Kitt; Will Friedwald on Nat King Cole; Wayne Enstice on the drummer Dottie Dodgion; the drummer Joe La Barbera on Bill Evans; Philip Clark on Dave Brubeck; Nicholas Buccola on James Baldwin and William F. Buckley; Ricky Riccardi on Louis Armstrong; Dan Morgenstern and Christian Sands on Erroll Garner; Maria Golia on Ornette Coleman.

Site Archive