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Tale 9

 

How  It  All  Started

 

 

three black
                and white photos show the band's progress from 2 banjos
                with drums and piano to a Big Band for college balls,
                Fred Waring leading it all

“‘So: Mrs. Edison didn't like banjos.

She thought they were cheap raucous instruments,

and she pooh-poohed it, so Thomas just dropped the whole deal.

So they got in touch with Whiteman again and he sent them over to Victor Talking Machine’,

Bill corked a chuckle bubbling up from inside;

‘which is now RCA Victor’...”

 

opening page of Waring’s 50th Anniversary Program

celebrating his 50 years (until then) in Entertainment (1917-18 to 1966-67)

 

"Now, mj," Bill sipped martini and put the glass on the coffee table. "You see, if you capture the real flavor of this, it's a frightening organization."

 

"It's a big organization," said mj to avoid 'frightening'. "The Inn; The Tour," he went on, forgetting his goal again. In the millisecond of mike time now offered by being addressed directly, he could have made an effort, but was too rattled by Bill and the word ‘frightening’ to think clearly and pursue his interests. "The Workshop; Shawnee Press: I don't know how closely it all relates to Fred."

 

And he was worthless at journalistic interviewing, as Dr. Lorenzo explained later. He knew nothing about it at all. He knew psychiatric interviewing, where you tried to be understanding, and interested in anything the other person talked about, especially at first.

 

"Well," said Bill, "I'll tell you how closely it relates. The way Shawnee Press[1] started, for instance, was Fred was doin' these radio shows, long before TV came along. For Ford, Chesterfield, GE, in the 30's and 40's."

 

Photos of Fred’s radio days mj had seen in the fat fancy program for Fred’s 50th anniversary (of entertainment), which Bill had given him.

 

"Some guy's gonna give a chorus, he's the music director of a high school. It started this way in the 40's. Some guy wrote in." Bill made fun of him: “‘We'd love to do your arrangement of “In the Still of the Night,” is there any possible way we can get it’? Well Fred's ego was,” Bill laughed and swaggered in his chair: “‘Copy that arrangement! And send it to them!’ So they sent it to them free.”

 

Bill sighed. "Other guys started writing in and asking for arrangements. They mimeographed them. And what was that guy's name?" he looked at Betty Ann. "I was just talkin' about him on the radio the other day."

 

"Ennis Davis," she said.

 

"Yeh. Ennis Davis said, 'Y'know, you could make money doin' this’. Well Fred thought about it for a year and kept sending these things out, and then a group called upon Fred and said, 'We're coming into New York and we'd like to have you guide us on your techniques'."

 

In the mirror Fred turned behind him to the corner and raised his hands. A burst of raucous banjo with piano and drums went:

 

Rum chucka-chucka

@!$##@@;          (banjo noise)

I got a BIG sur-PRISE...

!$@#$#!!!          (banjo noise)[2]

 

Three impudent Waring ‘old-timers’ costumed like college kids ate up a spotlight banging it out in bowlers and 'W'-for-Waring blazers.

 

Elderly, white-haired, old-man Poley McClintock was jumping around like a nut in a 1920s college bowler, right there a few feet away, in the Blackburns’ big cherry-frame mirror. The sight – or ‘vision’ or ‘hallucination’, as the press referred to it variously after the book hit in late ‘81 – might have shocked mj more if he had swallowed forty peyote buttons like Dlune’s brothers would do, but it shocked him well enough.

 

"So this blew his mind and he rented a theater, and Ennis Davis called all over the country and invited others in: choral conductors. And Fred stood up there all day, expounding," Bill choked on a laugh. "He loved it. I could see this man absolutely adoring this. It was college professors and everything, and he taught them the 'Tone Syllables'[3] and how to get more out of a chorus."

 

Bill sounded respectful because he never hid the fact that Fred’s musicianship awed him as much as it awed Toscanini, Ormandy and everyone else.[4] "And this was the beginning of ‘The WORKSHOP at SHAW-nee PRESS. Now, he loved this maybe because he was not a schooled musician. He was teaching schooled musicians. He never graduated from Penn State."

 

"Mmm." Mj felt another attack on Fred coming.

 

Betty Ann did too and she seemed tired of it. "Yeh, but," she questioned the accuracy of this, "did the Press start at the same time as the Workshop?"

 

Bill nodded.

 

"Same time?" She doubted her husband.

 

"They needed arrangements, and then every conductor in the country used Waring arrangements."

 

That part was true, mj knew. All through his high school and college years everyone at every school or church he ever attended used arrangements published by Fred Waring’s ‘Shawnee Press’. But how had it all really started? "Were you around then?" he asked, pitching in to help discourage impertinence toward Fred, which kept threatening to hit him all over again any second.

 

"No!" Bill said.

 

"How do you know what happened?" mj asked.

 

Betty Ann liked their little uprising. She said mockingly, looking at Bill and glancing at mj, "He wasn't even born yet."

 

Mj did Easy Cop since she was Rough Cop now: "You must have heard the stories then, huh?" Easy cop sided with the accused to save him from rough cop during interrogation, and soften him up to be cracked open for the truth, hopefully. The trick worked in drug and alcohol abuse treatment programs too.

 

"I've heard the stor- –."

 

Bill struggled to regroup. The integrity of his research was under attack. He, Honest Injun Bill, the last great Huron storyteller, was under attack again. You had to feel bad.

 

"Y'know, mj, I've researched this man so well. Now I'm not kidding, I brought up things to people when I first came in this group, like Fred auditioning for Thomas Edison. Nobody in this group knew that!"

 

Raunchy banjo filled the corners of mj’s mind.

 

...I ne-ver dreamed that it could be (rum-chucka-chucka) !#@$#$!$@!

 

Seventy-three-year-old Poley McClintock pounded the drums straight down through the risers, grinning like a fool in a fraternity bowler, ear-to-ear, as the drums sank from view, dragging him along.

 

...But now I re-al-ize since I saw you smile (chucka-chucka!$@#)...

 

"What happened?!" mj asked.

 

"What happened, what?"

 

"You said Fred auditioned for Edison!" And maybe that would be fairytale enough for the moment.

 

"Well, I was over there one night with him. And y'see, I'm truly interested in this stuff. Betty has seen this with Poley. I draw it out of these people and I listen. So Fred started tellin' some story and I said, 'You're kidding! You knew so-and-so’?

 

"And he said, 'Oh, yeh’! Well, this started Fred; turned him on. And he was sitting there. He said, 'As a matter of fact’, y'know, ‘Paul Whiteman was helping us, and he called me up. We went to Paul to audition. He said, “You're great but we can't use you with our band, ah, you go see, this man".' And it was Thomas Alva Edison, who had a record company," Bill laughed, "'Edison Records', and Fred went and auditioned for him and Edison flipped. Well, when Fred told me this I thought he was lying. It's like him saying he knew George Washington. Right?"

 

"Right," said mj, liking the direction of things at last. “Exactly!”

 

...There's on-ly hap-pi-ness for me (chucka-chucka)...

 

"Well, I right away checked it out with Poley. Poley says, 'Oh yeah, we went to some hotel in New York. That's the way it was. And we played –, yeh’, and Poley had told me this story now too. So I went back and I drew Fred out more. And what occurred was," Bill chuckled, "they went and played – and this makes them very much like the young kids with their bands today – they played for Edison, and Edison was enthusiastic and he got his wife to listen. And she was very –," Bill winced: "'That noisy, raucous stuff, you wanna record that'?"

 

Bye! (chucka)

Bye! (chucka)

Blues! (chucka-chucka-chucka)...

 

"Now, you remember: you can find records, they're up there doin' 'BHHAYE!' 'BHHAYE!' with the banjos goin' and, y'know, jumpin' around and they're not dressed like, not in tuxedoes like the other bands were."

 

Bill moved to the edge of his chair and mimicked them.

 

...Bhhaaaye! !$#@ Bhhaaaye! !$#@ Blhuuues! !$#@ !$#@...

 

He shimmied in his seat and blew a pretend kazoo, "Deoohoo, dooo, doooooo!"

 

...Bells (chucka) ring (chucka)

Birds (chucka) sing (chucka)...

 

"Yuh," said Betty Ann, accepting his representation as pretty close enough.

 

"That kind of stuff," said Bill.

 

"It might not have sounded good on seventy-eight," mj offered.

 

"No, well they weren't recording."

 

"Well, I mean if they had been, it might not have worked out."

 

"Well it did," Bill said. "When I finish the story you'll find out it did. So: Mrs. Edison didn't like banjos. She thought they were cheap raucous instruments, and she pooh-poohed it, so Thomas just dropped the whole deal. So they got in touch with Whiteman again and he sent them over to Victor Talking Machine," Bill corked a chuckle bubbling up from inside; "which is now RCA Victor, and they didn't want to record 'em 'cause it was too hard to record vocals. Nobody recorded vocals in the twenties, 'cause they recorded into these –: whuddya call them?"

 

"Megaphones," said mj. Every fancy, thick, ten-dollar Waring road show program included at least one ancient black and white of the very young Pennsylvanians carrying megaphones, back in the twenties.

 

"Megaphones: and they agreed to play without vocals, but then when they got in the studio they did vocals and there was a big stink about it. But they were locked in. They had the studio time and all this. And they did record for RCA, and immediately they were smash overnight sensations. They were the hottest record act around."

 

"Oh really? Is that one of the ways they climbed to fame?"

 

"That was it."

 

"That was it? Well!"

 

...Just! (chucka) we! (chucka) two! (chucka-chucka-chucka)...

Smi-! (chucka) lin'! (chucka) through! (chucka-chucka-chucka)...

 

"They made the first recording of a Gershwin tune. And then they did 'Oogie Oogie Wah Wah', with Poley singin' in a frog voice."

 

Mj laughed at beanpole Poley and his famous funny nasal frog-voice. "But why Whiteman?" he asked. Whiteman had been a music kingpin, granted, like Fred; but mj thought of him in connection with Rhapsody in Blue, which he premiered for Gershwin. He couldn’t see Whiteman connected with Fred Waring, who had to have been still, back then, too un-classy, unsophisticated and un-blockbuster for Whiteman. And anyway, if Fred was just a kid, 21 or so, how could Whiteman have been ‘calling Fred’, ‘helping him out’? He worried again that Bill might be exaggerating. He wanted the truth, the true fairy tale.

 

"Whiteman was Fred's hero. Fred called him long-distance from Tyrone to ask him to listen to his band on the phone, and Whiteman invited them to New York. And Tom Waring played in six flats 'cause he could only hit the black keys on the piano."

 

Don't! chucka sigh! chucka Don't! chucka cry! chucka...

 

"And that's how Paul Whiteman and Fred Waring started Big Band Era."

 

"Whoooah!!" mj cried, razzledazzled. It was one little golden fairy tale he’d never heard, this little one. Everything seemed okay again.

 

But he didn’t jump to the subject of the Blackburn courtship and Fred’s interference. Not yet: because it didn’t flow, and he was respectful of the flow at the moment. He liked the subject.

 

BhaaYE! chucka-chucka-chucka

BhaaYE! chucka-chucka-chucka

B l h o o u e s ! chucka-chucka-chucka

Chucka! !$#@! !

 

Dr. Lorenzo said later that in retrospect it seemed as if Bill might have purposely given him a little sugar cube every ten or fifteen minutes to keep him hanging in; purposely; just to mesmerize him; but then, Bill would seize that moment when mj was most mesmerized, and go straight back to hammering away at his boss, Fred Waring, after each sugar gift. No matter what mj said or did, Bill had ended up steering things the way he wanted. Mj kept hoping for the best, but his awe of Bill’s older and surer personality, and of Bill’s knowledge of New York City and the big entertainment world of big-dog-eat-big-dog and big celebrities, left him feeling he could not push an agenda. And later still in life, Dr. Lorenzo added one more explanatory comment, one that caused a public debate about his character for a while. He told Rolling Stone in an interview: ‘I used to like being led around by the nose, by a good friend’.

 

two black and white photos of Fred conducting huge
              orchestra/band ensembles with large chorus on stage 

page 2 of Waring’s 50th Anniversary Program

completes the story begun on its page 1 (q.v., top of present page);

together the two pages read:

“The Long Road from Jazz Band to Concert Status”


[1]  Shawnee Press was the company that published Waring’s popular songs in sheet music, replicating on the page the specific arrangement the Pennsylvanians had used to perform it.

 

[2]  "Bye Bye Blues" by Fred Hamm, Dave Bennett, Bert Lown and Chauncey Gray, the ‘arrangement’ being as Dr. Lorenzo experienced it during the interview ('in the mirror'); although undoubtedly a real recording of it exists preserved among the memorabilia of the ‘Fred Waring’s America’ collection at Penn State U. in College Park, Pa.; which Fred bequeathed to his alma mater just before dying in 1984. The Collection includes practically everything Fred Waring ever recorded.

 

[3]  ‘Tone Syllables’: a technique invented by Fred gradually, step by step, over the years, which eventually was in widespread usage largely due to his nationally respected workshops in 'the old Castle Inn' in Delaware Water Gap. It structured the vocalists singing in a group in a way that helped them to enunciate simultaneously and in such a technically correct way that the words would come out very clearly for an audience, even though sung by a great many people at once (which normally muddied the lyrics), and without any loss of tone, color, or phrasing, and without the usual distracting mess-s-s, caused by each singer singing his or her own ‘s’, let’s say, or other consonant, at a slightly different split-second from everybody else’s. Robert Shaw, the great American choral conductor of classical works, who studied under Fred Waring, said of Fred’s approach in the introduction to Virginia Waring’s book, “Erratic enunciation... simply was not tolerated.” Virginia herself, who studied piano under Nadia Boulanger at Fontainebleau in France, took five pages (219-223) to explain just a few aspects of the complex technique Fred invented. Waring believed in and was a master of ‘the sung song’, which meant that the lyrics were as all-important as the music was all-important, and both had to be heard clearly and understood and appreciated by the audience. His technique included tricks that got the words and their most important feelings heard AND UNDERSTOOD, both therefore, tricks and techniques including a cappella, rubato, and sudden changes in volume from syllable to syllable, as a way of interpreting both the words and music. The great orchestra conductors Ormandy and Toscanini, who were Fred’s golfing buddies at Shawnee, most of the time had only music to interpret for their orchestras, the Philadelphia and NBC, respectively, but both admired Waring because he had words and music BOTH to interpret and get across to an audience all of the time, and did a masterful (or maybe miraculous) job of it. For definitions of musical terms such as a cappella and rubato, see the glossary of musical terms attached to Exactly How Mrs. Nixon's Legs Saved the White House Christmas Concert.

 

[4]  People without knowledge of 20th century classical music performers may find it hard to appreciate what a compliment and recommendation it was when two of the greatest orchestra conductors in history, Arturo Toscanini and Eugene Ormandy, were both impressed with Fred Waring’s musicianship, even to the point of coming to Shawnee Inn and hanging out with him. Dr. Lorenzo was interviewed by KVOD, the classical music station in Denver, Colorado, in October, 2018 and said: “I was impressed that Toscanini and Ormandy were Waring fans, but after years of possessing Virginia Waring’s biography of her husband I just this summer read in it for the first time, that Georg Solti was a fan, and the triple whammy sealed the deal for me, meaning Fred’s worthiness for sanctification in classical musical heaven.” Virginia Waring, herself trained at the highest level of the classical world, said, “There was nothing esoteric about his [Fred’s] performances. They were easily understood, yet his musicianship was such that the greater the artist, the more they appreciated him. Besides Toscanini and Ormandy, the renowned conductor Georg Solti was also a fan of Fred’s. In Chicago’s Symphony Hall, Ray Sax was surprised to see Solti backstage watching a Waring performance when he was supposed to be home with a minor ailment. When quizzed, Solti said, ‘I’m never too sick to watch a Fred Waring show’.” Virginia Waring, pg. 353.

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