Carolina Beadhead
10-26-2006, 01:34 AM
I took the liberty of compiling the 6 original posts into one, including Festingator's "Foreword".
__________________________________________________ ________
Here is the beginning of the posts by Rope from last year. Thank you, good sir, for bringing this to our attention.
They were taken from a book called JAZZ FEST MEMORIES written by Allison Miner & Michael Peter Smith. These excerpts are by her. For anyone interested in getting the book, I’m sure you will be able to see a copy in the books tent on the fairgrounds. I’ve noticed that there is also a bit of a deal on Amazon.com, combining it with another photo book called NEW ORLEANS JAZZ FEST, A PICTORIAL HISTORY by Michael Peter Smith & Ben Sandmel.
For the newbies, once you spend some time at the Fest, I think you will find a spirit of generosity teamed with a shared love of music that may be unique to this festival. It may come from that comon feeling of excitement of hearing something new, of a discovery of pleasure that was a total surprise. (both in sound and taste buds). The “HERITAGE” part of its title is the key. This city with its history and culture has been the foundation for so many different kinds of wonderful music that to celebrate it ALL is really something special. That’s IT, you go to hear one kind of music, and can’t help but discover the total fun of something completely new as well. That’s why you see 5, 10 & 15 year veterans on this board. That’s why “name” acts that draw are only part of the story, the part that pays the salaries of zillions of musicians.
The reason for saying all this is, as you read these several posts of text written by Allison Minor, you’ll get a good idea of where this spirit came from. Enjoy.
- posted by Festingator, 2004
__________________________________________________ __________
from Jazz Fest Memories by Allison Miner
INTRODUCTION
It was 1969, the end of the psychedelic era; the Beatles White Album was popular and the Chicago Transit Authority was wondering if anybody really knew what time it was. I had been in New Orleans for two years, happily working for Dick Allen in the (copy & paste glitch) the line asked, "May I speak to Dick Allen? This is George Wein."
"Oh," I answered. "You're the man who's going to be doing the jazz festival. Dick has asked me if I would like to be involved, and I know you're looking for young people to help."
George's very next words were: "Yes, we're looking for young people who want to be exploited."
I said, "Well, great. I have a friend named Quint Davis who's a real expert on rhythm and blues and contemporary jazz, and I know a lot about traditional jazz and country blues. So, yeah, I'd love to meet with you."
Our first meeting was at Cafe Du Monde, and over coffee and beignets I sort of "signed up." So did Quint. Now all we had to do was everything else that it would take to put the first New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival together. The next step was to go out and get the music. - Allison Minor 1949-1995
OUT AND ABOUT
The music scene in New Orleans was mainly Bourbon Street and disco. To book the music for the first festival, we went to the only places that live music was really happening: the black clubs. We went to the Night Cap Lounge, on Louisiana Avenue, and the Off Limits, where Willie Tee and Earl Turbinton played. We had no contracts, just our voices and ourselves. We would go and hang out, drink a beer, dance, talk to people, and just be friends. That has always been one of the secrets of the success of the fesival; from the beginning it has always been about people, not money or tremendous crowds or national acclaim but wonderful people whom I've always been proud to call my friends.
We did our fieldwork by telephone, and unfortunately I didn't have one. We would go to All Good's Restaurant across from Touro Infirmary and use their pay phone to make our calls. I remember calling Snooks Eaglin at his mother-in-law's house. Dick Allen had given us the number. Snooks was the first person we booked for the fesival. At that time he was a street singer. He didn't play in any clubs, just for neighborhood groups and churches. Snooks played at the first festival and has played at every festival since. Another musician who came on board at the very beginning and has played every year since is Clancy ("Blues Boy") Lewis. He was at the Triangle Lounge in Gert Town, and he was fantastic.
At that time no one else was "out and about." Integration laws had just been passed, and people like Allen and Sandra Jaffe were getting arrested for having black people in Preservation Hall. So here we were, two young people trying to put on a multiethnic music festival, and that had never been done before in the Deep South city of New Orleans.
On Sunday mornings we would listen to live church-radio broadcasts, and the shows would announce the concerts for the afternoon. One Sunday we heard that there was to be a program of gospel music at St. John's Institutional Baptist Church at four o'clock. Of course, we went and that afternoon we met the Zion Harmonizers and Lois DeJean for the first time. They became part of the festival that day and have been part of it ever since. I fondly remember another Sunday when we visited a Sanctified church off of Airline Highway that Larry Borenstein had told us about. There we met Elder Ott and the Ott Family Singers. We became friends immediately. Elder Ott is on the Jazz Festival staff today, still working hard to make the Gospel Tent a wonderfully spiritual experience.
FINDING WHITE PEOPLE TO PLAY
Quint and I soon realized that we had no white people. To remedy this we started reading posters around town. One in particular read Big Walker Bluegrass Jamboree. I called the number on the poster and said, "Hello. This is Allison Miner, calling from New Orleans. My friend and I are interested in coming to your festival."
"Oh, you're from New Orleans?" the man responded. "Would you be the judges of our talent show?" He had no idea that we were young kids, and we had no idea that Walker, Louisiana, was a hotbed of Ku Klux Klan activity. So we agreed to be the judges, and they treated us like royalty. There were Confederate flags everywhere, but nobody seemed to notice but us. The winner of the talent show was Hubert Davis and the Season Travelers. Hubert had played with Bill Monroe as a young man. The band members were all his family. We met the Meyers Brothers Bluegrass Band, and they were fantastic.
Another one of my favorite memories, one that I never want to forget, has to do with the sense of "family" that permeates the festival. I think it was the third year, and Hubert Davis had performed the same day as the Ott Family Singers. Hubert came to me and said, "You know, we've been in Nashville most of our lives, and we never played with black people before." Then he smiled so warmly and sincerely and said, "But we sure love the Ott family now, and we love your festival." The Ott family was standing right there, and they all smiled at each other and then started hugging each other. It's so amazing what the festival has done to change people's lives. It was happening to them right then and there, and we were all very thankful.
SHOWTIME
The first festival was held in Congo Square, which is now a part of Armstrong Park, on Rampart Street. There was a Gospel Tent and four other open stages. Some of the stages had no microphones. Fortunately, musicians like Babe Stovall and Brother Percy Randolph were so powerful that they didn't need mikes. They just sat out there on chairs and played and sang.
There was so much love at the festival. The visiting artists came on Greyhound buses and stayed at our house. There was no money in the budget for hotels. Great musicians like Bukka White, Big Joe Williams, and Robert Pete Williams stayed with us. They were such incredible musicians and such remarkable men that it was a privilege and a pleasure to have them. We were a family and we all loved each other.
From those early days, I'd like to think that my contribution has been maternal. I have always wanted to make sure the musicians were treated right, that they were fed and had an experience that they happily remembered. They were part of a festival that touched peoples lives.
The city of New Orleans built the stages for us, but when it came time for the festival to begin, we realized all we had were platforms. Joyce Wein and I went to Krauss and bought yards and yards of fabric. We decorated and waited. And waited. Nobody came. There were about three hundred musicians and volunteers and only about fifty people in the audience.
We took a roll of tickets to the nearby public school and gave all the children tickets for the weekend. We told them to come and bring their parents. It was embarrassing that nobody came. Then when the music started, the people in the neighborhood just took pocketknives and slit the thin canvas fence that we had put up. We didn't even care; at least there were people.
Until that first festival I had never heard live Cajun music, only bad recordings. I'll never forget the first time hearing it in its authentic, traditional form. I was standing in Congo Square, and I heard a triangle, which has become my favorite instrument. You just have to have something special to play the triangle. When I heard it, I went flying across the square. I screamed, "It's real! It really exists!" I just couldn't believe it; it made me cry. It was so real and foreign that it was like going to another land.
MARDI GRAS INDIANS
Another music form that has been represented at the festival since the very beginning is Mardi Gras Indian music. One of my earliest mentors, photographer Jules Cahn, introduced me to jazz funerals, "second line" processions, and Indian parades. He would drag me to every event that was going on, and we would film and photograph until I was exhausted. I'd say, "Jules, please. I'm starving. Can we get something to eat?" Without even a glance my way he'd say, "Oh, Allison, don't be such a slave to your stomach!"
One night Jules and I went to Barrows and Sons Lounge. Jules had me holding lights and the microphones while he was filming. When we got home, we listened to the tape and noticed Bo Dollis's voice for the first time, since we had been so busy working at the lounge. Both of us said, "Who in the hell is that? What a voice! Listen to that guy!" Then we had to find him.
We got a phone number of a bar on Washington Avenue where Bo hung out. I called and asked if we could set up a meeting with him. Well, not only did we meet with him but about thirty other Indians. When Quint and I walked into the meeting place, a bar on Dryades Street, they were all just standing there looking at us: two young white kids. We were children trying to describe the festival as best we could, and they said that they would do it. I think we were all shocked, but they were a superb part of the festival. They paraded from Jackson Square to Congo Square, and it was really magnificent. The Wild Magnolias and the Golden Eagles have been at the festival since the very first one.
The festival was a labor of love. Quint and I didn't even get paid. George took us out to dinner to all the finest restaurants in town. We loved every minute of what we were doing. We were committed to the music and knew we were doing something worthwhile, something that counted, something that would be a lasting memorial to the people and the music that they were making. Seeing Mahalia Jackson was all the reward that I could ever have wanted.
Mahalia Jackson simply appeared at the first festival. She was singing at a musical in town and heard about the festival. She came out and started singing with one of the brass bands. This gorgeous, unbelievably majestic soul sang "A Closer Walk." Next to Louis Armstrong, she is probably the greatest singer to come out of New Orleans. I was in awe of her! Everyone was.
THE SECOND YEAR & FESS
One of the most amazing performers at the second festival was Henry Roeland Byrd, a.k.a. Professor Longhair. Until the festival I had only heard of him through recordings of music and an interview that were on file at the archives. The sound of the interview was so bad. They must have been on a front porch with cars going by. Quint also had a recording of one of Fess's most renowned songs, "Big Chief." Even though the recording was poor, the talent on it was obvious.
When Byrd came out to the festival, he was carrying an aluminum folding chair for a woman who was supposed to be one of his managers. He referred to her as, "Miss Terry." His suit was so shiny. It must have been pressed so many times that it practically wasn't there.
He wasn't performing anymore. He was working as a custodian, sweeping the floor at the One Stop Record Shop in the 1500 block of South Edmund Kimbro. Snooks Eaglin was playing on another stage. Quint asked Snooks to come and perform on stage with Fess.
When the three of them started to play, The entire festival and everyone came over to see and hear these great musicians. It was truly amazing, even in that early stage of Fess's "comeback." He was definitely a presence, but he wasn't yet what he was to become. He was malnourished and run-down. He had had such a hard, hard time.
From that time on, we were Byrd's friends. He came to our house almost every day; he became part of our lives, Quint's and mine. Fess and I had a talkative relationship as only a man and woman who are close friends can have. He said I was a lot like his wife, Alice, who was also a Libra. They had been together since the 1930's. We became an extended family.
FAIRGROUNDS & HEROES
By the third festival we had moved to the Fair Grounds. This site was so large compared to Congo Square, and the festival was practically empty that year. We didn't have much staff and very few volunteers. The Fair Grounds had no drainage system, and after one of the first days of the festival, it rained. Quint, Henry Hildebrand III, and I picked up all the garbage in the rain and slush at the end of the day. In those early days people brought their own drinks, and there were broken whiskey bottles everywhere. When I look at how the festival has changed over the years, I find it hard to believe.
I remember one night when, even though I was exhausted, I was so exhilarated that I ended up partying all night long at the Cornstalk Hotel in the French Quarter with the sound crew from Massachusetts. I got home early in the morning to find Robert Pete and Bukka in the kitchen. Both of them had on my aprons. Robert Pete was washing dishes and Bukka was sweeping the floor. They were shocked and scandalized that I had stayed out all night. Both of them asked, "Where have you been all night?" It was funny to see them standing there in aprons, scolding me as though I was a naughty child.
Those men are still my heroes. They were not just ordinary men; they carried the oral history of a proud musical tradition. They led such hard lives, like Professor Longhair, who died at sixty-one. The soul gets worn down when you have such a difficult life. Robert Pete collected metal and sold it. He had been a sharecropper. Brother Randolph was a junk collector who rode a bike around the city. He played harmonica and rub board. For all these men the festival gave them their identity. For the time each played on stage, he was somebody. When the festival was over, they went back to their hard lives. It never ceased to amaze me that they could sustain such joy and beauty in their music when they had such a difficult time at life. They did whatever they could the rest of the year to stay alive, like collecting scrap metals. Many of them had never been heard, nor ever would be were it not for the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. I am proud that I helped make that happen for many of them, and I'm very happy to know that music continues to be important in this city.
In New Orleans, people can hear music year round now because there is such a talent base. The festival helps support music and musicians. There is more music per square foot in New Orleans than in any other city in the world, and it's a hell of a lot of fun. It's our life! When I pass down St. Claude Avenue and see some boys and girls coming home from school holding their instruments, I get such a warm feeling. I think, oooh, they're continuing the tradition; they're doin' it.
When I first came to New Orleans from Daytona Beach, I thought I was going to take the city by storm. The truth is that the city took me by storm. I love New Orleans, and I'm glad that I've made a contribution to it. When I came as a kid, I hoped that I would. I never thought it would be such a wonderful people experience. Even when a stranger who had listened to one of my interviews says, "That was fantastic," it really means something to me. What I've done has changed people's lives. They come to hear the music and listen to the words of the great men and women who sing and tell the story of life, and they go away transformed.
In the early days, I knew the festival was more than the music. It was a family of hard working people who gave their lives for what they believed. This fully functional family labored together and loved each other and put on the greatest music festival in the world, in the only city where such a phenomenon could succeed so well because of it's commitment to and support of music.
One of my latest memories is of George Wein at the piano, poised and ready to play. He looked at me and said, "This is for you, kid." He played "Thanks a Million."
__________________________________________________ ________
Here is the beginning of the posts by Rope from last year. Thank you, good sir, for bringing this to our attention.
They were taken from a book called JAZZ FEST MEMORIES written by Allison Miner & Michael Peter Smith. These excerpts are by her. For anyone interested in getting the book, I’m sure you will be able to see a copy in the books tent on the fairgrounds. I’ve noticed that there is also a bit of a deal on Amazon.com, combining it with another photo book called NEW ORLEANS JAZZ FEST, A PICTORIAL HISTORY by Michael Peter Smith & Ben Sandmel.
For the newbies, once you spend some time at the Fest, I think you will find a spirit of generosity teamed with a shared love of music that may be unique to this festival. It may come from that comon feeling of excitement of hearing something new, of a discovery of pleasure that was a total surprise. (both in sound and taste buds). The “HERITAGE” part of its title is the key. This city with its history and culture has been the foundation for so many different kinds of wonderful music that to celebrate it ALL is really something special. That’s IT, you go to hear one kind of music, and can’t help but discover the total fun of something completely new as well. That’s why you see 5, 10 & 15 year veterans on this board. That’s why “name” acts that draw are only part of the story, the part that pays the salaries of zillions of musicians.
The reason for saying all this is, as you read these several posts of text written by Allison Minor, you’ll get a good idea of where this spirit came from. Enjoy.
- posted by Festingator, 2004
__________________________________________________ __________
from Jazz Fest Memories by Allison Miner
INTRODUCTION
It was 1969, the end of the psychedelic era; the Beatles White Album was popular and the Chicago Transit Authority was wondering if anybody really knew what time it was. I had been in New Orleans for two years, happily working for Dick Allen in the (copy & paste glitch) the line asked, "May I speak to Dick Allen? This is George Wein."
"Oh," I answered. "You're the man who's going to be doing the jazz festival. Dick has asked me if I would like to be involved, and I know you're looking for young people to help."
George's very next words were: "Yes, we're looking for young people who want to be exploited."
I said, "Well, great. I have a friend named Quint Davis who's a real expert on rhythm and blues and contemporary jazz, and I know a lot about traditional jazz and country blues. So, yeah, I'd love to meet with you."
Our first meeting was at Cafe Du Monde, and over coffee and beignets I sort of "signed up." So did Quint. Now all we had to do was everything else that it would take to put the first New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival together. The next step was to go out and get the music. - Allison Minor 1949-1995
OUT AND ABOUT
The music scene in New Orleans was mainly Bourbon Street and disco. To book the music for the first festival, we went to the only places that live music was really happening: the black clubs. We went to the Night Cap Lounge, on Louisiana Avenue, and the Off Limits, where Willie Tee and Earl Turbinton played. We had no contracts, just our voices and ourselves. We would go and hang out, drink a beer, dance, talk to people, and just be friends. That has always been one of the secrets of the success of the fesival; from the beginning it has always been about people, not money or tremendous crowds or national acclaim but wonderful people whom I've always been proud to call my friends.
We did our fieldwork by telephone, and unfortunately I didn't have one. We would go to All Good's Restaurant across from Touro Infirmary and use their pay phone to make our calls. I remember calling Snooks Eaglin at his mother-in-law's house. Dick Allen had given us the number. Snooks was the first person we booked for the fesival. At that time he was a street singer. He didn't play in any clubs, just for neighborhood groups and churches. Snooks played at the first festival and has played at every festival since. Another musician who came on board at the very beginning and has played every year since is Clancy ("Blues Boy") Lewis. He was at the Triangle Lounge in Gert Town, and he was fantastic.
At that time no one else was "out and about." Integration laws had just been passed, and people like Allen and Sandra Jaffe were getting arrested for having black people in Preservation Hall. So here we were, two young people trying to put on a multiethnic music festival, and that had never been done before in the Deep South city of New Orleans.
On Sunday mornings we would listen to live church-radio broadcasts, and the shows would announce the concerts for the afternoon. One Sunday we heard that there was to be a program of gospel music at St. John's Institutional Baptist Church at four o'clock. Of course, we went and that afternoon we met the Zion Harmonizers and Lois DeJean for the first time. They became part of the festival that day and have been part of it ever since. I fondly remember another Sunday when we visited a Sanctified church off of Airline Highway that Larry Borenstein had told us about. There we met Elder Ott and the Ott Family Singers. We became friends immediately. Elder Ott is on the Jazz Festival staff today, still working hard to make the Gospel Tent a wonderfully spiritual experience.
FINDING WHITE PEOPLE TO PLAY
Quint and I soon realized that we had no white people. To remedy this we started reading posters around town. One in particular read Big Walker Bluegrass Jamboree. I called the number on the poster and said, "Hello. This is Allison Miner, calling from New Orleans. My friend and I are interested in coming to your festival."
"Oh, you're from New Orleans?" the man responded. "Would you be the judges of our talent show?" He had no idea that we were young kids, and we had no idea that Walker, Louisiana, was a hotbed of Ku Klux Klan activity. So we agreed to be the judges, and they treated us like royalty. There were Confederate flags everywhere, but nobody seemed to notice but us. The winner of the talent show was Hubert Davis and the Season Travelers. Hubert had played with Bill Monroe as a young man. The band members were all his family. We met the Meyers Brothers Bluegrass Band, and they were fantastic.
Another one of my favorite memories, one that I never want to forget, has to do with the sense of "family" that permeates the festival. I think it was the third year, and Hubert Davis had performed the same day as the Ott Family Singers. Hubert came to me and said, "You know, we've been in Nashville most of our lives, and we never played with black people before." Then he smiled so warmly and sincerely and said, "But we sure love the Ott family now, and we love your festival." The Ott family was standing right there, and they all smiled at each other and then started hugging each other. It's so amazing what the festival has done to change people's lives. It was happening to them right then and there, and we were all very thankful.
SHOWTIME
The first festival was held in Congo Square, which is now a part of Armstrong Park, on Rampart Street. There was a Gospel Tent and four other open stages. Some of the stages had no microphones. Fortunately, musicians like Babe Stovall and Brother Percy Randolph were so powerful that they didn't need mikes. They just sat out there on chairs and played and sang.
There was so much love at the festival. The visiting artists came on Greyhound buses and stayed at our house. There was no money in the budget for hotels. Great musicians like Bukka White, Big Joe Williams, and Robert Pete Williams stayed with us. They were such incredible musicians and such remarkable men that it was a privilege and a pleasure to have them. We were a family and we all loved each other.
From those early days, I'd like to think that my contribution has been maternal. I have always wanted to make sure the musicians were treated right, that they were fed and had an experience that they happily remembered. They were part of a festival that touched peoples lives.
The city of New Orleans built the stages for us, but when it came time for the festival to begin, we realized all we had were platforms. Joyce Wein and I went to Krauss and bought yards and yards of fabric. We decorated and waited. And waited. Nobody came. There were about three hundred musicians and volunteers and only about fifty people in the audience.
We took a roll of tickets to the nearby public school and gave all the children tickets for the weekend. We told them to come and bring their parents. It was embarrassing that nobody came. Then when the music started, the people in the neighborhood just took pocketknives and slit the thin canvas fence that we had put up. We didn't even care; at least there were people.
Until that first festival I had never heard live Cajun music, only bad recordings. I'll never forget the first time hearing it in its authentic, traditional form. I was standing in Congo Square, and I heard a triangle, which has become my favorite instrument. You just have to have something special to play the triangle. When I heard it, I went flying across the square. I screamed, "It's real! It really exists!" I just couldn't believe it; it made me cry. It was so real and foreign that it was like going to another land.
MARDI GRAS INDIANS
Another music form that has been represented at the festival since the very beginning is Mardi Gras Indian music. One of my earliest mentors, photographer Jules Cahn, introduced me to jazz funerals, "second line" processions, and Indian parades. He would drag me to every event that was going on, and we would film and photograph until I was exhausted. I'd say, "Jules, please. I'm starving. Can we get something to eat?" Without even a glance my way he'd say, "Oh, Allison, don't be such a slave to your stomach!"
One night Jules and I went to Barrows and Sons Lounge. Jules had me holding lights and the microphones while he was filming. When we got home, we listened to the tape and noticed Bo Dollis's voice for the first time, since we had been so busy working at the lounge. Both of us said, "Who in the hell is that? What a voice! Listen to that guy!" Then we had to find him.
We got a phone number of a bar on Washington Avenue where Bo hung out. I called and asked if we could set up a meeting with him. Well, not only did we meet with him but about thirty other Indians. When Quint and I walked into the meeting place, a bar on Dryades Street, they were all just standing there looking at us: two young white kids. We were children trying to describe the festival as best we could, and they said that they would do it. I think we were all shocked, but they were a superb part of the festival. They paraded from Jackson Square to Congo Square, and it was really magnificent. The Wild Magnolias and the Golden Eagles have been at the festival since the very first one.
The festival was a labor of love. Quint and I didn't even get paid. George took us out to dinner to all the finest restaurants in town. We loved every minute of what we were doing. We were committed to the music and knew we were doing something worthwhile, something that counted, something that would be a lasting memorial to the people and the music that they were making. Seeing Mahalia Jackson was all the reward that I could ever have wanted.
Mahalia Jackson simply appeared at the first festival. She was singing at a musical in town and heard about the festival. She came out and started singing with one of the brass bands. This gorgeous, unbelievably majestic soul sang "A Closer Walk." Next to Louis Armstrong, she is probably the greatest singer to come out of New Orleans. I was in awe of her! Everyone was.
THE SECOND YEAR & FESS
One of the most amazing performers at the second festival was Henry Roeland Byrd, a.k.a. Professor Longhair. Until the festival I had only heard of him through recordings of music and an interview that were on file at the archives. The sound of the interview was so bad. They must have been on a front porch with cars going by. Quint also had a recording of one of Fess's most renowned songs, "Big Chief." Even though the recording was poor, the talent on it was obvious.
When Byrd came out to the festival, he was carrying an aluminum folding chair for a woman who was supposed to be one of his managers. He referred to her as, "Miss Terry." His suit was so shiny. It must have been pressed so many times that it practically wasn't there.
He wasn't performing anymore. He was working as a custodian, sweeping the floor at the One Stop Record Shop in the 1500 block of South Edmund Kimbro. Snooks Eaglin was playing on another stage. Quint asked Snooks to come and perform on stage with Fess.
When the three of them started to play, The entire festival and everyone came over to see and hear these great musicians. It was truly amazing, even in that early stage of Fess's "comeback." He was definitely a presence, but he wasn't yet what he was to become. He was malnourished and run-down. He had had such a hard, hard time.
From that time on, we were Byrd's friends. He came to our house almost every day; he became part of our lives, Quint's and mine. Fess and I had a talkative relationship as only a man and woman who are close friends can have. He said I was a lot like his wife, Alice, who was also a Libra. They had been together since the 1930's. We became an extended family.
FAIRGROUNDS & HEROES
By the third festival we had moved to the Fair Grounds. This site was so large compared to Congo Square, and the festival was practically empty that year. We didn't have much staff and very few volunteers. The Fair Grounds had no drainage system, and after one of the first days of the festival, it rained. Quint, Henry Hildebrand III, and I picked up all the garbage in the rain and slush at the end of the day. In those early days people brought their own drinks, and there were broken whiskey bottles everywhere. When I look at how the festival has changed over the years, I find it hard to believe.
I remember one night when, even though I was exhausted, I was so exhilarated that I ended up partying all night long at the Cornstalk Hotel in the French Quarter with the sound crew from Massachusetts. I got home early in the morning to find Robert Pete and Bukka in the kitchen. Both of them had on my aprons. Robert Pete was washing dishes and Bukka was sweeping the floor. They were shocked and scandalized that I had stayed out all night. Both of them asked, "Where have you been all night?" It was funny to see them standing there in aprons, scolding me as though I was a naughty child.
Those men are still my heroes. They were not just ordinary men; they carried the oral history of a proud musical tradition. They led such hard lives, like Professor Longhair, who died at sixty-one. The soul gets worn down when you have such a difficult life. Robert Pete collected metal and sold it. He had been a sharecropper. Brother Randolph was a junk collector who rode a bike around the city. He played harmonica and rub board. For all these men the festival gave them their identity. For the time each played on stage, he was somebody. When the festival was over, they went back to their hard lives. It never ceased to amaze me that they could sustain such joy and beauty in their music when they had such a difficult time at life. They did whatever they could the rest of the year to stay alive, like collecting scrap metals. Many of them had never been heard, nor ever would be were it not for the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. I am proud that I helped make that happen for many of them, and I'm very happy to know that music continues to be important in this city.
In New Orleans, people can hear music year round now because there is such a talent base. The festival helps support music and musicians. There is more music per square foot in New Orleans than in any other city in the world, and it's a hell of a lot of fun. It's our life! When I pass down St. Claude Avenue and see some boys and girls coming home from school holding their instruments, I get such a warm feeling. I think, oooh, they're continuing the tradition; they're doin' it.
When I first came to New Orleans from Daytona Beach, I thought I was going to take the city by storm. The truth is that the city took me by storm. I love New Orleans, and I'm glad that I've made a contribution to it. When I came as a kid, I hoped that I would. I never thought it would be such a wonderful people experience. Even when a stranger who had listened to one of my interviews says, "That was fantastic," it really means something to me. What I've done has changed people's lives. They come to hear the music and listen to the words of the great men and women who sing and tell the story of life, and they go away transformed.
In the early days, I knew the festival was more than the music. It was a family of hard working people who gave their lives for what they believed. This fully functional family labored together and loved each other and put on the greatest music festival in the world, in the only city where such a phenomenon could succeed so well because of it's commitment to and support of music.
One of my latest memories is of George Wein at the piano, poised and ready to play. He looked at me and said, "This is for you, kid." He played "Thanks a Million."