The record changer (Feb-Dec 1943)

New Orleans Recollections I suppose that most of the visitors to Storyville entered by the way of Basin and Iberville (Customhouse) Streets. The corner of these streets was the nearest point to downtown New Orleans , and habitues , gamblers , occasional callers, idlers and sight-seers usually meandered into the district by that entrance. At this corner stood Tom Anderson's cafe, the Arlington Annex , a rather pretentious saloon with mirrors set ornately back of the rich looking bar. Along the Iberville Street side of the barroom were several private booths, separated from the rest of the room by a high partition. Musically speaking, I can't say that I ever heard much to interest me in the Annex; there was no room for dancing, and practically none for an audience, and I am inclined to think that any presentation of music was to add to the "genteel" atmosphere of the place. Certainly I have no recollecting of any playing there that had any claim to merit. Anderson had other saloons, outside of Storyville, at one of which (a cabaret on North Rampart Street near Canal) they used to dish out the real, raucous rhythm in large quantities , especially during festive seasons, like Mardi Gras, when many tourists were in New Orleans. I always felt that a large part of the business of the Rampart Street place came from the visiting firemen, etc. I understand that Louis Armstrong played at this place for a time. I don't believe I ever heard how the Arlington Annex git its name, but I did hear that when the Arlington , which was down the Basin Street block from the Annex, was temporarily put out of business by a fire, Tom Anderson graciously loaned Josie Arlington the Annex upstairs while her place was being repaired . There were several pretentious establishments in that block of Basin Street, the Arlington, Mahogany Hall, Rilma Burt 'sand others. It was at the Burt house that Jelly Roll Morton spent considerable of his early"professoringn . I was not acquainted with Jelly in New Orleans, I regret to say; he was there all right, at least part of my time, but I never met him, although I feel sure that I heard him play. Perhaps the circumstantial evidence will be interesting. Although I made many pilgrimages around and about Storyville in the hope that I might catch Tony Jackson playing where I could stand on the banquette and listen, many times I was unsuccessful. So, as I strolled about I was always ready to pause and listen to someone else who might be playing good music. On one of these occasions I was passing Hilma Burt's when the piano could be heard plainly from the sidewalk; usually the sound of the Purt piano didn't reach that far, possibly because the little ballroom may have been two or three rooms back from the street. But on the night I recall, the doors or windows must have been open, and I could hear very well. The music was clear cut and very smooth, and of a characteristic Spanish type, and like the well known brook, it Just kept running on. I listened for quite a while, and when the playing stopped I strolled on, without trying to find out who the player might be. But the beat of the music made an impression on me and kept going through my head. Well time passed, which can't be helped, — it's a kind of a way time has. World War I came along; Storyville was abolished; New Orleans changed in many ways ; I came to Washing t on , pursued a college course, got married, almost acquired the air of a settled married man; the old days seemed a long way off, and I lost all contact with New Orleans music. One day in March 1938 while at the dinner table I was glancing idly at a daily paper , when my eye struck the heading JELLY HOLL CHARTS JAZZ, with a sub-heading to the effect that the "Dean of Gates" was running a night club on U Street here in Washington, where, despite his years, he was playing with all of his old time vigor. Toward the end of the article, Morton, in c ommen t ing on s ome of the early players he had known, mentioned Tony Jackson as the "world's greatest single handed entertainer". That was enough for me. I immediately resolved to Look up Jelly Roll and find out whatever had happened to Tony. I made two attempts to find the place before I located it, because the article called the place the "Blue Moon Night 'Club", whereas the sign hung up in front called it the "Music Box", and to make it more difficult, it was located on the second floor and there was no sign at all at the entrance. After finding the Music Box, which Morton had previously called "Jungle Inn", I called twice before I got to see him. On my second trip, Mrs . Lyle, who I believe was his partner, told me that Jelly Roll would come in shortly, and invited me to wait . The Music Box was located at 1211 U Street, N.W., upstairs over a hamburger and soft drink stand. The entrance was by a rather long stairway with a few feet of hallway at the street and upstairs; a door opened onto the street and another opened into the club. The club room was large, and as my visit was in the afternoon,the room had a deserted look. There were seats all around, against the walls, and several tables and chairs were scattered about. To the right as one entered, on the opposite side of the room, was the* spinet, and bench where Jelly Roll played. The day I first got to see Morton was a cold, raw day in late March, and for heat in that large club room all they had was a good sized oil stove; it certainly seemed totally inadequate. Ferd never told me the whole story of how he happened to land in Washington, but among the papers which he turned over to me, I found the following, apparently an idea for a song, which is rather interesting: 3