From: g_house@goes11.enet.dec.com (Greg House)
Newsgroups: rec.music.makers
Subject: Re: President Bill
Keywords: Sax, drugs, rock-n-roll
Date: 9 Nov 92 23:57:47 GMT
Reply-To: g_house@goes11.enet.dec.com (Greg House)
Organization: Digital Equipment Corporation, Colorado Springs CO



Fwds deleted.... from Clinton newsgroup on usenet

"TWO SAX PLAYERS"  by Ted Casher

   It was a June night in 1979 in Boston,  I was standing in the
entrance to the Great Hall at Quincy Market, dressed in black tie, with
clarinet, alto sax, and tenor sax at the ready.  The night before, my
friend the bandleader Bo Winiker had called and told me to be there to
play an evening of swing music for alumnae of Wellesley College.
   The musical fare encompassed Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hart, Jerome
Kern, and Irving Berlin, interspersed with hits of the big-band era.
Very little dancing was taking place, however, the reuning women, not
having seen one another for years, were busy catching up.  And Bo, a
wise bandleader, had mastered the art of musical *sotto voce*.  . . .
The Wellesley audience's response to such efforts was the occasional
"super music" murmured by someone passing the band on the way to the
bar.  . . .
   We had just finished Benny Goodman's "A Smooth One" when I noticed a
tall handsome young man standing near the band listening intently.
During the break, he walked up to me and said, "Is that the new Bobby
Dukoff mouthpiece you're using on tenor?  You sound good!"
   In the players' world, mouthpiece talk is the lingua franca that
instantly identifies musicians to one another.  I said, "Yeah, it's the
best tenor mouthpiece I ever had.  I was at Bobby Dukoff's factory in
Florida, and he let me go through the two trays of mouthpieces before I
picked this one.  I love it!" . . .
   "That's a help," the young man said.  "Back when I was playing
regularly, I had a mouthpiece that would only play pet reeds.  Too many
headaches!"
   I asked him if he still played, and he said, "Not as much as I'd like
to.  I've been away from it for a while."
   "What are you doing now?"  I said.
   The man grinned.  "Well, my name is Bill Clinton, and I'm the
governor of Arkansas.  Keeps me too busy to play much."
   I responded in my best musical-ambassador-of-Boston manner:
"Welcome to historic Faneuil Hall, Governor.  What brings you to our
fair city?"
   He said, "My wife went to Wellesley; this is her tenth reunion."
   Clinton pointed to a group of women talking excitedly.  . . . One of
them (I didn't know which) was attorney Hillary Rodman, caught up in the
"Remember when ...?" and leaving her spouse to his own devices.
   Clinton was eyeing my sax with the look of one who wanted to play.  I
said, "Want to sit in?  THere's the tenor -- I've got an extra strap.
Gotta warn you:  it's a wide-open mouthpiece, and you've gotta put lots
of air through it."
  Clinton said, "Sure, I'd love it!"
   I found Bo and said, "Hey I've got a tenor player who wants to sit
in -- he's the governor of Arkansas and he seems to know what he's
doing."
   Bo was always receptive to a friendly encounter with a new musician,
and I made the introductions and let the two talk shop while I got my
spare strap out of my case.  Handing the strap and my tenor to CLinton,
I said, "Here -- enjoy!"
   The manner in which he handled himself revealed that, indeed, Clinton
knew what he was doing.  He blew a few experimental notes -- part of a
scale, a chord pattern, then a small melodic lick.  Bo said, "Get out
number 123, "Take the A Train".  We'll open it up for jazz at Letter C.
You've got the first chorus, Governor.  Long count: one, two,
one-two-three-four," and we were off and running.
   In this jazz standard, customarily the melody is stated first, and
then comes a two bar break for the first soloist.  Following jazz
musicians' etiquette, we gave our guest the solo break.  And he executed
it in perfect time, using all the right notes in a newly created
melody.
  Clinton's improvisation had us all listening closely.  He had a good
sound, played nice melodic ideas, and put them together in interesting
phrases.  His tenor playing was out of the Zoot Sims-Stan Getz school:
melodic, yet swinging.  He knew the standard backgrounds and played them
along with us, showing his conversance with jazz literature.  At the end
I told him to "read the outchorus; I'll fake another part."  Clinton
read music for the outchorus easily -- the governor had paid his
big-band dues, for sure.
   Next Bo called a blues tune; then we went into "Perdido,"  that Juan
Tizol-Duke Ellington standard.  The tune comes with a built-in
excitement level; it's almost impossible to play it softly.  By this
time, some of the audience had noticed their classmate's husband sitting
in with us, and a small crowd had gathered around the band.
  Again, Bill Clinton acquitted himself nobly.  He may have chosen to
follow a calling other than music, but you wouldn't be ashamed to take
him along on a gig -- the man could play.  (To those who recently heard
him play on television; please bear in mind that more than a decade of
rustiness has accrued since the Wellesley event.  After all, he hasn't
had much time to practice!)
   We finished "Perdido", the audience applauded, and a woman with big
glasses and long brown hair came out of the audience and proudly took
Clinton's arm.  He introduced his wife to us, and she told him, "You
sounded really good, dear."
   As Clinton handed me my tenor, I said, "If you ever meet up with some
electoral mishap and want to get back into music, call us up -- we'll
get you work!"  Smiling, he said, "I hope it doesn't happen, but just in
case, I'll remember!  Thanks for letting me use your horn -- this was
fun."
   At the time I didn't think anythiong extraordinary of that evening. I
did think the state of Arkansas was lucky to have a good tenor player in
the governor's office.
   Thirteen years have passed.  I have gone on to teach music and to
write, and that other sax player has gone on to run for president.
   Back in 1963, I was a young member of a band that played for JFK; I
was proud to make music for my president.  Now, as a fiftysomething
graybeard, I would be extremely proud to say that I made music *with* my
president!

(Ted Casher, a former music professor and Rhode Island State Council on
the Arts composer-in-residence, is the on-call saxophonist for the Rhode
Island Philharmonic Orchestra.)
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