Evening star., 1948-12-13
This and That
BIZ Charles Z. Trace1pell

II any one had noticed Templeton Jones that
rainy afternoon, as he stood leaning against the
side of the hotel hat pulled down over his eyes,
he might have taken him for private eye as
detective is sometimes called.
There he was, in the rain and wind, watch
Ing two big buses being loaded.
What was he doing there?
Well it was all very simple.
He was watching great symphony orchestra
starting out for another city.
A pile of trunks, suit cases and instrument
cases of all types was on the sidewalk
Here and there a musician stood, smoking
talking, watching the trunks being loaded
These took up one entire bus.
Templeton Jones. executive, felt thrill run
through him. despite the cold wet wind
In his youth, he had aspired to be musician
And he never quite got over the urge, or had
Here he was, thrilled at simple event in the
lives Of hard working men.
The musicians paid not the slightest bit Of
attention to him. They were intent on getting
out of town.
1t was an old story to them, known to all
people who amuse the public. The hustle and
pustle, the one-night stand, the putting up at
strange hotels.
Jones had known it once, himself
He, too. had played in an orchestra.
It was secret known to very few.
He had even aspired to be composer, but
that, too, went with the wind.
Jones shivered.
so many things go with the wind.
Here he was in the beginning of his old age
leaning up against hotel wall in the rain.
gawking at some musicians
IL amused him to be there. He watched the
ooys nustling the trunks onto the one bus.
ana the men coming and going in the other.
He saw the young fellow In the neat bl,,e
suit. His wavy dark brown hair was perfect.
He was wonderful looking fellow. was he
nrst leader, or what did he do?
he nad dark red Scotch plaid mufher
neatly tied around his neck in a big bow and
tne enos pushed down inside his coat
He made perfect picture of a musician as
ne stood there. regardless of the rain.
There was an old gray haired man next Tn
him. IN his way, too, a perfect picture of a
musician.
A man who had grown old in the service of
sweet sound
A man with the love Of notes in his mind
and heart who perhaps had dreamed of COM
posing songs The days had come one after
the other, the daily life of the performing mu-
sician had revolved through two great wars.
and people still wanted to hear what he had
to give. The years had gone, his hair had
turned gray, continents had swung into his ken
and vanished and here he was again, in the
had played. and now was going away for
another playing.
Every little trivial detail was familiar to
Templeton Jones.
1t was nostalgic-but Jones was glad he had
no part in it.
The dirty hotels. the poor eating places the
dust and the heat, the rush and the packing,
the unpacking, the improbable hours with
nothing much to do the elation Of good night
and the depression Of bad one
Templeton Jones was glad now he had no
part in it. He was content to be what he was.
1t was all very good, to stand for few minutes
and watch "the boys" pull away.
He, too waved them farewell which not a
one of them saw. (They were too busy on their
own affairs. Or maybe the windows of the big
dirty bus were coated with mist)
There was no ceremony as the two vehicles
pulled away from the curb.
Templeton Jones wiped the dreams out Of his
eyes and walked on.