I had been looking forward to learning the high spirited songs of "Girl Crazy" that Mr. Gershwin 4 had just assigned us, because business was good. People had found an interest in the foot-tapping, swingin' big band music that had just made its debut. They now were taking time in the evening to dress up in glitzy dresses accessorized with extravagant furs, sophisticated black overcoats, and shiny black shoes, to enjoy some notorious George Gershwin's jazzy musicals, such as "Rhapsody in Blue" and "The American in Paris," or just to find some pleasure at some of the night clubs where they could take part in some ritzy swing dancing7, and other pleasures of what later was the roaring twenties.
I had been in a cheerful disposition that night. Frank Jamesford, my best friend and fellow member of the "Girl Crazy" orchestra, had just left after spending a heart-warming evening with me and my wife, Clara, and now I was left to relax by the fire side, and to savor every drop of my dark, rich coffee.
After that soothing moment, I retired to the den of my New York City house where I loosened my tie, and then slipped off my chocolate colored vest, revealing a neatly pressed collared white shirt. I then began to practice my 1926 Selmer New York alto saxophone.
Even though we still had over ten months to master our parts, Mr. Gershwin had insisted that we learn them soon and learn them well. He figured that the faster and quicker we learned them, the more money we could make, especially with the extra amount of money people had.
What was later called the Roaring Twenties had been a time that people could go out and spend money on things that were not necessary. They had discovered that they could successfully make a "quick buck" by investing more than they could afford into the stock market, eventually leading to a 12 year problem.
To me and the rest of the orchestra, George Gershwin was just our routine boss, who paid us an hourly salary for playing our instruments in several of his astonishing Broadway musicals. To others, he was a strapping young composer who had the reputation of being a handsome clean cut man, one of the expectations of the time,14 who was always sitting at a black lacquered baby grand piano with a pencil in one hand and a cigar in the other I respected Mr. Gershwin very much. Not only because of the power he had on my job, but because he was exceptionally talented and knew what he was doing when it came to Broadway.For this sense of divine admiration, I often spent hours sitting patiently as our director singled out measures to certain parts of the orchestra that were being played wrong in some sort of way. Yet I did not once complain or wish to be else where, because like Mr. Gershwin, I had a deep passion for music.
Everyday from 10 o'clock a.m. to 5 in the evening we rehearsed. Not always on our instruments, but sometimes just sitting and clapping out rhythms or chatting furtively while sections of the band played their parts by themselves.
Fortunately enough, I always had my best friend to talk to me or point out my mistakes, because like me, he played the alto. Even in the remaining time outside of orchestra rehearsal, Frank and I would constantly be getting together and eating dinner or going to see a movie in one of the many flamboyant theatres of New York, where the film playing changed every few days or so.
Around the dreadful day of October 24th, 1929, that marked the great beginning of the Great Depression 19, I learned how friendships can be just like the stock market, feeble and helpless.
Before I went to work that day, I remember listening to my brown wooden radio, since we did not have televisions yet, while eating breakfast with my light brown haired, blue eyed wife, Clara, who was wearing a frilly black ankle-length dress with white polka-dots. Together we ate quietly while enjoying the sounds of the songs Glen Miller, Louis Armstrong, and Duke Ellington had been producing for the past year, occasionally glancing at my gold pocket watch, which was attached to my vest by a gold chain to assure I wouldn't be late to work. Around a quarter past nine, I left the kitchen where we had been eating and went upstairs to grab my saxophone and my music. I then nonchalantly put my boots and my brown mid-calf length wool overcoat on.
"William come down here, quick!" Clara then shouted. With my stuff at hand, I went downstairs figuring it was nothing urgent. When I stepped into the kitchen, Clara stood and looked as if she had just seen a ghost. A pale white complexion had come to her normally rosy cheeks, and her hands were trembling. She then turned the dial on the wood framed radio to increase the volume.
"Attention! Attention!" The news reporter shouted in a panic. "The Dow has just dropped 500 points!" I was shocked, as I listened to a conversation the reporter had with a man who specialized in the US economy and had been educated at Harvard.
"My God, Clara!" I gasped, "What are we going to do?"
"You could go to work and we can sort this out later." She suggested as I continued to listen to the radio. The President, Herbert Hoover, who was later falsely accused of contributing to the cause of the Depression, was addressing the country.
"Economic depression cannot be cured by legislative action or executive pronouncement. Economic wounds must be healed by the action of the cells of the economic body- the producers and the consumers themselves." Herbert Hoover gallantly recited, while I was stepping out the front door into the street.
Outside, people of all ages were rushing down our street. I went outside to observe the commotion, when a middle aged man who was carrying a newspaper hysterically rushed up to me.
"The banks!" he gasped with a look of terror on his face, "They're closing!"
"Why?" I asked, "What does the Stock Market have to do with the banks?" The man quickly looked at the copy of the New York Times, that had a title of "STOCK MARKET CRASHED?" that was clutched in his hand.
'It says here that, the banks have invested too much money into the Market, and are now running out of money." He replied.
I wasn't surprised that much over this, considering the market had just crashed, so I continued on and observed, while the helpful man ran down the street, where the New York State Bank was located. When I told Clara the news, she could not give a good analysis of any possible solutions, because she had been raised on a farm where education was limited.
"William, aren't you worried about our money?" Clara asked meekly, as I stepped out the door.
"Of course I am, but don't you also think that my job is the most important thing right now?" I said turning to start walking to work. After I took a few more steps, I glanced back at Clara, who carried a look that could make any person's heart break. Her light brown hair was coming out of the neat bun she usually wore, and her gorgeous blue eyes were glossy from the tears developing in them, and this look of mere sadness I had to get away from.
At work, that awful look followed?and for many days to come it remained. Not just on Clara, but it seemed to appear on almost everyone else's too. Two weeks after the mark of the great crash, later on called Black Thursday, Mr. Gershwin, our conductor, called me and my close friend up after a long troublesome rehearsal .
"Good evening Mr. Martello," he nodded to me, "and Mr. Jamesford." looking at Frank. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."
"Well, if you will excuse me, Mr. Gershwin, but I honestly don't think your bad news could be that bad. If you consider the circumstances of the United States stock market. I mean I've lost over two thousand dollars in investments." Frank stated.
"I am aware of your conditions, Mr. Jamesford. Remember the stock market crash didn't just happen to you, it affected everyone," he said slightly glaring at Frank. "Anyhow, with the financial trouble of the country has come a large shortage in people coming to view my plays, instead they are going to seek entertainment in less expensive things such as movies. Because of this I am lacking money to pay for wages."
Mr. Gershwin paused and quickly looked at me, then at Frank, then continued. "And without this important funding I can no longer keep as many of my orchestra members. I am cutting at least one person from each section. Since I only have one tenor and baritone saxophone, I have no choice but to cut one of you two."
I remember feeling tears begin to develop in my eyes as he said this. I needed a job, I had to support my wife, who was always so sweet and admired my dark hair and handsome brown eyes, and I had to support myself. I remember thinking that it would be unfair for Frank to be able to keep his job, even though he was my best friend, he had only himself to support.
"I have not decided who will go yet, but I just thought you two should be aware of this before..." He sighed, a deep dispirited sigh, and then walked away not finishing his sentence. I cannot recall what happened in the mean time of getting home to Clara, but I'm sure whatever it was, it was not too great.
When I arrived at home on that brisk mid-December day, much of the Christmas festivities had completely disappeared, creating a cold, and miserable walk home, on the unpaved streets of New York City, where black cars we struggling to stay in control on the slick roads 41. When I walked into the door, Clara ran up to me and gave me a great big hug of relief. This made me feel a little better, but I was still deep in agony.
"Clara, darling, I have some bad news." I said, trying not to make eye contact with her, avoiding anymore pain. "Mr. Gershwin cannot afford to keep two altos; he will have to get rid of either me or Frank."
I tilted my head slightly to get a small image of her expression. Her face had turned the sickly color of pale ivory; that it turned when she was frightened and small tears had began to well up in her sapphire eyes that possessed an anxious look of grief. I could not stand doing this to her, because it hurt me. It felt almost as if a freshly sharpened spear was about to puncture my heart. Oh, how I hated it.
"Well, why don't you start practicing then?" Clara suggested with a slight smile of encouragement. "I'm sure Mr. George Gershwin down at Broadway, has enough decency to give the job to the better of the two!"
"Sure Clara, but don't you realize that I am competing against my best friend for this job?"
"Of course I do, but remember this is your job. You must take it seriously. Besides in this economy you should be thankful for any opportunity you are open to." At that point I went to the den and remained there until 11 o'clock at night, practicing.
The next day was a hard one, from what I can remember, and was possibly the very finale of my grand friendship with Frank Jamesford. That morning was yet another desolate morning with a fresh, deep blanket of snow. Still shivering from the extreme cold, I stepped in to the orchestra room, which was not much warmer itself. Frank had already warmed up and was taking advantage of the opportunity of the small amount of practice time, completely ignoring the fact that the trombonist?s mouth directly behind him had frozen to the mouthpiece due to the freezing conditions. I sat down directly to the left of him, in my assigned position, and began to do the same as him.
That morning Frank did not pause to greet me, or even acknowledge that I existed, instead he continued to practice difficult sections and to recite some memorized scales and arpeggios. Not knowing what to do, I said with my greatest attempt to be cheerful, "Good morning Frank."
This did not go too well because he immediately took his lips off the mouthpiece of his horn, grasped his instrument and jerkily stood up and walked away. For some reason, I never expected to get this response, and was instantly hurt. I think one of my greatest feelings of sorrow was probably experienced here when I lost my best friend. It was like a mental slap in the face, an eye opener to me on how fragile relationships are. I desperately tried to ignore this aching feeling and tried to focus on my music, but it had been my music that had caused this whole scenario, and proved nearly impossible to do. Finally I was able to clamp my first three fingers on my left hand to the keys and softly blow a G, then I pushed myself to create an A by taking off my ring finger, and then to B, raising my middle finger, and creating the first stages of a concert B flat scale.
By the time Mr. Gershwin arrived in the band room, Frank had already discovered my difficulty in playing and had a nasty smirk on his face. When I stood up and walked over to the coat rack to hang up my coat, he tripped me, and then he and several others, who most likely had joined his side, burst out in an obnoxious laugh. Somehow I managed to make it through practice that day, I can tell you it wasn't easy, but in the end made all the difference. At the end of class, Mr. Gershwin called Frank and I up, and gave us the results of who was able to keep their job.
"Good evening gentlemen." he said politely, "I am confident you both would like to know the future of this orchestra. "Terrified I tried to pay attention and tried to think of possible ways to make money if I was left with no job.
"Mr. Frank Jamesford, I am requesting...no,no, I am ordering you to resign from this orchestra, we can no longer afford to keep you, and quite frankly you are no longer any use to us. You have a terrible tendency to rush tempo, and have an awful practice ethic."
I remember feeling my body untie like a knot at the sounds of these words. I was so happy! An overwhelming sense of relief filled me as I thanked Mr. Gershwin greatly and politely wished my former friend Frank Jamesford luck with finding a job, 44 then I joyfully rushed home and told Clara of my great news! Despite all my good luck, or possibly it was mere talent, I couldn?t stop wondering why Frank had decided to turn on me, I knew it was because of the job, but I still just couldn?t understand how someone could possibly turn on their best friend. But as years after passed by, and I survived the brutality of the Depression, and later on World War II, I discovered after many other new friendships, that they aren?t always easy to keep. In fact they are more or less hard to keep for some people, and easier for others. To find myself often thinking about this, puzzled me, and when I found this phrase from the chapter of Ecclesiastes in the Bible, confusion hit me again.
"Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up."
But in time, I learned to understand that not all people are good in this world, in fact there is more bad, and this was more certainly true for Frank Jamesford, who went from a friend to an enemy in the matter of a day.
The End