Toledos Jazz Tradition

inToledo | 06/05/2008

Jazz is the singular American art form and, like America, it is unwilling to be tidy or controlled. Its roots travel a direct course back to Africa, the birthplace of all humanity, and its sounds reach into us like abstract painting—touching us in the cool, deep well of the heart and bypassing the part of the brain that wants convenient deﬁ nitions. Jazz is performed everywhere, from Lincoln Center to the dark warrens of the neighborhood bar. It’s a freewheeling pal and an exacting mistress. Jazz will make you smile as tears roll down.

Most of all, Jazz is a family, with one generation passing along the tradition, the discipline and the passion to the next, and the next and the next... Think of it as a family tree. In Toledo, that tree is a grand oak that has brought forth many branches—great musicians who have enriched the city, the nation and the world.

One of the newest branches on Toledo’s jazz family tree is drummer Andre Wright. He has been described as, “An exciting young jazz lion whose innate sense of rhythm, coupled with energetic fury behind the kit, pits him as one of the most sought-after sidemen in the Midwest.” He has shared the stage with many jazz greats, among them Marcus Belgrave, Geri Allen, Jon Hendricks, Delfeayo Marsalis, and Kurt Elling.

Wright describes the Toledo jazz scene as, “My school. It taught me how the art form is done, how music applies to life and how to play together with other musicians. The classroom is only ten percent of it. If you’re going to be a serious musician, you have to get out to live and breathe it.”

Andre Wright’s eyes assume a far-away stare when he speaks of Art Tatum, like someone no longer seeing the outside world, but gazing upon a wondrous inner landscape. “Art Tatum is like my grandfather,” said Wright. “He died before I was born, but I feel his inﬂuence in my life every day. He was, and is, the greatest jazz musician to ever walk the earth, and he’s from right here in Toledo. In fact, two of the greatest artists in Jazz music came from Toledo: Art Tatum and Jon Hendricks,” said Andre Wright. “We all have to walk in their footsteps.”

Born in Toledo in 1920, Art Tatum was, and is, the giant of jazz piano. Count Basie called him the eighth wonder of the world. Charlie Parker once said, “I wish I could play like Tatum’s right hand!” Dave Brubeck once said, “I don’t think there’s any more chance of another Tatum turning up than another Mozart.”

From infancy Art Tatum suffered from cataracts which left him blind in one eye, and with only very limited vision in the other. In spite of this limitation, or maybe with the aid of it, Tatum showed himself to be a child prodigy. By the age of six he was able to play numbers originally performed as duets, unaware that there were supposed to be two players.

Tatum’s meteoric rise to success began with his appearance at a 1933 cutting contest (where musicians compete one after another, with the loser being forced to leave the stage and the winner taking on all comers). The contest included Fats Waller, the acknowledged king of stride piano. Standard contest pieces included Waller’s “Handful of Keys.” Tatum defeated Waller with his arrangement of “Tiger Rag.” That performance was considered to be the last word in stride piano.

Art Tatum performed as a solo artist for most of his career, not because he didn’t want to work with other musicians but because next to him, most musicians sounded like they were trying to catch up to a runaway train. Although Tatum refrained from calling himself a classical pianist, he adapted several classical works into new arrangements that showcased his own musical style. He died in 1956. In 1983, he was named to the Jazz Hall of Fame. In 1989, he received a posthumous Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.

In Toledo, the Ohio Bicentennial Commission and The Ohio Historical Society have placed a historical marker in front of Tatum’s boyhood home located at 1123 City Park Avenue, one block from Dorr Street.

“Art Tatum’s house is like a shrine to me,” said Wright. “It’s kind of sad, though. It needs some paint and some ﬁ xing up. I’d like to see it become a museum or some better reminder of who lived here. He was a giant. I think we can do better with his legacy than we’ve done so far.”

Hey, Jon, Want To Sing Something?

What can one say about Toledo native Jon Hendricks? At age 86, he’s a force of nature, like Niagara Falls or the Rocky Mountains. Wherever he goes, he creates his own weather. He is a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, the inventor of the Vocalese singing style (which adds lyrics to existing instrumental songs and replaces many instruments with vocalists), a world traveler, an outspoken educator and lecturer, a writer, an incisive observer of the human condition, and a scholar of vast intellect. Our conversation ﬂ owed seamlessly from Sir Francis Bacon to Shakespeare, to American history, to religion to local anecdotes. And all of it swirled around the subject of jazz as if life was music, and music was life without a dividing line. Giving justice to our short visit would require every page in this magazine.

“Jon Hendricks has inﬂ uenced untold numbers of musicians,” said Wright. “Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra studied his style. To me, he is one of my musical grandfathers.”

But where did Hendricks get the idea for vocalese? "It was depression during the Hoover administration and absolutely no one had any money," “As a kid, I was supporting my family of 14 by singing in local clubs run by the mob. I would sing there at night and study my school work between sets. I’d get home at 11 at night with my earnings and my mom would give me dinner. Then I would get up in the morning and go to school, where I got straight A’s.

“With the money I made singing, he continued, “I didn’t have enough
to go to the movies. There was a restaurant in the neighborhood with
a jukebox, and I listened until I learned every song, including the
instruments. When someone went to put a nickel in the jukebox, I
would say to them, ‘If you give me the nickel, I’ll do the song myself,
with all the instrumental parts.’ They were so intrigued, they almost
always gave me the nickel. I made so much money doing that, I was
able to go to the movies and invite one or two of my brothers along.
That’s how vocalese got started.”

As a teenager, Hendricks was cutting his musical chops with Art Tatum, Harold Lindsay, Mozart Perry and other Toledo jazz greats at the Jeep Club, the Bellmen & Waiters Club and C&L on Indiana Avenue. “These weren’t so much jazz clubs, but everyplace had jazz music,” said Hendricks. “The Bellmen & Waiters Club had an actual show, with dancers to open, a featured vocalist, and a good tap dancer.”

During one of his club dates, Hendricks met Charlie Parker who was passing through Toledo for a one-night gig. Thus ensued a conversation that changed Jon Hendricks’ life. “Parker asked me what were my plans for the future,” said Hendricks. “I told him I was in college and studying to be a lawyer.” “You ain’t no lawyer,” said Parker. “What am I, then?” asked Hendricks. Parker said, “You’re a jazz singer and you should go to New York.” Hendricks told him he didn’t know anybody in New York. “You know me,” said Parker. Hendricks asked him how he could ﬁnd him if he went there. “Just ask anybody,” said Parker. “I thought, what kind of guy is this?” said Hendricks. “I didn’t know if he was crazy, or what.”

Toledo in the 1950s was a place where it was dangerous for a black man to marry a white woman, as Hendricks had done. A man could get thrown in jail, or worse. Hendricks found himself ostracized. Then his job as a probation ofﬁ cer was taken away. Finally, he was arrested and jailed without charges and with dim chances of ever getting out. Finally, he smuggled a letter to his wife, asking her to divorce him on the chance he would be released. The plan worked and Hendricks was let out of jail. Soon after, he packed up his family and ﬂ ed Toledo.

“I tried to go to Canada ﬁ rst, but they required $1,000 to register as an immigrant,” said Hendricks. “All I had was an old car and $380. The car died in Buffalo, so we took a bus to new York. I put my family up at the Clairmont Hotel on 116th Street for $18 a week, then I found a pay phone. I learned that a friend of mine, Joe Carroll, was playing in the city, so I called and asked him if he knew where Charlie Parker was playing. Just like that, Joe Carroll said, ‘At the Apollo Bar on 115th and 7th Avenue.’”

Hendricks walked the 15 blocks the where Charlie Parker was playing, but along the way second thoughts started to set in. They had only met once, over a year ago. Would Parker even remember him? He almost turned around before entering the Apollo, but he summoned his courage and stepped in. Parker was on stage with his band at the time. When he saw Hendricks, he stopped in the middle of the song and said, “Hey, Jon, want to sing something?” Then he jumped back into the song without missing a beat.

The great jazz drummer, Roy Haynes, protested. He didn’t want to play with a singer. But after the set with Hendricks was over, Haynes was so impressed, he apologized. The two have been lifelong friends ever since. In fact, Haynes was the ﬁ rst drummer to play with the groundbreaking jazz vocalese trio, Lambert, Hendricks and Ross.

Today, Jon Hendricks lives in Ottawa Hills, Ohio, where he passes on his wisdom to up and coming jazz artists, teaches Jazz in American Society, the most popular course offering at the University of Toledo, and works on his memoirs.

“Thelonious Monk used to come up to me and say things like, ‘Two is one,’ and ‘It’s always night, or we wouldn’t need light.’ Then he would just walk away,” said Hendricks. “I couldn’t ﬁ gure out what the heck that cat was talking about. I thought about what he said for a long time before I understood what he was saying.”

The light around Jon Hendricks is like a halogen beam, obliterating all the dark corners and illuminating the world in stark relief. Once you meet him and talk with him, you understand that the night is perpetual and the light is ﬂ eeting. And you realize how rare it is to be in the presence of someone who shines. It’s always night, or we wouldn’t need light.

A Home of Their Own

Rusty’s was unbelievable, accordig to Andre Wright. We stood in the parking lot of what was once Rusty’s Jazz Cafe, a one story building on the commercial and light industrial stretch of Tedrow Road in Toledo (later renamed Jazz Avenue in Rusty’s honor). Wright gestured up and down the road, pointing out the numerous, mostly empty parking lots. “There were so many cars along here, you literally couldn’t ﬁnd a parking space,” he said. “It was Rusty’s, then there was everywhere else.”

Margaret “Rusty” Monroe was a farm girl with beauty and brains (she graduated from high school at the age of 14), qualities she took to Hollywood, California where she hobnobbed at the Brown Derby with stars like Bob Hope.

“I decided that I didn’t have time for acting and the Hollywood life,” said Rusty. “I had three kids and besides, my home was in Ohio.”

Rusty was well into her 40s when she ﬁ rst encountered jazz. “It was a Dinah Washington concert at what is now the Erie Street Market,” she said. “There were hundreds of people there. We could hardly get in. After that I was hooked. I went with friends to other little spots here and there. Back then, there was a lot of jazz in Toledo, clubs all over town.”

Rusty fell deeply in love with jazz, and she believed in the musicians, so much so that in 1963 she opened Rusty’s Jazz Cafe. “I knew how to run a bar and a restaurant,” said Rusty. “I wasn’t afraid of hard work, and I wanted to give the musicians a place to play. The jazz people got behind the idea; people like Gene Parker, Jimmy Cook and Eddie Abrams. We started out with a single piano and graduated to a trio. Clifford Murphy was our ﬁ rst bassist.”

The word quickly got out about Rusty’s. The venue was an open stage, so musicians could show up to listen to other musicians or take the stage themselves. “Rusty’s was like everyone’s home,” said Andre Wright. “It was like a gathering spot. Jazz musicians always knew where the action was and it was a place where younger musicians could go to learn the trade.”

Rusty was one of the founders of the Toledo Jazz Society and the Toledo Jazz Festival. Over the years, Rusty’s earned a national and international reputation for showcasing the best jazz musicians in the country, along with drawing from Toledo’s deep well of local talent. Jon Hendricks performed there, as did Maynard Ferguson, Stanley Jordan, Winton Marsalis, Betty Carter, Cannonball Adderley and Johnnie O’Neil, who played Art Tatum in the 2004 ﬁ lm, Ray.

“It wasn’t about the money,” said Rusty. “I didn’t expect to make a million dollars. Jazz has never been a big draw with the general public, but it will never go away. It was just a passion for the art form. It came from the heart.”

Because of age and the strain of running a night club, Rusty sold the Jazz Cafe in 2003 and the Toledo institution is now a sports bar. She’ll be present, though, at the 4th Annual Rusty’s Reunion Picnic on July 20th from 2-6 pm at the Toledo Botanical Garden, and she’ll be celebrating her 90th birthday on November 22nd.

If You Sound Good, People Will Listen

“ I consider Cass Harris to be the Thelonious Monk of Toledo,” said Andre Wright. “He’s often misunderstood, but if you get to know him, he is very deep and spiritual. He’s one of my musical fathers.” “I was born on City Park Avenue, down the street from Art Tatum,” said Harris. “One day, I was playing in my dad’s closet and I came across this old silver coronet. I blew through it and pressed the keys and thought, ‘If I take my time, I can ﬁ ll this instrument up’. At the age of five, I was listening to the radio and trying to imitate what I heard. My mother was very supportive. She told me God had blessed me. I had a gift. In fact, she gave me my ﬁ rst lesson, and she only did it once. She took me to the piano and played chords so I could hear them. She said, ‘This is your major, this is your minor, this is your diminished, and this is your augment. This is where colors come from.’”

Harris grew into a professional musician at the Bellmen & Waiters Club and at Rusty’s. He has played with the likes of Pee Wee Glover and with Rusty’s “off- spring” Vernon Martin (the bassist for Rahsaan Rowland Kirk), Larry Fuller (who played with the legendary Ray Brown) and Dan Fan- ley (who played with Grammy Award winner Diana Krall). Harris also worked with horn- based soul band, Tower of Power, and was, for many years, the musical director for the R&B vocal group, The Whispers.

While performing in New York, a friend leaned over to Harris and said, “Miles is checking you out.” Harris looked over to see Miles Davis in the audience. “I saw the master was in the house,” he said, “so I handed him the horn. He said to me, ‘You’re a natural. Why don’t you practice?’ That’s what it means to have a place where jazz musicians can gather. The young ones learn from the older ones. And if the children can see what’s going on, they’ll get interested and want to get involved. They’ll hopefully ﬁ nd a passion rather than just getting into trouble.”

Harris, along with many jazz musicians in the Lake Erie West region lament the loss of Rusty’s for that reason. “I think we can get it back, but it’s harder to approach with this economy. My philosophy is, if you sound good, people will listen to you. If they like what they hear, they’ll want to hear more.”

Don’t Come Back Until You Get it Right

Toledo’s perennial bass/piano duo of Clifford Murphy and Claude Black have been playing together since 1950. Together and separately, they played in such venues as Rusty’s, M&L and the 18 Club. “I always wanted to play the bass,” said Murphy, “but I had to start with the piano. From there I went to the sax. The only time I got my hands on the bass was when I could borrow one from a kid in the neighborhood who we called Pluch Pluck. I didn’t get my ﬁrst bass until I got home from the Korean War. I had some money, and my mom told me to go out and get a new wardrobe. The bus stopped on Jefferson Street in front of this store called Green’s Music. There was a blond bass in the window. When I saw it, I forgot all about buying clothes. I hopped of that bus and bought that bass.

“When we started out, we had to be serious,” said Murphy. “People used to make us practice. If we weren’t on top of it, they would tell us to get off the stage and don’t come back until we get it right.”

They got it right. Murphy has played with such jazz luminaries as Dizzy Gillespie, Pee Wee Glover, and Harold Lindsay. Claude Black was in the house band at the legendary Bakers Keyboard Lounge in Detroit. He has also played with Aretha Franklin, Eddie Jefferson, Roy Brooks and Billy Mitchell, to name just a few.

Now Murphy, and his longtime partner, Joan Russell, own Murphy’s Place, the last jazz club in the long and storied Toledo tradition of great jazz venues. In the fourteen years the club has existed, it has hosted many of the best jazz musicians in the world in an intimate and relaxed atmosphere. One of my most memorable experiences there was seeing the band of the identical twin, French jazz powerhouses, Francois and Louis Moutin from no further than ten feet away. Their previous stop had been a performance at New York’s Lincoln Center, where the balcony patrons may have needed opera glasses to see the musicians.

The Murphy/Black team also do their part to develop the next generation. They go into schools to pass on their knowledge and wisdom. “Claude and Clifford were my mentors,” said Andre Wright. “They are all about professionalism. The lessons they gave me were invaluable.”

“Now, they’re not teaching it the old way,” said Murphy. “I would always insist on dress. We had a guy come in here wearing a t-shirt and tennis shoes and a girl on his lap. My wife told him, ‘If you’re looking for a job, that’s not the way to do it.’ We emphasize respect for the music, for yourself and for the audience. Sometimes musicians get up there and they sound like t-shirts and tennis shoes.”

Dress, demeanor and interpretation are all important,” added Black. “We had a fourteen piece band of high school and college students in here once. I came in and they were all loud and running around, like young people will do. I said to them, ‘What is this, a circus? You may not feel like professional musicians, but you’re in that role. You have to act like pros. Settle down and act like grown-ups.’ From that day on, when they come in, they look nice—they even had uniforms—they’re quiet and respectful and they act like professionals.”

To the young musicians coming into the business, Black’s advice is simple and consistent. “Be serious with the music, be truthful in your interpretation, and learn the business side as well as the music so you don’t get ripped off,” he said. “The ultimate goal is to produce good quality music. You have to apply yourself each and every day. If you don’t, it will show.”

There’s No Place Like Home

Just before Andre Wright and I met with jazz educators and musicians Gene Parker and Mike Lorenz, Wright had just learned that Toledo resident and trumpet master Jimmy Cook was in the hospital with cancer and was not expected to last beyond two weeks. Parker and Lorenz reacted simultaneously and identically to the news, with heartfelt anguish for a man they loved and respected, not just as a musician but as a friend.

“When I ﬁ rst saw Jimmy Cook, he scared the crap out of me,” said Parker. “I didn’t even know how he was doing what he was doing. He became the most important inﬂ uence of my career. Jimmy is a legendary jazz trumpeter and a precious gem. We played music together for 25 years.”

“His playing was gorgeous,” said Lorenz. “He played in a way I couldn’t even touch. I would sit and listen to him and think: ‘Where did that come from?’ He was a genius, but he was also easy to be friends with him. We were friends for thirty years.”

Gene Parker is a versatile multi-instrumentalist, playing saxophones, clarinets, ﬂ utes, vibraphone, bass, piano, Latin percussion (congas and toys) and MIDI instruments. He admits to having haunted Rusty’s, where he listen to and played with contemporaries like Jimmy Cook, Harold Lindsay, Richard Margitza, Eddie Abrams and keyboardist Al Myers (who used to swap sets with Charlie Parker).

“Sax player Richard Margitza toured with Miles Davis all over the U.S. and Europe,” said Parker. “He used to talk about how good it felt to be at Rusty’s, because it was the only place where people listened. In Europe, people would be talking and paying attention to other things and as soon as the bus came, everyone would ﬁle out. He said Rusty’s was hipper than any place in New York. It was the one and only.”

As well as being a jazz performer all around the region, Mike Lorenz is Chair of the Music Department and Associate Professor of Music at Siena Heights University in Adrian, Michigan. He has toured throughout Europe and regularly performs throughout Michigan, Ohio and Ontario, Canada. Lorenz is the former director of the Toledo Jazz Orchestra and the Michigan State University Lab Band. He, too, laments the loss of the jazz incubator that was Rusty’s.

“For jazz to come back to the way it was, we have to have a center,” said Lorenz. “Right now, there’s no place to go with an open stage where the young musicians can develop and where the experienced players can get to know each other. Part of the reason is that jazz is not regarded as the true art form that it is. In the politics of the arts community, the visual arts are on top. Jazz is thought of as utilitarian, as background music for the arts. My hope is that the political climate will change and that jazz will begin to be treated like all the other arts.”

“There are lots of good musicians,” said Parker, “which is good. In some ways, things have never been better. But there’s not enough work. With a few exceptions, jazz musicians have never done well. Most famous musicians had day jobs. We all rode this wave called Rusty’s. Most cities don’t have a place like that in a century. When it closed, I lost my home. If it’s going to come back, I think it has to be some kind of nonproﬁ t.”

One of the Baddest People I Know

While still in High School in Shreveport, Louisiana, Jean Holden’s talents were noticed by her teachers. They encouraged her to pursue private opera training. So outstanding was her potential that she was offered a scholarship to the Julliard School for the Arts in New York. She turned down the offer in favor of marriage and children. “I appreciated the training, but there was nothing available for blacks in opera at that time,” she said.

“I always listened to Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughn, but also Patty Page, Elvis and Patsy Cline,” said Holden. “It was never strictly jazz. In fact, I don’t think of myself as a jazz singer. I sing a little of this and a little of that—all the old songs. I’m more of a cabaret singer.”

Holden moved to Toledo in 1964 and ﬁ ve years later began singing in supper clubs. Her ﬁ rst gig was a two-week engagement at the Park Lane Hotel that was extended to two years. She also performed at such venues as Michaelangelo’s Italian Club, the Glass Pavilion Room at the Hospitality Inn, and Rusty’s, where she was backed up by the likes of Clifford Murphy, Larry Fuller, Woody Brubaker and saxophonist Harold Lindsay.

In 1983, Jean and her second husband, Harvey Hannah, opened Jean’s Café Cabaret where Jean often performed. They hired Harold Lindsay to be in their house band. “We ran the club for three years, which was about three years too long,” said Harvey. “It was too small, too much work and too little pay-off.”

Though Holden often sang at Rusty’s, she went there to work, not to hang out, a fact that she feels has left her not well understood by the jazz community. “I didn’t smoke or drink or party,” she said. “I wasn’t one of the cats.”

Nevertheless, like the rest of the jazz performers of the time, she has enduring memories of her contemporaries on the jazz scene. “Harold Lindsay was a sweet, sweet man,” Holden said, as she placed her hand to her heart. “Howard Colling was another sweet man, and he could really play the bass. Mozart Perry used to drive this big motor home. I liked to listen to him play piano, but it drove me crazy to sing with him. Gloria Boswell was a rough chick. You didn’t want to cross her. She was the get down; I was the opposite. I would sit there and sip on tea.”

Holden is committed to passing the music on to the next generation. I’ve never been reluctant to share the stage. Kelly Broadway, a great, young jazz singer, is like my musical grandchild. I’ve also been teaching voice to students since 1975.” she said.

Andre Wright looks upon Holden as one would a beloved aunt who had an endless supply of love and who showed the way by her example. “You’ve lived and done what the rest of us are trying to do. You are one of the baddest people I know,” Wright said to Holden. “I ﬁ rst met you at the Toledo Museum of Art when I was seventeen. You didn’t even know me, but you gave me a big hug.”

Jazz Keepers

What does the name Ramona Collins mean in Toledo jazz circles? As the 2000 President of the Toledo Jazz Society, she drew upon her personal relationships with the Tatum family and secured their permission to rename the Toledo Jazz Festival, the Art Tatum Heritage Jazz Festival. The name change launched the annual music festival into a higher orbit and led to a National Endowment for the Arts grant, much more generous corporate support, and drew a parade of national and world-class talent to Toledo to perform every summer.

But nothing comes close to Collins’ passion for Toledo’s local jazz talent. “You can’t underestimate the importance of supporting local artists and creating a vibrant music scene,” she said. “When people come to Toledo, they don’t want to know who has played here. They want to see the best of what the city has to offer. Back in the day, we saw everybody. We’d catch a set here and there, and see Lawrence “Pee Wee” Glover, Cass Harris, Harold Lindsay, and Claude Black.”

Collins was born in Toledo and raised in Lansing, Michigan. She began recording early in her career when she debuted at 16, singing standards on a recording accompanied by her mother (jazz pianist/singer Alice Collins Carter). Ramona’s voice attracted attention from local musicians, and before long she was sitting in at jam sessions and clubs with her mother’s musician friends. Among others , Collins and her band released Everything Old Is New Again a well-received 1997 CD of jazz standards recorded at Rusty’s Jazz Café. “I like classy singers who, when they sang, you could understand every word—people like Nancy Wilson, Randy Crawford and Marlena Shaw.”

Known in Toledo as a “jazz activist,” Ramona is outspoken about those issues she perceives to be detrimental to the progress of local jazz musicians, and she doesn’t hesitate to speak up when she believes local musicians are being treated unfairly, ignored or taken for granted. “We need to do a better job of supporting and celebrating what we have here,” she said. “If there’s no room for local musicians to grow, they will leave. At places like Rusty’s, all the musicians felt welcome,” said Collins. “Young, old, black, white, it didn’t matter. It was all about the musical fellowship and passing the baton down to the younger artists. Now, it’s about formal education. If you don’t have that, you’re shut out.”

“Rusty was my mentor,” said Collins. “She made people feel good. She was also successful. Rusty’s didn’t close because it failed. It closed because Rusty got to be too old to keep it going. I want to pick up where she left off. I’m forming a nonproﬁ t called Jazz Keepers. The purpose will be to promote local, regional and national interest in jazz performers. It will be a catalyst for the jazz community to come together, and a tribute to players and their supporters who ﬁ ght to keep jazz alive.”

Ramona views her performing career as part entertainment, part educational. To that end, she has taken aspiring young performers under her wing, supporting and encouraging them and teaching them things that will help them grow as entertainers. “There are a number of young people who have talent and respect for jazz,” she says. “I’m thrilled they view me as a mentor...it’s inspiring.”

Coming Together

Andre Wright is deeply concerned about the fractured Toledo jazz community since the loss of Rusty’s. He still craves the coming together he experienced during the Rusty’s era and he wonders out loud how the community can build a bridge from the great past to an equally great future. The good news is that all the necessary elements are still here. Some of the greatest jazz singers and musicians the world has ever seen were born here. The era of the great Toledo jazz clubs has spawned a core of world-class talent that still calls Toledo home.

The bad news is that the ranks of the old lions, like Jimmy Cook, are growing thinner.

What will become of the jazz tradition that gave birth to the likes of Art Tatum and Jon Hendricks. The inventor of vocalese said it best. "You can't kill the tradition, no matter wnat you do," he said. The question is, will live in Toledo. The reputation of the city as a jazz mecca has not faded...yet. There’s still time to come together.