W.C. Handy

by Frank M. Roberts

February 2016

It would have been in the mid-40s when I met the man who 'invented' the blues. My father had a one man printing company which, among other things, published sheets of paper that were turned into sheet music. Some summer days I worked for him, delivering to clothing manufacturers, and PRC which produced grade-B movies. I got on the subway, packages in hand and delivered his finished work to his variety of customers.

On this particular day, I wound up in an area near Times Square called Tin Pan Alley, headquarters for music publishers and others in the entertainment business. I was bringing my package to 'the father of the blues' the man who, it is very safe to say, invented the genre. The man meant nothing to dear, old dad who was a classical music enthusiast but, it meant the world to me. I loved jazz since I heard the first note. I owned a fair-sized record collection and played 'em often to the accompaniment of Dave Roberts yelling to, "turn that damn stuff off." Well, I did turn it down but, off, never.

Among the songs I loved was the first major blues hit, "The Memphis Blues." By far, W. C. Handy's biggest hit, of course, was a song that is still being played and revered today, "St. Louis Blues."

On that wonderfully fateful day I found myself in an office with a piano, pictures of musical stars of the day, and a scattering of notes.

I delivered the goods to a very handsome gentleman - quiet and soft-spoken - W. C. Handy. (The initials are for William Christopher). I should have been shaking a little bit, but I was too busy staring at the man whose music I played so often. I am 87-years-old now, older than Mr. Handy was when I met him.

I remember him as a white-haired, quite dignified gentleman who was soft-spoken and quite sociable. I was about 14 at the time and, I remember thinking about his age - thinking of it with awe. Now, of course, I'm even older than he was when I met him and told him how much I loved his music, how much I loved jazz in general.

He got around with a cane and a wheelchair. The world was not blind to his music but, he was blind, the result of an accidental fall from a subway platform in 1943, resulting in a skull fracture. In 1954 he suffered a stroke. A year later a birthday party was given him at New York City's most prestigious hotel at the time, the Waldorf-Astoria. More than 800 people attended - a tribute to this great man of music.

Those numbers were later dwarfed when more than 20,000 people attended his funeral at a Harlem church, with thousands more lining the streets.

The only thing I remember of 'our' conversation were his complaints about his brother who, if I remember correctly, was taking more of the Handy products than he was supposed to. Mr. Handy spoke to me about him, as if I was his equal in age. There was no bitterness, no hatred as he talked about his brother.

Of course, we talked about music in general - the people he knew, the many people he influenced, the people who performed his songs - the songs of a man who had become world famous. Before I left, he gave me an autographed sheet music copy of the first blues song ever written - his "Memphis Blues." Much later, he published, believe it or not, "Shake, Rattle and Roll." Times changed, and he changed with them. His publishing company, like his music, had become known worldwide.

After the death of his first wife, Handy married his secretary, Irma Louise Logan, who he referred to as his eyes. They lived in Yonkers, a fairly upscale area just out of NYC.

It was a far cry from the neighborhood of his childhood, Florence, Alabama. In Memphis he published his first song, "Mr. Crump" for a man who was running for mayor that year and who, later, became famous nationally for his iron thumb ruling of the city. The man, himself, was not into music, but so many people he knew were so, for a big to-do he hired Handy's band. That song, by the way was re-worked and later became, "The Memphis Blues."

The song was becoming famous - Handy was close to becoming broke. He sold the copywrite for $100. His publishing company, Pace and Handy (his partner was Harry Pace) was in downtown Memphis, sort-of a Times Square of the South. His other early songs were "Yellow Dog Blues," and "Beale St. Blues." Later, his band, with him playing trumpet, went to New York City where they recorded for the prestigious Columbia company.

Once there, he knew it had to become his home, with Broadway as his home base. The "Memphis Blues" fiasco was a waking-up call for the man. He copyrighted about 150 of his songs, both secular and religious. Handy's orchestra continue to record, working for both Columbia and Paramount. In the '20s and '30s he was at his peak. He penned his autobiography aptly titled, "Father Of the Blues." and he published a compilation of Negro spirituals, and a compilation, "Blues - An Anthology."

The 'Father' autobiography became a movie with Nat 'King' Cole. The title? What else? "St. Louis Blues." By the time the film came out, the blues king had passed away. Pneumonia was the cause. To honor their favorite son, Memphis named a park after William Christopher Handy.

Most people don't know that he attended the Teachers Agricultural and Mechanical College which awarded him a degree. Afterwards, he became a schoolteacher but, the pull of music was too great. Music was his thing - fortunately, for us, although in later years, after he tired of travelling around, he did work as a music teacher in Huntsville, Ala.

A few other facts: For awhile he formed a group called Lauzette Quartet. They were scheduled to play at the Chicago World's Fair, but the fair was temporarily postponed. The band disbanded and W. C. went through a period of poverty, hunger, and homelessness. Success was slow in coming but, when it arrived the name of W. C. Handy became known around the world.

* * * *

Memphis, of course, was also the home of Sun Records which gave birth to, among others, Elvis. One summer, we stopped there just to look around. The streets were empty. It was a Sunday. After our walking tour we returned to the car. One window was broken. Vandalsim. We reported it to police who shrugged. One cop pointed to a large apartment building nearby, said it was a druggie hangout and there was little or nothing they could do. We had been visiting our Arkansas family, driving home with a piece of cardboard covering that window. The ironic thing was - Christmas packages filled the back seat but, nothing had been taken. Wow! I drove home humming, "The Memphis Blues."

Permit me one quickie music joke: A musician I knew played in Key West. It was the first time he knew what key he was in.