all his other saxophone players to clarinet, on the theory that once they learned the clarinet, they could go back to saxophone and master it with greater ease. Hamilton, who had been playing the alto saxophone before Charlie, recalled him as a good baritone horn player but not as accomplished as Freddie Culliver, his predecessor. âCharlie was good, now. Charlie was good. But he wasnât on the same level as Freddie.â Another player who studied at Davisâs knee was Lawrence Keyes. The young piano player âwas coming in there still, even though he had graduated in 1933. He was playing orchestra vibes and learning as much as he could from Alonzo Davis.â
Alonzo Davis was part of a tradition that dated back to the nineteenth century, when free black people started moving into the world of American entertainment after the fall of the Confederacy. While black show business was developing on the road and in rehearsals, usually in minstrel shows and circuses, another arena of preparation was coming into being that would influence the course of Negro talent after the Civil War. A legacy of photographs of serious-looking, uniformed young people holding instruments and surrounding a confident adult attests to the growth of thriving music departments at Negro colleges and public schools, headed by almost mythic figures who made sure their students learned to read, sing, or play in tune, and to negotiate material as different as Handel oratorios and Negro spirituals. Engaged in the expanding concentric circles of musical education that had begun in eastern universities early in the nineteenth century, they tattooed theirknowledge on the brain cells of many young musicians who went on to shape the evolution of vernacular Negro American music. Known for rigorous disciplineâthey left behind many stories of thrown erasers, hands smacked with rulers, noggins thumped, backsides paddled, and knuckleheads verbally dressed downâthose Negro teachers had been educated in conservatories and in apprenticeship situations, often taking over the departments at black colleges or returning home to make sure first-class instruction was available in the communities where theyâd grown up. Some of these instructors were composers; others developed crack marching bands. Many also taught privately when they couldnât find a school position; they were part of the reason that so many Negroes who were able purchased pianos and got lessons for their children.
In Kansas City, one of the most prominent of these music teachers was Major N. Clark Smith. A former military band leader and instructor at the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, Smith had composed the music for the schoolâs anthem, âThe Tuskegee Song,â at the request of Booker T. Washington before moving west to Kansas City. At Lincoln High School, he soon gained a reputation as a taskmaster who took no stuff, and he put down discipline rough enough to produce first-class players. Smith taught and inspired Walter Page, the innovative bassist who led the legendary Oklahoma City Blue Devils, and whose pulse animated the new feeling of big band swing that was nationalized by the Count Basie Orchestra, itself a fusion of the Blue Devils and the rival Bennie Motenâs Kansas City Orchestra.
Saxophonist Harlan Leonard, who was a member of Motenâs reed section from 1923 to 1931 and later led his own big band, Harlan Leonard and His Rockets, described Smith to Ross Russell in the book Jazz Style in Kansas City and the Southwest . âWhen I knew Major Smith he was a man past middle age,â Leonard recalled. âHe was supposed to have served in the Spanish-American War. After leaving the service I believe he was in show business for a while and had toured Australia with a musical group. Major Smith had a vivid and commanding personality. He was short, chubby, gruff, military in bearing, wore glasses, and was never seen without his full uniform
Alonzo Davis was part of a tradition that dated back to the nineteenth century, when free black people started moving into the world of American entertainment after the fall of the Confederacy. While black show business was developing on the road and in rehearsals, usually in minstrel shows and circuses, another arena of preparation was coming into being that would influence the course of Negro talent after the Civil War. A legacy of photographs of serious-looking, uniformed young people holding instruments and surrounding a confident adult attests to the growth of thriving music departments at Negro colleges and public schools, headed by almost mythic figures who made sure their students learned to read, sing, or play in tune, and to negotiate material as different as Handel oratorios and Negro spirituals. Engaged in the expanding concentric circles of musical education that had begun in eastern universities early in the nineteenth century, they tattooed theirknowledge on the brain cells of many young musicians who went on to shape the evolution of vernacular Negro American music. Known for rigorous disciplineâthey left behind many stories of thrown erasers, hands smacked with rulers, noggins thumped, backsides paddled, and knuckleheads verbally dressed downâthose Negro teachers had been educated in conservatories and in apprenticeship situations, often taking over the departments at black colleges or returning home to make sure first-class instruction was available in the communities where theyâd grown up. Some of these instructors were composers; others developed crack marching bands. Many also taught privately when they couldnât find a school position; they were part of the reason that so many Negroes who were able purchased pianos and got lessons for their children.
In Kansas City, one of the most prominent of these music teachers was Major N. Clark Smith. A former military band leader and instructor at the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, Smith had composed the music for the schoolâs anthem, âThe Tuskegee Song,â at the request of Booker T. Washington before moving west to Kansas City. At Lincoln High School, he soon gained a reputation as a taskmaster who took no stuff, and he put down discipline rough enough to produce first-class players. Smith taught and inspired Walter Page, the innovative bassist who led the legendary Oklahoma City Blue Devils, and whose pulse animated the new feeling of big band swing that was nationalized by the Count Basie Orchestra, itself a fusion of the Blue Devils and the rival Bennie Motenâs Kansas City Orchestra.
Saxophonist Harlan Leonard, who was a member of Motenâs reed section from 1923 to 1931 and later led his own big band, Harlan Leonard and His Rockets, described Smith to Ross Russell in the book Jazz Style in Kansas City and the Southwest . âWhen I knew Major Smith he was a man past middle age,â Leonard recalled. âHe was supposed to have served in the Spanish-American War. After leaving the service I believe he was in show business for a while and had toured Australia with a musical group. Major Smith had a vivid and commanding personality. He was short, chubby, gruff, military in bearing, wore glasses, and was never seen without his full uniform
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