Читать книгу Oliver Jones - Marthe Sansregret - Страница 10

CHAPTER II Born with the Beat 1934–1940

Oliver Jones came into the world at the Royal Victoria, the same hospital where his sisters and brother had been born. Even though he seemed rather undersized, luckily, he was a healthy baby.

In the Jones’s religious tradition, a newborn girl would have two godmothers and one godfather. For a boy, it was the other way around. During a christening ceremony at Union United Church, Oliver was given his father’s first name, followed by the rather impressive middle name of Theophilus.

Despite the fact of having two Olivers at home, sometimes there was no doubt which one Mrs. Jones was referring to. For instance, on Friday nights, if her husband became too voluble after having an extra beer, she’d briskly tell him: “Wesley, behave!”

The family, now with four children, moved to the second floor of a house on Workman Street. In the place of honour was their Layton Brothers piano, bought at the store of the same name; to Mr. Jones, a home was incomplete without music. It was by listening to his father play hymns on the piano that Oliver developed his musical sensitivity.

There was plenty of music in the neighbourhood. At night, especially when the weather was mild, Oliver would hear different tunes and rhythms – European, Caribbean, ragtime – wafting through the air. But what really caught his ear was American jazz and blues. Without Oliver really being aware of it, his imagination was infiltrated by the music of the cotton fields of Louisiana, Alabama, and Mississippi, which had spread from town to town up to Chicago and Detroit.

To Oliver’s delight, this music had come to stay, due to an influx of American musicians, many of them Black, who, even though Prohibition in the United States had ended in 1933, were still moving north in search of work. Montreal was known as an open city. It was easier for them to earn a living there, since nightclubs and bars sold liquor freely.

Saint-Henri and Little Burgundy boasted a host of talented musicians who enriched their repertoire by listening to new pieces they heard on American radio stations, and then playing them in the bars and clubs.

In spite of this lively atmosphere, the consequences of the Great Depression lingered. Many heads of families in the neighbourhood lost their jobs while others wondered how long they would continue to receive their paycheques.

The tension was palpable. Fear and anxiety had also affected the Jones family. One morning, when a man came to the house to tell Jestina that her husband had been temporarily laid off, she panicked and cried that Oliver Wesley had been fired. When young Violet repeated this to Oliver, Oliver thought his father had been shot!

Fortunately, Oliver Wesley soon went back to his job, safe and sound, while Jestina continued her routine as a home-maker. Oliver liked to watch his mother make clothes from material supposed to last forever, and press them with a clumsy iron that had to be heated up on the stove. House-cleaning was a heavy burden, since, like the majority of households, the Joneses did not have hot tap water. On top of that, twice a week, the iceman would walk through the apartment with a gigantic dripping block of ice, leaving tracks from his dirty boots on his way.

Giving his full attention to his own business, Oliver played with his mother’s pots and pans. He beat and banged on them energetically with wooden and metal spoons, arching his little back. Jestina wondered how to distract her infant drummer boy who would use almost everything in the kitchen – cans, the metal washing pail, and even the radiator – to get as many different sounds as possible from his drum set. One day, she had a flash. She tied him into his high chair with a dish towel and placed him in front of the piano.

At first, baby Oliver touched the keys gently, one by one, then started punching them enthusiastically, pumping his arms up and down. Soon, his little fingers were running up and down the keyboard and for sure, the thrill was there. It didn’t take long for Oliver to adopt the piano as his companion, his friend.

But one day, the atmosphere in the house changed radically. Frederick was seriously ill with a high fever. At the hospital, he was diagnosed with spinal meningitis and died the following day. Oliver knew nothing of the meaning of death. He was only two years old.

Oliver’s cousin, Wrenfred Bryant, ten years his senior, became a big brother to him. Many years later, he said: “I don’t think Oliver ever saw the fact that he was the only boy in the family after Frederick died.” During one of his cousin’s visits, after listening to “God Save The King” on the radio, Oliver ran to play it on the piano. Wrenfred often evoked this memory. “I remember seeing Oliver at three years old, already playing the piano. He had a God-given talent, but I never thought he would become such a notable and honoured musician.”

Not long after Frederick’s tragic departure, Oliver had a baby sister: Shirley.

In the midst of this lively family, Oliver remained fixated on the piano. When Oliver Wesley came home from work, Oliver would yell, scream, and tug on his father’s pants until he would sit the little boy on his knees and let him play. When the “concert” was over, Oliver would watch his father lay down a piece of green felt to protect the keys before closing the lid.

***

One day, when Oliver was four, he didn’t want to sit at the piano and didn’t want to play outside either. He lost weight and his face looked peculiar. His mother sent for the district nurse who came into the apartment with her impressive home-care case. Weak and fearful, Oliver didn’t like the look of the needles, or the scissors and strange bottles on the tray beside his bed. To make things worse, the presence of a reporter and a photographer from the Montreal Star added to the impression that things were really serious. There was still a lot of tuberculosis in the country at that time.

Next morning, readers of the Star were charmed by the sight of the little victim of circumstance, but startled by the headline that introduced the news feature: “Young pianist wants to get back to keyboard.”

Fortunately, Oliver’s parents were relieved to find out that it wasn’t TB. Oliver was soon on his feet again and regained his appetite – for his meals and for the piano. He played outside with his first close friend, Richard Parris. His mother let him attend the kindergarten at the Negro Community Centre, where capable women watched the children at play and gave them sound training, admonishing them when necessary. The Centre was a kind of extension of the family for the Black community. There, Oliver had a chance to play the piano and try out his talent on other instruments. And it was there that he began making music with Sylvia Langdon, who would remain a good friend of his.

Sylvia, a year younger than Oliver, was born in Montreal and lived in the section of downtown that was eventually destroyed to make way for Place des Arts and Complexe Desjardins, as well as the future site of the Montreal International Jazz Festival. She was the daughter of Henry Langdon, the first Black Canadian to serve in the Royal Canadian Air Force. Later in life, Sylvia affectionately described the Black community of Little Burgundy, where she had moved with her parents, as a village, and an ideal place to raise a child. Looking back on her days at the Negro Community Centre with Oliver, she said, with enthusiasm and conviction: “We couldn’t get away with any nonsense – we just couldn’t! So it was good influence on us. It was special, very, very special.”

In the springtime, Oliver loved to watch his father prepare the garden. The small plot on Saint-Antoine Street was provided by the Canadian Pacific Railway: in those days, the two great railway companies encouraged their employees to grow their own fruits and vegetables. Oliver Wesley Jones was an excellent gardener and even supplied most of the neighbourhood with okra, sweet potatoes, and all kinds of vegetables.

Every day of the year, the family would say grace before eating. On Sunday night, Oliver’s prayer would race along, as chicken and rice were usually on the menu. Even though his sisters occasionally tired of eating poultry, Oliver would have been happy to eat it every day. Actually, there was little that he disliked, especially because his mother, who had grown up on an island where fresh fish was available every day, had brought her own tasty recipes to Canada.

Once in a while, Oliver would accompany his mother when she did domestic work for Mrs. Paul, a lady who was always kind to her. At Christmas, Mrs. Paul’s son, who drove a motorcycle, would arrive at the Jones’s apartment carrying gifts from his mother – clothes and all sorts of good things. One year, she sent Oliver a fire truck, beautiful and shiny red. New or secondhand, it didn’t matter to him: it was the most extraordinary truck in the world!

A few days before Christmas, Oliver would go to Eaton’s department store on Sainte-Catherine Street to visit Santa Claus and take a ride on the little train. On Christmas Eve, he would hang up his stocking, which would be filled during the night with an apple, an orange, chocolates and candies. On Christmas morning, after admiring the tree and eating all the goodies, the children and their parents would walk to Union United for a lengthy service. Afterwards, they would do a round of the homes of their friends and neighbours, who would then pay reciprocal visits to the Joneses. Together, they shared special dishes made exclusively during the holiday season, a legacy of Bajan and British traditions, like the rich Caribbean-style fruitcake, Christmas pudding, and cookies. Naturally, Oliver could only have his dessert after finishing the main course of turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, squash, carrots, and cranberry sauce.

They celebrated holidays like all the other families around them – the Scottish family who lived to the right, the Black family downstairs, the French Canadians, the Blacks, and the Irish in the building next door. Oliver learned their songs too, especially the French and Irish ones.

On New Year’s Eve, he would watch his sisters, Lillian and Violet, write down New Year’s resolutions such as going to bed early and cutting down on desserts. Since he hadn’t learned to write yet, Oliver had a good excuse for not reducing his intake of sweets. The 6th of January, when Catholic families celebrated the Day of the Three Kings, was slightly more important than other Sundays in his family.

At Easter, even though his parents celebrated the resurrection of Christ, he, like most children, paid more attention to the chocolate than to the religious meaning of the feast.

Apart from these privileged moments, Oliver conformed to the rather severe discipline imposed by his parents. He was taught that, as a member of the Black community in a White city, he had to behave better than other people. Every once in a while, his father would repeat recommendations like: “No matter what you do, always be careful. Because if you are in a group and someone throws a rock and breaks a window, they will not remember a White child, they will remember a Black one, and that will be you!”

Oliver was very careful, but when Saturday night came along, he saw it as a blessing! After supper, his parents would place a copper boiler, large enough to cover two burners, on the stove, pour water in it and heat it up. Soon, the kitchen would turn into a steam bath. They would carry the heavy container to the bathroom, pour the water into the tub, temper it with cold water, and then Oliver would be able to enjoy the luxurious pleasure of a hot bath. Once he was clean and dried, he would run into the living room for “radio time.” The magic issued from a Marconi table set that broadcast his favorite radio show from Wheeling, West Virginia. “The first time I heard drums, horns, and guitars was on this program that played gospel music, the kind of music that we weren’t supposed to sing because it was more Baptist.” It was only after 1975 that Union United Church, with its conservative Church of England tradition, would allow its choir to sing gospel, music that was created to glorify God.

After hearing these pieces, Oliver would run to the piano and play them, increasing a burgeoning repertoire that included some jazz and blues as well. He also began to accompany singers like Mrs. Thorne, a neighbour with a powerful voice

After a while, people in the community began to talk about Oliver’s extraordinary talent, with the result that the music teachers at the church asked him to perform at a concert given by the Sunday school children.

Sunday school began at 12:30, at the end of the morning service. Children learned passages from the Bible, sang hymns, and, according to their aptitude, took lessons in drama, painting, or music. When they got older, the best of them would be asked to stay as teachers to pass on what they had learned, and to participate in special events such as talent shows.

***

On the day of the show, Oliver, who was only five and had never taken piano lessons, stood backstage with the older children. He was so nervous that when a voice called out “Master Oliver Jones,” he didn’t move until the ladies of the congregation pushed him forward. Intimidated, he bowed, as people in the audience murmured that Oliver was too small to play the piano. As a matter of fact, he was so small that a Mrs. Wade lifted him up in her arms and carried him over to the piano.

Oliver, who had learned to climb up the rungs of the chair in front of the piano at home, was offended. The audience was amused by his discomfiture, but the moment he started to play, the room fell silent. All of the spectators were dazzled by the sound, the rhythm, and the agility of Oliver’s small fingers as they executed a difficult boogie-woogie.

At the end of the performance, Oliver was overwhelmed by applause from all over the church hall. He received congratulations and shook hands with adults he had never met before. It was like a dream. Members of the audience were saying to each other that a new jazzman had been born.

Proud of his little son’s extraordinary success, Oliver Wesley decided that Oliver should take private piano lessons. However, it would not be that year. Oliver, who had natural rhythm, who played music without counting the beat, first had to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic.

Oliver himself was far from enthused by the idea of sitting in a classroom for hours on end.