Lady Sings the Blues - Billie Holiday [18]
Every night the limousines would wheel uptown. The minks and ermines would climb over one another to be the first one through the coalbins or over the garbage pails into the newest spot that was “the place.”
Everything started for me there at the Log Cabin. A lot of big people used to come around. One night the boss introduced me to Paul Muni, who was standing at the bar. Another time John Hammond, who was on his way to becoming a big man in the music business, came in. The next time he brought Mildred Bailey, Red Norvo, and a young, serious, good-looking fellow named Benny Goodman. Mildred was the famous Rocking Chair Lady. Red was a well-known musician and Mildred’s husband. And Benny was a radio-studio musician who talked a lot then about having his own band one day. They used to come around often. One night Mildred slapped Red Norvo’s face and walked out of the place. They told me she was jealous of me and Red. But I didn’t even know he had noticed me.
By then Bobby Henderson was playing piano for me. I still think he was the greatest.
Another time John Hammond brought in Joe Glaser, the big agent and manager. He was handling Louis Armstrong, Mildred Bailey, and practically everybody who got to be anybody. Glaser signed me up on the spot.
Then I started moving from club to club in Harlem. And everywhere I went something was happening. Of all the big people who came up to hear me sing, I think I liked Bernie Hanighen the best. He was a famous song writer. I loved his songs and I loved him. I used to feature “When a Woman Loves a Man” and “When the Moon Turns Green,” both his tunes. Bernie used to stay in a joint for hours, listening to me sing and giving me big tips when I did his tunes. But for him I’d have gladly sung anything for nothing. I loved that guy.
Benny Goodman came around plenty, too, and eventually he asked me to make my first record with him. I’ll never forget it. Benny came up to get me and took me to the studio downtown. When we got there and I saw this big old microphone, it scared me half to death. I’d never sung in one and I was afraid of it. Nobody was wise to how scared I was except Buck, of the famous team of Buck and Bubbles, who was around for that session. Buck dug what was the matter with me and tried to snap me out of it.
“Don’t let all these white folks see you scared,” he begged me. “They’ll be laughing at you.” He finally got me to stand near it, told me I didn’t have to look at it or even sing into it, just stand near it. He was getting nowhere until he started to shame me, telling me I didn’t have the nerve to go through with it.
That did it. I just ignored the thing and we did two tunes, “Your Mother’s Son-in-Law” and “Riffin’ the Scotch.” I got thirty-five bucks for the session, but nothing happened with the record.
Later on John Hammond paired me up with Teddy Wilson and his band for another record session. This time I got thirty bucks for making half a dozen sides, including “I Only Have Eyes for You,” “Miss Brown to You,” “I Cover the Waterfront.” I didn’t even know what royalties were in those days. I was glad to get the thirty bucks. I was billed as the vocalist with Teddy’s band and that was all. But after a year or so, when the records started moving, I figured they were selling as much on the strength of my name getting known as Teddy’s and I tried to get some more loot. But I couldn’t.
It was then that Bernie Hanighen really went to bat for me. He had a job as a musical director at Columbia. They also put up records on the Vocalion label at thirty-five cents. Bernie pitched such a bitch up there at the office, he finally made them pay me seventy-five bucks for two sides. In those days you could take it or leave it. It didn’t make any difference if the record companies made thousands off the records later, you’d never get another