Straight Life - Art Pepper [39]
One time in Feldman's, a young fellow, oh, he wouldn't have been more than sixteen I suppose (I was about twenty at that time), a young kid, asked if he could sit in with us. We asked him, "What do you play?" He said clarinet, and we said, "Don't you play saxophone as well?" He said no, only clarinet. We said, "Well ... alright." He played beautifully, and we asked him what his name was, and he said, "Johnny Dankworth." He said, "I'm actually studying to be a classical musician, but I love jazz, and I thought I'd like to try it." And I remember Art asked me who he was, and I said I didn't know. Art said, "Well, he has more promise than any musician I've heard in England to date." And I think he was very perceptive where that's concerned, because Dankworth, as you know, turned out to be one of the finest jazz musicians England has produced, and he's still very prominent along with his wife, Cleo Laine.
Art, of course, and the other guys subsequently went back to the States, and I didn't hear from them again until 1951, by which time I had become a name pop singer in England. I had won all the popularity polls and I had made a few recordings; some of them had sold very well. And, travelling around, I worked with a few cats from the States, and they suggested I try my hand in the States. I decided to do just that. Late in 1951 I emigrated. I brought all my records with me under my arm and a lot of press clippings and whatever money I had and off I went. A few days after I got to New York, I saw an ad that the Stan Kenton Orchestra was going to be playing at Carnegie Hall. I had every one of his records I could lay my hands on, and the thought of seeing the Kenton band live was just too much. I bought tickets in the first or second row and sat there waiting for the band to come on. When they walked on, who was sitting right in the middle of the sax section playing lead alto but Art Pepper! I was thrilled to death. I ran around backstage afterwards and we had a big backslapping contest-"How are you? What the hell are you doing in the States?" And that was actually the last time I ever saw Art.
I got an engagement as a singer in a nightclub in Washington D.C. and was very well received, and was then signed up by MGM Records. I had a few near hits, or near misses, whichever way you want to look at it, and my career went very well for me. I never got to star status, but I did very well until the advent of rock-and-roll which brought me undone like a lot of other people.
WE lived right by St. James Park in one of those old, four-storey tenements, across the street from King Peter of Yugoslavia; he was in exile or something at the time. At first I worked at the Marlborough Street jail. We stayed there for twenty-four hours and then we were off twenty-four. The prisoners were American soldiers who were AWOL and deserters. If they had a long time to do, we would transport them to Paris because they didn't have space enough in London. We'd fly them to Paris carrying sawed-off shotguns and .45s. I'd fill a small suitcase with soap and nylon stockings and cigarettes and razor blades, things you could get through the army that people in Paris couldn't get at all. We'd deliver the prisoners to the Paris detention barracks, and then we'd