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He Got Her Jazzed
"I really can't think of anybody who wouldn't appreciate being met at the airport by a jazz band," says writer Calvin Trillin. "I suppose there might be some people who are in the witness protection program."But Calvin's wife, Alice, wasn't some hood in hiding, and she would, he knew, most definitely love being feted by a jazz band.
The year was 1972, and Calvin was in Louisiana covering a crawfish festival. Back in New York, Alice's parents were both ill, and she was coming down for some much-needed R&R. Calvin wanted to cheer her up. He called a friend at Preservation Hall about getting a band. But Jazz Fest was in full swing. All the good ones were booked. So he took what was left.
When Alice's flight landed, she deplaned and walked smack into a wall of sound -- brass, to be exact -- tooting a rousing rendition of "Hello, Dolly!" For her. And she laughed.
"She saw it as a grand gesture. And I don't think she cared that the cornet player was actually an antiques dealer." In fact, he wasn't even from Cajun country. He hailed from London. And the trombone player? Norwegian. They happened to be in town for the festival.
Calvin and Alice strolled arm in arm through the terminal, trailed by their personal band blasting out standards. Along the way, passengers fell in behind and began second-lining all the way to the baggage area.
"Usually not the most interesting of times, waiting for your bags," says Calvin. "But they kept playing."
Alice died a few years ago, but Calvin clings to the memory of that day. "She was a very engaged person," he says. "Having a jazz band meet her fit her personality."
So what if he couldn't land a Satchmo or a Wynton Marsalis? As Calvin reminds us, "Imperfect gestures are still nice gestures."
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