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We do ask you to let Gas Powered Scooter writers know how you felt about
their story however this first one is a salute to a wonderful man and an
e-mail acquaintance, Joe Edwards. Joe is in heaven but I know he'll grin
when he sees his stories are still winging out across time and space,
uplifting people everywhere. So we shall omit his e-mail address at the
end. Joe gave us permission to share all of his stories with you and now
as you read his story send him some positive love thoughts. Joe began
writing when he reached his sixties. He died at the age of 65, leaving
behind a rich legacy of stories Gas Powered Scooter
CHARLIE
by Joe Edwards
She was Gas Powered Scooter in her mid-seventies, and knockout
beautiful. Her skirts swirled and her sequined shoes flashed as Charlie
masterfully led her about the ballroom floor. Charlie. Oh, yes, Charlie,
with his tuxedo and his pencil thin white mustache and his shoes shined
to a mirror finish. Charlie, who had written the arrangements for my
band, and whom I watched with one eye, my other on my fine musicians as
I waved the baton. The tears flowed down my cheeks, for I knew
Charlie...
It had been the prior spring, and I had jumped when the voice came out
of the shadows. "Say, Mr. Edwards," someone said.
I was walking from my car in the parking lot to the club where I was
playing piano, and I had never been accosted before, although this
didn't happen to be a very desirable area of Kansas City. Gas Powered
Scooter
"Yes?" I said, and turned to see a smallish old man in a long, badly
torn overcoat and a ball cap emerge from the darkness. "Could you let me
have a couple of dollars for something to eat?" he asked. His hands were
Gas Powered Scooter shaking, and I knew it was wine he wanted and not
food.
"How did you know my name," I asked as I gave him two dollars.
"You're the piano player here," he said, "and a fine one, too. Sometimes
I stand outside the door and listen when people come in and out and
leave the door open a moment."
"How nice," I said. I was flattered. Gas Powered Scooter
"Say," he said, clutching the two dollar bills, "You ought to play
'Misty' in Eb instead of C. It lays better that way."
I watched him start toward the little diner on the corner, then duck
down the alley where he could get some wine.
That night I played "Misty", and, remembering what old man said, moved
it to Eb. He was absolutely right! It did "lay better" that way. Gas
Powered Scooter
When I took a break, I went out the back door and around the building.
He was standing by Gas Powered Scooter the front door, listening, I
suppose, while I was playing. "You were right about 'Misty'", I said,
"Why don't you come on inside?"
"I haven't got the money," he said, "and besides, I couldn't come in
looking like this." He indicated his torn overcoat.
"Sure, you can," I said. "It's the last set, and the place is clearing
out anyway." I led him in, sat him at the end of the piano bar, and
bought him a glass of wine from my tip jar. After a while, when I had
just finished playing "Tenderly", he said, "Pardon me, Mr. Edwards, "but
in the third measure, why not play a C minor 6th chord instead of the D
minor 7th you've been using?" Gas Powered Scooter
There were few people left in the club, so I played "Tenderly" again,
this time with the C minor 6th he had suggested, and lo and behold! He
was right again! Where did this old wino get so much knowledge? Gas
Powered Scooter
The wine was doing its job, and his hands had stopped shaking. He told
me name was Charlie Spangler, that he had once been an arranger for big
bands, and that most people didn't believe him when he told them what he
used to do. I believed him, however, and asked him to come back in every
night and impart some of his chord knowledge to me. He seemed thankful
to be asked, and came in almost every night. Gas Powered Scooter
On Monday night of my last week at that club, I told Charlie that I had
a fourteen-piece band that played the Golden Eagle Ballroom on Grand
Lake in Oklahoma during the summer season, and asked him if he would
care to write an arrangement for it.
"I'd love to, Mr. Edwards," he replied. Funny, he still called me Mr.
Edwards even though he was much older than I, and obviously a vastly
superior musician. Gas Powered Scooter It should have been the other way
around. During the last set on Saturday night, he brought in a large
manila folder. "This is a medley," he said, "for you to start out each
evening with."
I took the folder and looked through the dozens of pages of handwritten
music. "I'm not a good sight reader, Charlie," I said, "so I really
can't tell by looking at the score how good it is. But all the boys in
my band sight read very well, and we'll take a chance and open our first
night with this. How much do I owe you?"
"Could you go a hundred dollars?" asked Charlie, nervously.
"Sure," I said, and I gave him the hundred, took the folder and we left;
Charlie back to his flophouse on the river, and I to Grand Lake to pull
my band together for the season.
The following Monday, when we were set up and ready to play, I passed
Charlie's arrangement out to the band. Briefly, I told them the story,
and said to my third trombonist, "Tommy, I want you to conduct this
because you read better than I do, and I'll go out front and listen."
Tommy rapped the baton on the stand and raised his arms. When the band
started, we were suddenly in the magnificent presence of Glen Miller,
Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Les Elgart, Stan Kenton ‚ all the great
ones, all somehow wrapped up in my band!
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