Yes, my father claimed to have played the clarinet with Artie Shaw, but, sitting in the 1957 Chevy as he wheeled us to the drive-in burger joint when at long last the family had abandoned the barren wastes of the high islands of the North Sea for the easier lands of the mountains in America, he frowned as I would turn on the car radio to listen to the turns of the day, The Platters, The Four Tops, The Shirelles. Always bitter, that man, he who had lived in the era of grand music. At least he had a nice car. Me? Well, I had the music.  Music 

King of Swing: Count Basie

  By Dag Walker   Long ago, back when my father was a ten-year-old, his father announced one evening that he was going to town to buy an automobile the next morning. My father was so excited he could hardly sleep that night. He woke before dawn and walked with my grandfather to the top of the hill while my grandfather strode to town to buy his first car. My father sat on the hilltop awaiting his return. My father sat and watched and waited; and every hour or so…

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