[Dixielandjazz] Re: Blackstone Hotel

Sun, 7 Jul 2002 15:28:31 EDT

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In a message dated 7/6/02 10:10:33 PM Central Daylight Time, 
charliehooks@earthlink.net writes:

> Jim Beebe has always liked living in the suburbs, perhaps reminding him of 
> his home in Wisconsin where his family were the elite, doctor's sons of 
> doctors.  I, having been born in a tiny Texas town and having come of age 
> in Waco, an only slightly larger one, loved the city central--and still do! 
>   I grew up on horses and now love the Elevated.  Go figure!   The City 
> still excites me, energizes me, even at age 73
> 
Charlie, I lived in Chicago quite a number of years.  When you have kids and 
a car, though, it's much easier in the suburbs.  Actually I would prefer 
living in Chicago for as you say, it's much more exciting.  I'm lazy and 
incapacitated now and rarely go into the city.

I don't know if my family 'were the elite'.  My father, grandfather and going 
back to the civil war were medical doctors.  They were all very musical and I 
suppose that that contributed to my compulsions.  My dad used to whistle like 
Jack Teagarden played trombone.  When I first heard Teagarden on record I 
recognized him immediately.  My grandfather used to lead interdenominational 
church sings on the courthouse lawn in the summer.  Farmers would drive in 
and sit parked in their cars and sing the classic old hymns.  I just saw the 
powerful movie "Places in the Heart" where at the end the church congregation 
is singing "This is my Story" and " And he walked with me...."   I remembered 
those at once from my early church and the courthouse lawn days.

My grandfather was a saint on earth.  He practiced medicine up into his 90s.  
If people didn't have anything, he didn't charge anything.  Many years ago, 
in the winter, he had a horse, sleigh and a driver to take him out to farms.  
20 below and he would get a call, get the driver and would go out 20 miles to 
treat someone...sometimes emergency surgery on the kitchen table.  He would 
sometimes find homes penniless because the man of the house had spent his pay 
on booze.  Grandad would come home, call local merchants and have them 
deliver food and stuff and he would pay the bill.   He would so much against 
alcohol that he wrote a weekly column on it and paid to put it in the paper.  
Even as a kid I knew where he stood on alcohol.  Everyone knew.  My dad was 
on the school board and once a year they had a party.  Just once in awhile on 
an occasion like this my dad would get overserved.  This is in the days when 
doctors made house calls and they were usually in the middle of the night.  
One night my dad was at this annual party but my mother was home and took a 
call for a house visit.  My dad came hom, overserved and my mother told him 
he had to go on this call.  Dad said, "the hell with it, I know who it is, 
I'll go in the morning." He went to bed and pretty much passed out.  My 
mother was pissed.  She got me up and said, " you go wake your grandfather up 
and tell him that your father is drunk and won't go on this call, and he has 
to go." Whoa!  That was the last thing that I wanted to tell my grandfather 
but I ran the two blocks and rang his doorbell.  He came to the door and I 
blurted out, " Mother says that dad is drunk and won't go on this call. You 
have to go.  He got dressed and went.  I"ve always wondered what took place 
the next morning at the office.

My musical career started in my grandfather's basement.  He had a valve 
trombone there and I would get it out and play on it.

Well, I apologize for this off-topic diversion.  Charlie Hooks got me started 
on this.

>    And I surely did love The Blackstone!  I came there knowing much more 
> about the hotel's history than its manager, John Farmer, did: he must have 
> thought I was nuts, carrying on about former gradeuer of the hotel, how 
> honored I was to be playing there--duh...huh....?  The Grand Ballroom of 
> the Blackstone Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago has seen more of the 
> most elegant history of this City than any other venue, possible exception 
> of The Palmer House.   

   Damn, Charlie, you have a fabulous memory.  You came up with the Ernie 
Carson encounter ( Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind) and now the 
Blackstone Hotel mgr. John farmer.  I had completely forgotten his name.  

   Jim Beebe

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<HTML>In a message dated 7/6/02 10:10:33 PM Central Daylight Time, charliehooks@earthlink.net writes: 
 
 
<BLOCKQUOTE TYPE=CITE style="BORDER-LEFT: #0000ff 2px solid; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px">Jim Beebe has always liked living in the suburbs, perhaps reminding him of his home in Wisconsin where his family were the elite, doctor's sons of doctors.&nbsp; I, having been born in a tiny Texas town and having come of age in Waco, an only slightly larger one, loved the city central--and still do!&nbsp;&nbsp; I grew up on horses and now love the Elevated.&nbsp; Go figure!&nbsp;&nbsp; The City still excites me, energizes me, even at age 73 
</BLOCKQUOTE> 
Charlie, I lived in Chicago quite a number of years.&nbsp; When you have kids and a car, though, it's much easier in the suburbs.&nbsp; Actually I would prefer living in Chicago for as you say, it's much more exciting.&nbsp; I'm lazy and incapacitated now and rarely go into the city. 
 
I don't know if my family 'were the elite'.&nbsp; My father, grandfather and going back to the civil war were medical doctors.&nbsp; They were all very musical and I suppose that that contributed to my compulsions.&nbsp; My dad used to whistle like Jack Teagarden played trombone.&nbsp; When I first heard Teagarden on record I recognized him immediately.&nbsp; My grandfather used to lead interdenominational church sings on the courthouse lawn in the summer.&nbsp; Farmers would drive in and sit parked in their cars and sing the classic old hymns.&nbsp; I just saw the powerful movie "Places in the Heart" where at the end the church congregation is singing "This is my Story" and " And he walked with me...."&nbsp;&nbsp; I remembered those at once from my early church and the courthouse lawn days. 
 
My grandfather was a saint on earth.&nbsp; He practiced medicine up into his 90s.&nbsp; If people didn't have anything, he didn't charge anything.&nbsp; Many years ago, in the winter, he had a horse, sleigh and a driver to take him out to farms.&nbsp; 20 below and he would get a call, get the driver and would go out 20 miles to treat someone...sometimes emergency surgery on the kitchen table.&nbsp; He would sometimes find homes penniless because the man of the house had spent his pay on booze.&nbsp; Grandad would come home, call local merchants and have them deliver food and stuff and he would pay the bill.&nbsp;&nbsp; He would so much against alcohol that he wrote a weekly column on it and paid to put it in the paper.&nbsp; Even as a kid I knew where he stood on alcohol.&nbsp; Everyone knew.&nbsp; My dad was on the school board and once a year they had a party.&nbsp; Just once in awhile on an occasion like this my dad would get overserved.&nbsp; This is in the days when doctors made house calls and they were usually in the middle of the night.&nbsp; One night my dad was at this annual party but my mother was home and took a call for a house visit.&nbsp; My dad came hom, overserved and my mother told him he had to go on this call.&nbsp; Dad said, "the hell with it, I know who it is, I'll go in the morning." He went to bed and pretty much passed out.&nbsp; My mother was pissed.&nbsp; She got me up and said, " you go wake your grandfather up and tell him that your father is drunk and won't go on this call, and he has to go." Whoa!&nbsp; That was the last thing that I wanted to tell my grandfather but I ran the two blocks and rang his doorbell.&nbsp; He came to the door and I blurted out, " Mother says that dad is drunk and won't go on this call. You have to go.&nbsp; He got dressed and went.&nbsp; I"ve always wondered what took place the next morning at the office. 
 
My musical career started in my grandfather's basement.&nbsp; He had a valve trombone there and I would get it out and play on it. 
 
Well, I apologize for this off-topic diversion.&nbsp; Charlie Hooks got me started on this. 
 
<BLOCKQUOTE TYPE=CITE style="BORDER-LEFT: #0000ff 2px solid; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px">&nbsp;&nbsp; And I surely did love The Blackstone!&nbsp; I came there knowing much more about the hotel's history than its manager, John Farmer, did: he must have thought I was nuts, carrying on about former gradeuer of the hotel, how honored I was to be playing there--duh...huh....?&nbsp; The Grand Ballroom of the Blackstone Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago has seen more of the most elegant history of this City than any other venue, possible exception of The Palmer House.&nbsp;&nbsp; </BLOCKQUOTE> 
 
&nbsp;&nbsp; 
&nbsp;&nbsp; Damn, Charlie, you have a fabulous memory.&nbsp; You came up with the Ernie Carson encounter ( Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind) and now the Blackstone Hotel mgr. John farmer.&nbsp; I had completely forgotten his name.&nbsp; 
 
&nbsp;&nbsp; Jim Beebe</HTML>

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