[Dixielandjazz] Chuck Eastman's Obit - Modesto Bee

[Steve Barbone]

Music stops far too soon for banjo player who had zest for life
 
Modesto Bee -  By MIKE MOONEY  Friday, January 11, 2008 mmooney at modbee.com
or 578-2384.
 
"Old Bones" (John Hadley), John Hadley Songs (BMI), Sony / ATV Tree
As sung many times by Chuck Eastman

Old bones inside an old raincoat
Old bones inside of old shoes
Old friends at the hotel
Come by to wish me well
And keep me up to date on all the old news

Sometimes I have an old whiskey
And I fall asleep in my chair
And dream that I'm a man
Much younger than I am
I bet you'd think by now that I wouldn't care

But I love life, I'd like to do it again
Though I might not be much more than I've ever been
Just to have the chance to turn back the hands
And let my life begin
Oh yeah, I'd like to do it again

It's time for takin' it easy
It's time for takin' it slow
Old bones don't move so fast
As they did once in the past
Now if I have to run, I simply don't go

But I love life, I'd like to do it again
Though I might not be much more than I've ever been
Just to have the chance to turn back the hands
And let my life begin
Oh yeah, I'd like to do it again


His life touched countless others, maybe even your own, yet most of you
won't recognize his name. Charles David Eastman.

Well, I guess that is a bit formal -- especially for a banjo player. Maybe
that's why everybody called him Chuck.

Anyway, between 1970 and 1979, you could find Chuck down at Shakey's Pizza
Parlor in Modesto -- plunkin' and chunkin' and strummin' -- most every
Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.

And, when the mood struck him, he'd play some trumpet, too. Remember?

Eventually, Shakey's would close its doors but Chuck was just getting
started.

He would help anchor rhythm sections of several popular valley-based "trad"
bands (also known as New Orleans and/or Dixieland) including Tuleburg Jazz
Band, Creole Jazz Kings and Catsnjammer Jazz Band.

The ebullient sound that characterizes trad jazz suited Chuck perfectly.

No one I've met was blessed with more optimism or a more zestful enthusiasm
for life than Chuck. I never saw his optimism waver, nor his zest for living
diminish -- even when he was told that a malignant tumor had invaded his
brain. Chuck didn't have time for self-pity.

So, the chilly rain that fell Tuesday afternoon outside Lakewood Funeral
Chapel seemed especially out of place. Equally out of place was the banjo --
Chuck's banjo -- sitting silently in its stand, just to the right of his
flag-draped coffin.

I half expected to see Chuck come walking out and, grinning ear to ear, pick
up that darn thing and start strummin' something, like the chords to "Old
Bones."

Trumpeter Gene Berthelsen, leader of the Catsnjammer Jazz Band, would quote
the piece in his eulogy to his friend:

But I love life, I'd like to live it again

Though I might not be much more than I've ever been

Just to have the chance to turn back the hands

And let my life begin

Oh yeah, I'd like to do it again

Oh yeah, I'd like to do it again

Berthelsen reminded everybody that Chuck had returned to the band just four
weeks after undergoing surgery to remove the tumor. And, in the time Chuck
had left, he spent more time playing with the band than any other member.

Suddenly, every bad banjo joke I'd ever heard -- or would want to hear --
flooded my consciousness. Stuff like:

Do you know what's the difference between a lawn mower and a banjo?

That's right. You can tune a lawn mower.

So, you drop an accordion and a banjo from the top of the Empire State
Building. Which one hits the ground first?

Who cares!

I know. I know. Those jokes ARE older than dirt.

My eyes wandered off to the right, and there was Chuck -- or rather, a large
portrait of Chuck -- banjo in hand and grinning from ear to ear.

Feeling just a bit uneasy, I smiled back.

Berthelsen moved away from the podium and picked up his trumpet, joining a
small group of Chuck's friends -- musicians all. They began playing in the
traditional New Orleans style.

Chuck's music. I listened for the banjo.

My eyes returned to Chuck's portrait and I smiled again. My toes were
tapping inside my right shoe.

It was the music, more than the words -- as beautiful and inspirational and
heartfelt as those words were -- that connected us to Chuck and each other.

Powerful music. Chuck's music.

The same music he had shared at Shakey's all those years ago, not to mention
a multitude of clubs and jazz festivals throughout California, across the
nation and around the world.

It's the kind of music that grabs a group of strangers and rearranges them
into the closest of friends.

So, it should come as no surprise that when the band kicked up the tempo --
New Orleans-style -- on the gospel standard "A Closer Walk With Thee," even
the rain paused to listen Tuesday afternoon.

For a few moments, sunshine washed away the tears. The sun bolt grew in
intensity and then faded away.

Before long, though, the gray gloom and chilly rain reclaimed the day. It
didn't matter.

Tears welled. I grinned, ear to ear.

Thanks, Chuck. At 66, your music stopped far too soon.

But your gift doesn't end in a plot of earth. It remains here, alive with
optimism and hope and your zestful enthusiasm for life.