By David "Chet" Williamson
In his
book, Changing the World: Clark University's Pioneering People,
1887-2000, President Emeritus Richard P. Traina chose a remarkable list of important figures who had
been affiliated with the school during that time.
Among
those to make the cut include such recognizable heroes as “Rocket Man” Robert
Goddard and lesser known people like the great writer of jazz and film
criticism, Otis Ferguson.
In his
biographical essay on Ferguson, Traina opens with a non-attributed quote that reads: “Those who seriously appreciate film or jazz
might sometimes wonder when those endeavors were first earnestly and critically
treated as art forms.”
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| Clark University campus |
Traina answers
the supposition with: “Otis Cowan Ferguson was a pioneer with respect to those
fields of popular culture, bringing to them uncommon and often ground-breaking
insight and respect. Ferguson, during what was generally a
transforming period of American history; put the world of criticism on a new
level of artistic appreciation and intellectual engagement and he did it, as he
did most everything, on his own terms.”
His piece
on Bix Beiderbecke alone
warrants Ferguson such distinction. Though he didn’t have a chance to
complete books in his lifetime, two have been published posthumously, In the Spirit of Jazz: The Otis Ferguson Reader (December Press) and The Film Criticism of Otis Ferguson (Temple University).
The bulk
of the writings were collected from essays originally published in The New Republic. Like Bix, Ferguson lived hard and died young. Unlike
his hero however, Ferguson was a victim of World War II and
not the bottle (although he was known to have a taste for Four Roses).
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| Bix Beiderbecke |
Ferguson, who was born in Worcester to Mary (Cowan) Ferguson and M. Howard Ferguson on August 14, 1907, was a graduate of Clark University, class of 1933. He arrived at the school at the age of 22, after already collecting a lifetime of experience. He spent his childhood bouncing around with the family in their unsuccessful attempts at farming in Ware and West Boylston.
Returning to the city as a teenager, young Otis started making his own way. At 15 he worked a score of odd jobs including a position as a pin boy in a local bowling alley.
At 17, Ferguson left South High School before graduation to enlist in
the Navy, rising to the rank of first class seaman. Of the experience, he once
wrote: “I saw some rather comic-opera action in China, was paid off in Newport at the age of 21 with a thousand
dollars in the bank, and went back to high school.”
Both he and his brother, Stanley, a classically trained trombonist, went to South. Otis was a straight-A student. The family lived at 17 Catalpa Street in Worcester.
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| South High School Honor Roll, 1930-1932 |
As Traina
reports, Ferguson arrived at Clark’s Main South campus with “working-class identification
and an autonomous spirit that would mark the rest of his brief, but productive,
life.”
Traina
called Ferguson’s years as a Jonas G. Clark Scholar as “omens” of what was to
transpire in his career. “Majoring in history and English and graduating from
the University in three years, Ferguson devoted himself to writing “displaying
talent in fiction, criticism, commentary, poetry and even as it unhappily
turned out, someone else’s master thesis in history. He achieved some notoriety
by reviewing for a Clark student publication James Joyce’s Ulysses at a time when the book was still banned in the United States.”
While at Clark, Ferguson also won a college essay writing
contest that was sponsored by The
New Republic. The piece was called, “Gaush!” He would later find his first
bylines in the magazine (through the approval of Editor Malcolm Cowley) and soon
hired by the publication where he eventually became its assistant editor.
Before leaving
school, Ferguson was elected senior-class poet and won the Prentiss
Hoyt Poetry Award. Cowley reports that the young writer’s name first appeared
in The New Republic in
1930. It was a review of a George Gershwin concert in New York. While still at Clark, Ferguson wrote articles, play reviews,
poetry and fiction for the Clark
Quarterly.
In 1933, Ferguson was the editor of Pasticcio, the college yearbook, where he indicated that his future
plans were: “None.”
“Following
graduation, in the depths of the Great Depression, the young working-class
writer from what was essentially a working-class university, set out for New York,” Traina stated. “As a failing
Fuller Brush salesman and very freelance writer, he began to see some of his
book reviews published.
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| Malcolm Cowley |
“Then
came a defining moment: A first piece of film criticism published in The New Republic in January 1934. Ferguson could not have been more
fortunate, for the editor of that highly regarded, style-setting periodical was
Malcolm Cowley. Cowley, who was probably an acquaintance of every significant
figure on the American cultural scene, was attracted to this off-center talent.
The editor described Ferguson at the time as “a hungry young
man with a lot of wavy black hair, dark eyes that slanted down and a straight
uncompromising mouth that might have been telling the world to go to hell.”
The Otis Ferguson Reader, first published in
1997 was edited by Robert Wilson and Ferguson’s widow, Dorothy
Chamberlain. In the biographical notes in the back of book, the editors also
note that Ferguson joined the editorial staff of The New Republic in the summer of 1935 and in addition to reviewing
books, theater and movies, wrote about jazz and contributed to more than a
dozen other periodicals.
They also
talk about how he died: “When this country entered World War II, Ferguson became a member of the National
Maritime Union and registered as an able-bodied seaman. In February, 1942, he
was assigned to the Exford, a merchant ship destined for the perilous run to North Russia. The Exford did not reach Archangel until September, and it was
February, 1943, before it docked in its home port and the crew was paid off.
“Ferguson next signed on the S.S. Bushrod Washington, which was bound for North Africa, Sicily and Italy. On September
14, 1943,
while the ship was anchored in the Gulf of Salerno waiting to unload its cargo, it
was hit by a radio-guided bomb released from a German plane, and Ferguson was killed in the explosion.”
Crowley
says, “The other seamen escaped before the vessel burned to the waterline, but
the bomb had exploded in the mess room, to which Otis, as was his custom, had
gone down alone for a cup of coffee.”
In the
forward, Crowley writes: “I find with regret that the work and even the
name of Otis Ferguson are
generally unknown to readers under 60. Older persons are likely to remember the
work with pleasure. Much of it dealt with swing bands or unpretentious,
well-crafted films and, by extension, with the revival of popular culture
during the 1930s, an aspect of the period that is often neglected. [He] approached
those subjects freshly, accurately, with lyrical enthusiasm and with contempt
for anything faked. Everything he wrote was attentively read in its time,
besides leaving echoes in the work of later critics.”
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| Benny Goodman |
The book
includes all of Ferguson’s writing on jazz including some unprinted material
and unpublished pieces that were excerpted from two unfinished book
manuscripts: Benny Goodman:
Adventures in the Kingdom of Swing, which Crowley says was to be a critical
evaluation of his work and a description of the band and how it functioned. The
other book is To the Saint James Infirmary, a look at instrumentalists,
bands and blues singers. Cowley reports that one-third was to be a long essay
on Bix as
well.
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| Bix Beiderbecke |
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| Teddy Wilson |
In a
previously unpublished piece simply called "Teddy Wilson," Ferguson writes: “A pianist. Black. He has
played with all remnants of the old-timers, usually without a credit line. He
is known to the public for his music, not his name. I hear a lot of music, high
hat and low brow, but I can’t say that any of it will stand up, for the initial
delight and subsequent lasting power, with the improvisations of Teddy Wilson.
He has developed, quietly and probably without any realization of how it would
look in words, a style. This gives him an individuality that makes him
identifiable anywhere; but within the narrow limits of jazz playing, it pushes
him into repetition of himself. (Just, you might say if you still have a fresh
approach to the subject, as Bach developed, with all his architectural grasp of
the medium, a style and as Bach could be identified anywhere.)”
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| Dorothy Dodds Baker |
Traina
says Ferguson’s predilection for jazz inspired him to write critical
reviews of jazz performances with the same consuming interest “always aiming at
both the audience and the musicians. Whitney Balliet, writing in The New Yorker 40 years after Ferguson’s death did not exactly agree,
saying that Ferguson ‘disguised literary pretensions
behind slang and pseudo toughness, sometimes silly, sometimes mystical,
sometimes melodramatic gargle.’ Yet according to Cowley, jazz musicians
themselves, ‘unlettered men who had never before opened a journal of opinion and
would never open one again after Otis died,’ were reading Ferguson’s pieces
‘with admiration.’ And as Ferguson himself wrote, ‘the best people
in the world to learn about music from are actual musicians, who would not be
caught dead in the type of talk [so often] used to describe the work.’ Cowley
himself later resorted to the lyrical when writing about his then deceased
assistant editor: ‘Sometimes I think that his ideal was to write as Bix Beiderbecke played
the jazz cornet, with “always this miracle of constant on-the-spot invention,
never faltering or repeating, every phrase as fresh and glistening as creation
itself.’”
Cowley
wrote more on Ferguson saying, “In 1936 he began writing
about the big swing bands that flourished at the time as they would never
flourish again. ‘Breakfast Dance, in Harlem,’ describing a night at the Savoy Ballroom, was
his first excursion into the field. It was followed in the same year by the
famous ‘Young Man with a Horn,’ a lament for Bix Beiderbecke, and by
‘The Spirit of Jazz,’ about Benny Goodman’s band. All these were memorable
ventures, and the novelist Dorothy Baker was
right to say of them, while echoing his style, that Otis ‘built himself a
medium there and developed it in those short pieces, so that he had a thing
that was all his own, right length, the right beat to the phrase, everything
perfect.’”
Baker had
written a widely praised novel and motion picture based on Bix Beiderbecke, Young
Man with a Horn, after borrowing both her subject and her title from Otis,
with his permission.
In his
review of the book, Young Man with a
Horn by Dorothy Baker, which was based on his writings on Bix,
Ferguson writes: “Just behind the pages of this book there is the picture of
that odd and endearing and forever cocky little figure, who followed the copy
of all great artists working from the heart of their environment, in being as
tall as heaven and as simple and good as pie. He is there for me, that is, and
the music he represents behind him. So while I know this to be a good book for
any man’s money, I cannot report on just how good it will be to those who, not
having seen the beauty it talks of as it was passing, will merely read, digest,
and file away some bit of its wide range of knowledge. I would sincerely like
to have written such a book, if that’s anything.”
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| Sidney Bechet |
In the
section of “Origins of Jazz: I,” Ferguson sets the table by riffing about
some of the architects of jazz, Sidney Bechet, Louis
Armstrong and King Oliver.
He writes: “The boys didn’t have to ask what jazz was, any more than you’d have
to ask about the wind in the trees -- it’s just there. Being a natural folk
art, as natural as singing, jazz made its own tradition without the need of
conservatories, and though it suddenly swept the country in general during the
war, just as jazz with real swing to it became a national craze as
this-here-new-swing a couple of years back, it had been going on in certain
places for quite a while, and before that had been partly present in other
forms of music for generations.”
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| Freddie Keppard |
Ferguson opens “Origins of Jazz: II” with,
“New
Orleans had been crammed with musical talent all along, and now
talent was getting even thicker. Among trumpet players alone,” he says, “you
find such names as Oliver, Armstrong, [Freddie] Keppard, [Leon] Renee, [Wingy]
Manone, [Henry "Red"] Allen and [Buddy] Bolden. Then before you can say, clarinet marmalade, Ferguson takes up the matter of race,
saying, “There may be a New Orleans supremacy in jazz playing.
(You’ll find many to say so, but you’ll have a lot of uncomfortable explaining
to do about the original and lasting influences of [Fletcher] Henderson and
[Duke] Ellington if you try to argue the point.) And there may be a ‘definitely
negroid’ pattern on everything that swings. (But when you try to prove it, not
just say it, you run up against such top ratings in the field as a Jack
Teagarden, Bix and
Benny. And incidentally, Bix came from Davenport, not Chicago; Teagarden started in Texas, Louisiana.
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| Jack Teagarden |
In the
piece titled, “The Man with the Blues in His Heart,” Ferguson states, “Jack Teagarden (otherwise, Jackson, Mister Jack, Mister T., Big
Gate, etc.) is one of the really high men in the jazz collection. I’ll tell you
more about it. At the outset it should be said that he has been playing around
half of his lifetime in a business that sets the most grueling pace of any. On
the stand, off the stand, on the train, and up on another stand night after
night after night, rehearsals and recording dates, a different hotel and
different babes but the same arrangements and iron routine.
“And the
same bottle. Yet a man is supposed to bring it out clean and inspired every
time his number is called, and it is a mortal truth that playing it that way in
jazz means playing as though you had a fire under you. Teagarden has been on
this griddle a long time. Though still a fine musician, he seems tired and
cynical, his creation a bit shopworn, which knowing gentlemen have not
hesitated to remark or less knowing gentlemen to echo, which in itself is
enough to embitter a fellow and make him listless.”
Putting Ferguson's legacy
into perspective under the heading of “Music and Musicians,” in
the Reader, Cowley aptly noted that the late Worcester author is legendary in the field
of jazz. “He has been called ‘the best writer on jazz who ever lived’ and ‘the
most brilliant of them all.’ One of the first critics to write seriously about
this native American music, he brought an understanding and appreciation of
jazz to an audience far wider than the original small group of aficionados. Professional
jazz musicians have been among his most ardent admirers.”
See Jess Stacy’s "Blues for Otis Ferguson" at:
http://www.allmusic.com/song/blues-for-otis-ferguson-mt0004714145
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| Jess Stacy |
Note: This is a work in
progress. Comments, corrections, and suggestions are always welcome at: walnutharmonicas@gmail.com. Also see: www.worcestersongs.blogspot.com Thank you.
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