Chuck Nessa

Happy, happy, happy.

First time I found a neighbor liking modern jazz was in a dorm, my freshman year. I heard Miles' Steamin' coming from a room 3 doors down. I made a good friend. Last time I found a neighbor liking any jazz was a next door neighbor named Warren Holmes. He was a "stone" dixie/swing dude. Here is a piece I wrote for myself a few years back: I run my business out of the basement of our house, on a quiet street at the edge of our town. My wife works outside the home and is at work in the daylight hours. About 7 years ago a retired couple (Warren and Darlene) moved into the house next door. He had a small boat and went fishing when weather permitted. She had a couple of miniature collies she trained and practiced yoga. Warren liked to have “cocktails” in the evening and frequently invited us and the couple across the street for drinks. He even stocked a supply of Scotch just for me. After a couple of years his lungs started deteriorating – caused by asbestos. He had helped a friend remove a ceiling and ductwork thirty years earlier. Soon he stopped fishing and we would see Warren walking with an oxygen tank. The invitations for drinks slowed and eventually stopped. Three years ago I got a phone call from Warren at three o’clock in the afternoon. He asked me to please come over for “drinks”. I went over to find him alone in his bathrobe, connected to his oxygen tank. He had a bottle of Scotch, glass and ice on the kitchen counter. He insisted I pour a drink and explained Darlene was gone for the afternoon, his damaged lungs developed cancer and it had spread throughout his body. He said the tv/listening room was being converted into a bedroom for him and a hospital bed was being delivered the next week. He pointed to a stack of about 200 lps in the back porch and said if it wasn’t too expensive, he wanted to ship them to an old friend in Florida. I said I didn’t have a clue about the cost, but I could weigh them and give him the price. He said great. I went home, got some boxes and lugged them to my basement, weighed them, looked up the cost in the UPS book and returned to tell Warren the news. He said forget it, he didn’t want to spend the money. He thin asked if I could sell them for any decent price. I told him there was a glut, but next time I went to Chicago (about 60 days hence) I’d take them to the Jazz Record Mart for a quote. He said if I got decent money, give it to Darlene. If I couldn’t get “real money” to keep them or throw them away. He said if he gave it to his kid, he’d put them in the garage and eventually throw them away. About two weeks later we had an incredible wind storm. The wind howled all day. Eventually we discovered thousands of trees in the county were uprooted. Around 4 PM I heard a knocking at our kitchen/garage door. I went upstairs and opened the door to find Darlene on her knees crying. She’d just returned from some errands Warren demanded. “Come help me. Warren went outside for some reason and has fallen. He’s hurt and you have to help me.” I helped her up, led her through the garage, towards her garage. Warren was on his back, between our garages, staring into the sky. Beside him were a two foot board (with a nail driven in the end), the end of his oxygen hose (leading into the house) and a shotgun on the ground. Darlene kept asking me to help him and saying “I don’t know why he went outside”. I sent her inside and ran for the phone to call the cops. Warren had laboriously gone through the garage, fixed the board, propped the gun against a tree and ended it. It turns out Warren had called the cops and reported gunshots in the neighborhood so they would come and find him before Darlene got home, but most of the local force was at a fireman’s funeral, others were dealing with downed trees and the call was given minimal priority. Once the cops got there, they treated it like a crime scene and the body was not removed until after eleven. Darlene kept telling me “Warren’s still out there in the cold. Tell them to get him inside”. ANYWAY, most of the records were too beat up to be worth anything and the boxes sat untouched in my basement until about six months ago. One member might recognize this.

Pay for a subscription to SoundScan and you will know everything.

He smoked for 70 years.

Historians are not convinced that Shakespeare was Shakespeare. I'm not sure Conn is Conn.

The "break" started in the early '40s. BTW, thanks for the post Clem. Blakey had a "pat" speech in clubs where he said "Thank God for white folks" and went on to talk about audience support.

W missed a big chance for the history books.

Gee, I'd have bet he did.

Can I have a burn of that one?

Almost a nightly companion from the '50s through the '70s. G,bye.

I have 4 different picture sleeves from before the 25 years one. Following are the various highest catalog numbers listed: 4114 - Quebec Bossa Nova 4095 - Rollin' With Leo 4079 - Gravy Train 4057 - Blue Hour

Many thanks. I can almost taste it.

Nope. First issue was one of those DMM lp issues with hand tinted covers. It was in the same release as Hank's Far Away Lands.

Just poured a glass of milk for supper.

If I needed to pick a single Morgan date, Cornbread might be it. I currently have a JRVG edition.

Hopefully you won't get yourself into any trouble without your better half there to keep an eye on you. -_- Too smart to do really dumb shit, too dumb to do better.

I still have fond memories from college days of Kessler's in Iowa City. Never had better. This was in the early '60s and some board members might know the owner's son Craig, who has operated a number of "fly by night" record/cd stores in the midwest. Craig may have burned customers, employees and suppliers but his father never burned the pizza.

Wow, I missed this. Have a great year.

I think you don't really understand the customer base. Any DeFranco release is a guaranteed 500 seller.

Much "light" provided by Mr. Mobley. Many thanks.

See earlier thread.

Home alone for the next 8 days so I have a pizza in the oven tonight.

Sweet you and "Pops" get to celebrate at a women's club! Have a great evening.

Happy Birthday Jack - a music merchant of New England of the highest order.