New York City. January 1966. Subway strike. It was cold!
Two college friends and I on winter break walked dressed for arctic weather to the Five Spot, where Charles Mingus was playing.
We arrived in time for the last tune of the first set. Mingus had an eight-piece band that included a tubist named Clarence. After the band vacated the stand, a female piano player took over as Clarence disappeared through the door.
Meanwhile, Mingus, a giant of a man, walked around the club taking a bite out of the biggest apple I’ve ever seen.
When the band’s second set came due, everyone was present except Clarence. Mingus moved around impatiently, yelling the tubist’s name. He walked to the door and with a giant voice yelled the name into the cold.
Back on the bandstand, he berated the others as if they’d been to blame. Finally, he dismissed all but the piano player and played a duo.
He was soloing furiously, then suddenly stopped and, grinning broadly, exclaimed to his piano player, “Man, if that ain’t genius it’s damn close!”
