The Magic Keys by Albert Murray (romantic story to read txt) 📕

Mark my words. He’s still got some unfinished business that’s still in the works right across the throughway and campus avenue.

And that was when Hortense Hightower said what she said about not trying to get in touch with Eunice because they hadn’t been introduced by me. And a casual encounter had been just about out of the question because in those days nightspots like the Dolomite were strictly off-limits to young women who lived on the campus.

As for this weekend at the Dole, Hortense Hightower said then, there’s nothing special, no big deal. Just this snappy, up-and-coming, Columbus–Phenix City combo for the upperclassmen, with local contacts and incoming hotshots out to survey the off-campus possibilities.

And that was when Giles Cunningham said, Actually, you won’t be missing anything special out at the Dole between now and when the fall season road band booking schedule clicks in— say, about the middle of next month.

We came on outside then, and as we stood waiting for Hortense Hightower to come and drive us back to the campus, Eunice said, Who is Speck, and why do they call him that? And I said, He is the one who runs the Pit. Wiley Payton runs the Dolomite, and Flee Mosely runs the Plum. They call him Speck because he has freckles. Speck is for Speckled Red, as in speckled chicken, and there are also some who just say old Florida Red—as in Tampa Red.

That was that Friday afternoon. I spent the first part of that Saturday morning unpacking and arranging my books and phonograph records on the waist-high shelves under the windows behind the desk in my work area off the living room. Then as I made my way across the campus to find out which work carrel in the stacks behind the circulation counter in the main reading room would be reserved for me, even as the sound of the clock tower chiming above the hum and buzz and honking traffic and the chatter of the students reminded me of my own arrival as a freshman, I crossed my fingers, because I suddenly realized that I was rearriving as a freshman, a freshman with a graduate degree plus further study from New York University, but a beginner once more even so.

XXVIII

As we pulled on away from the campus avenue parking spot where she had told me she would be waiting when I came down the steps from the post office that next Wednesday afternoon, Hortense Hightower said, About this Daddy Royal proposition. Of course, you already know that Giles and I have been in on it all along. So I thought I might as well clue you in on how it all got started and what it’s really all about.

So as we came on down along the early-fall tree-shaded mainstem to turn left at the traffic circle and head for the exit to the municipal throughway outbound, she said, The fact of the matter is that I’m really the one that’s actually responsible for starting it, although I really had something else in mind when I came up with the idea that led to it.

What I really had in mind, she went on to say as we pulled on off the campus to head along the thoroughfare to the intersection with the interstate highway across which was the street that led to the Dolomite, what I had in mind from the very beginning was something that had to do with the Bossman Himself personally. Something that I had first spoken to him about some time ago, once I got to be close enough friends with him.

And to tell the truth, she said, that’s what all this about Daddy Royal is still about. Because old Daddy Royal is a very important part of the big picture, to be sure. But the Bossman, like old Louis Armstrong, is one of the main ones that somebody is always coming up with when questions turn to achieving a place in the history of music in the United States.

And that was also when she also said, As soon as I felt that my friendship was close enough I started mentioning that it might be a good idea to get somebody to help him start compiling all of the stuff that’s been accumulating about him over the years. I would mention it to him every now and then without pushing too hard, and since he didn’t dismiss it, I figure he just might have been considering it.

So then, she said, I began to wonder about who was going to be the one or one of the ones from the life this music comes out of that’s going to be helping him pull all this stuff together. And I also made a point of mentioning that to him as often as I could without making him feel like he was being rushed because we were worried about you know what. That’s why I always made it a point to put the emphasis on volume and kept saying what I kept saying about his future output overwhelming the present, with the past getting dimmer and dimmer.

This had been going on for some time. Not that she had ever thought of herself adding her voice to a lot of others, because she knew he respected her opinion and would give some serious consideration to anything she suggested, and that was as far as she was personally involved. She just brought it up from time to time, sometimes jokingly, saying things like, You understand, of course, that I’m not talking about a biography. What I’m talking about is a memoir. That’s about as far as it went.

And then you showed up, she said. Then she said, Let me tell you something. The very first time I laid eyes on you sitting back there, just sitting back there on that stool at the bar listening like that, I said to myself, This one ain’t just another one of them campus hipsters out looking for the