(The great guitar player and teacher, Chet Krolewicz, -known profesionally as Chet Krully- passed away in Brockton, Mass Hospital on November 27, 2013. I was one of Chet's worst students - but he never held it against me. Hearing his stories of the big band days was the highlight of my lessons and a true bright spot in my life. Listening to him was like having my own time machine ! ! ! This story is based on real incidents that Chet told me about. R.I.P. Chet. You were a good guy. Bill Russo.)
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The crowded train chugged out of Penn Station on a freezing morning in the winter of 1942. The 'Silver Meteor' roared, and snorted hot steam; engulfing the dirty snow on either side of the tracks and melting it into rusty water.
Originating in icy New York city, the Sea Board Air Line Railroad’s flagship combination would travel 1382 miles, make more than two dozen stops, and still hit ninety degree Miami in its scheduled 25 hours.
“Don’t get your hopes up boy,” said the tall, spare black man with silvery hair on his chin, but none on his head. “The 12 of us in this band won’t be in Miami in no 25 hours. We be lucky to get there in 25 days. Maybe it might be 50 days.”
“What do you mean Mr. Sloane? I thought we were going to be playing in Miami,” questioned the green youngster who sat across from him, his hands grasping his guitar.”
“Call me 'Lucky' kid, like everybody else. They call me that cause I lucky to be alive. I been nearly lynched in a dozen towns and arrested in prolly a hundred. Ya see, I’ve always been uppity. It’s why I never made it big in the music bizness. I can play the trumpet way better than Cootie Williams, Hot Lips Paige or Satchelmouth Armstrong….but I never give in easy. I make it hard for myself.”
“You are the greatest player for sure,” said the young man. “That’s what I told Mr. Henderson when I joined the band. I want to play with the best.”
“Well boy, you got your wish. And I wish you ain’t gonna be sorry you got it.”
“So, how come we’re not going to Miami for a long time?”
“Kid. We colored. We a colored band. We don’t got a schedule like Benny Goodman or Paul Whiteman.
“Don’t get your hopes up boy,” said the tall, spare black man with silvery hair on his chin, but none on his head. “The 12 of us in this band won’t be in Miami in no 25 hours. We be lucky to get there in 25 days. Maybe it might be 50 days.”
“What do you mean Mr. Sloane? I thought we were going to be playing in Miami,” questioned the green youngster who sat across from him, his hands grasping his guitar.”
“Call me 'Lucky' kid, like everybody else. They call me that cause I lucky to be alive. I been nearly lynched in a dozen towns and arrested in prolly a hundred. Ya see, I’ve always been uppity. It’s why I never made it big in the music bizness. I can play the trumpet way better than Cootie Williams, Hot Lips Paige or Satchelmouth Armstrong….but I never give in easy. I make it hard for myself.”
“You are the greatest player for sure,” said the young man. “That’s what I told Mr. Henderson when I joined the band. I want to play with the best.”
“Well boy, you got your wish. And I wish you ain’t gonna be sorry you got it.”
“So, how come we’re not going to Miami for a long time?”
“Kid. We colored. We a colored band. We don’t got a schedule like Benny Goodman or Paul Whiteman.
Whiteman….that’s a funny name. You think Paul Whiteman would be making so much money if he wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t what?”
“Wasn’t white, boy! He is a white man named Whiteman. That’s pretty funny.
“Wasn’t what?”
“Wasn’t white, boy! He is a white man named Whiteman. That’s pretty funny.
But us. Like I said we a colored band.
What that mean? That means we sometimes play in the white clubs and sometimes we play in the black joints. But after the show in the white part of a city, we gots to go back to the other side of town. We gotta stay in cheap hotels, eat cheap food, go to colored only places. Hell we can’t even use their telephone?”
“What do you mean?”, asked the young guitar player.
“I mean that once you get in the South, boy, there’s separate everythings. …..hotels, bathrooms, restaurants, schools, and yes even telephone booths. We can’t use a white telephone booth. We gotta find one for usselves or we can’t make no call. If we gotta take a leak we gotta find a colored bathroom or don’t go at all.
One time I hadda go so bad I couldn’t hold it no more. I peed against the side of a building and some citizen put the police on me and they slammed my head on the side of that brick building till I passed out. Then they jus left me there lyin' in my own blood and a puddle of piddle.”
“They can’t do that,” said the guitarist who for the first time, was having doubts about his choice of jobs.
“Shit kid. They can do whatever they want. You a northern boy. I guess that’s why you don’t get it. In the North they do things like that but it’s a little more hidded. They still do it but not quite so much as you’d notice it.”
The train ground to a reluctant halt a few miles out of Washington to take on water and mail. The musicians stopped talking and opened the windows. They stuck their heads through. Hoping for maybe a smell of cherry blossoms - instead, they got their nostrils burned by smoke and steam. Their car was near the front of the train and got the smokestack snot, while the passengers in the 'white-only' cars further back had the luxury of the clear, crisp air.
When its tanks were full of water and its postal car stuffed with fresh mail, the Great Locomotive called “97” resumed its clanky run to Florida.
“Well anyways, getting back to when we going to be in Miami,” Lucky closed his window with a thud and began speaking again when their speed was back to forty, “ Fletch has a few bookings lined on up certain dates but mostly we try to pick up work along the route of the train. Usually we play a night or two in Wilmington. Then just like the trackage of the Seaboard Air Line Railroad, we go on to Baltimore and work a few days, then we get back on the train and head on down to Virginia and try to pick up a couple gigs in Alexandria and then Richmond. After Richmond it gets really tough as we go thru Rocky Mount and Fayetteville in North Carolina and then Charleston in South Carolina and so It goes until when we get to Savanna, Georgia where we will work for a couple of weeks. Then on to Jacksonville and maybe a week or two after that, after that we will be in Miami.”
“It sounds great to me,” said the young guitar player. “Ever since I first heard the Fletcher Henderson orchestra, I’ve wanted to be in it.
“What do you mean?”, asked the young guitar player.
“I mean that once you get in the South, boy, there’s separate everythings. …..hotels, bathrooms, restaurants, schools, and yes even telephone booths. We can’t use a white telephone booth. We gotta find one for usselves or we can’t make no call. If we gotta take a leak we gotta find a colored bathroom or don’t go at all.
One time I hadda go so bad I couldn’t hold it no more. I peed against the side of a building and some citizen put the police on me and they slammed my head on the side of that brick building till I passed out. Then they jus left me there lyin' in my own blood and a puddle of piddle.”
“They can’t do that,” said the guitarist who for the first time, was having doubts about his choice of jobs.
“Shit kid. They can do whatever they want. You a northern boy. I guess that’s why you don’t get it. In the North they do things like that but it’s a little more hidded. They still do it but not quite so much as you’d notice it.”
The train ground to a reluctant halt a few miles out of Washington to take on water and mail. The musicians stopped talking and opened the windows. They stuck their heads through. Hoping for maybe a smell of cherry blossoms - instead, they got their nostrils burned by smoke and steam. Their car was near the front of the train and got the smokestack snot, while the passengers in the 'white-only' cars further back had the luxury of the clear, crisp air.
When its tanks were full of water and its postal car stuffed with fresh mail, the Great Locomotive called “97” resumed its clanky run to Florida.
“Well anyways, getting back to when we going to be in Miami,” Lucky closed his window with a thud and began speaking again when their speed was back to forty, “ Fletch has a few bookings lined on up certain dates but mostly we try to pick up work along the route of the train. Usually we play a night or two in Wilmington. Then just like the trackage of the Seaboard Air Line Railroad, we go on to Baltimore and work a few days, then we get back on the train and head on down to Virginia and try to pick up a couple gigs in Alexandria and then Richmond. After Richmond it gets really tough as we go thru Rocky Mount and Fayetteville in North Carolina and then Charleston in South Carolina and so It goes until when we get to Savanna, Georgia where we will work for a couple of weeks. Then on to Jacksonville and maybe a week or two after that, after that we will be in Miami.”
“It sounds great to me,” said the young guitar player. “Ever since I first heard the Fletcher Henderson orchestra, I’ve wanted to be in it.
When I was in high school, I went to try out for band and the leader said ’what do you play?’ When I told him guitar he just laughed".
'There’s no guitar in bands!,' he scorned.
“There’s going to be,” I told him. “I’m going to play for one of the great Big Bands,” I vowed. He just laughed some more.”
“Well boy", Lucky responded, "you are here now and you are really good. You drive that Stromberg 300 just like the steam engine pulls this ol’ train. You are about the first guitar man to have such a big chair in a Swing Band.
I gotta ask you again if you know what you are getting into.”
“I know Lucky. I know and I am ready. I know I’m going to be eating in all those ‘colored only’ places you told me about and sleeping in segregated hotels…..and......”
“.......And don’t forget about peeing in colored toilets,” Lucky chuckled.
“That too,” agreed the guitarist, “peeing in colored toilets.”
'There’s no guitar in bands!,' he scorned.
“There’s going to be,” I told him. “I’m going to play for one of the great Big Bands,” I vowed. He just laughed some more.”
“Well boy", Lucky responded, "you are here now and you are really good. You drive that Stromberg 300 just like the steam engine pulls this ol’ train. You are about the first guitar man to have such a big chair in a Swing Band.
I gotta ask you again if you know what you are getting into.”
“I know Lucky. I know and I am ready. I know I’m going to be eating in all those ‘colored only’ places you told me about and sleeping in segregated hotels…..and......”
“.......And don’t forget about peeing in colored toilets,” Lucky chuckled.
“That too,” agreed the guitarist, “peeing in colored toilets.”
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He did it too. Until the aggregation broke up, about three years later, that determined young man's hot guitar drove the Fletcher Henderson orchestra and made it one of the country's finest swing bands.
He ate with the band, slept where they slept, drank from the colored-only fountains...and even called his Mom every Sunday, from the segregated telephones.
There’s a little more to the story.
There’s a little more to the story.
He was not only one of the early great Jazz guitarists…but he also happened to be “white.”
Young Chet Krolewicz, barely out of high school, in late 1942 became one of the first (if not the first) to cross the reverse color line. He was the only white player in an all black band.
Chet was asked many times over the years, why he would endure the hardships he did in choosing to play with Henderson’s band when he could have signed on to any one of dozens of white bands.
His reply was always the same,
“I wanted to play with the best.”
Young Chet Krolewicz, barely out of high school, in late 1942 became one of the first (if not the first) to cross the reverse color line. He was the only white player in an all black band.
Chet was asked many times over the years, why he would endure the hardships he did in choosing to play with Henderson’s band when he could have signed on to any one of dozens of white bands.
His reply was always the same,
“I wanted to play with the best.”
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