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He had everything going for him. It began with a telephone call.
Harmonies with ebbs and flows that almost lifted me right out of my chair. In fact, Clark Terry went on to do a great deal, setting an example by abstaining, even when users tried to force it on him, and by helping enrich the future of jazz through teaching and working with generations of young musicians.
I walked closer and looked and discovered that it was a person. Rhythms that vibrated the floor.
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With Miles, who would survive to have a spectacular career, Clark could at least do something about it, so he helped him up, took him into a restaurant, bought him some breakfast, walked him back to his own hotel, and put him to bed before going out for a couple of hours. He was such a conscientious person.
The ninety-one-year-old jazz legend had help pulling it all together from his wife of 22 years, Gwen Terry, who not only saw him through this project but stood by him during a perfect storm of medical challenges that intruded on but never fully thwarted his busy life as a performer, teacher, and goodwill ambassador. Clark had names for just about everyone.
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Thinking back to that stunning moment, Clark surely flashed on the fate of Wardell Gray. But we did have to turn our back and sneak bites from the food.
The sounds of trains, whistles, birds, footsteps, climaxes, cries. It was the rocks in the desert that broke his neck.
I was writing a piece about a November recording session by the Count Basie small group on which Clark played trumpet. At first he sounded tired and groggy, having just returned, he told me, from L. When he asked to hear the music over again, it was as if Wardell had come back to life again long enough to formally introduce us. Food also provides material for several Terryesque zingers.
I shared a moment with Clark Terry nine years ago. Half-expecting to encounter an answering machine or a protective spouse, I was startled when the man himself answered the phone.
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And when I read about his death in the paper, I jumped up and screamed. Dorothy showed me the death certificate. I really loved him. February 15, It was Miles Davis! It broke my heart, but there was nothing I could do.