RIP, Charlie Parker. Reportedly, Bird told his wife, “please don’t let them bury me in Kansas City” . And, there he lies, with his mother, lonely, isolated, up on a hill, behind a iron rusty gate I had to move in order to drive down a potholed gravel road and reach the site. A small sign marks the grave, as if to say, who else would you be looking for, wayfaring stranger? I sat down and spent some time sitting there, thinking about how far he wound up from the sounds and places he loved, joints where he cut his teeth and made his mark as one of the greatest musical geniuses of the 20th century. I rubbed the granite gently before I left, and headed back down the hill, where I saw talismans of the past on display – his watch, cufflinks, saxophone, and more. Past into future.
The artifacts are at the American Jazz Museum, 18th and vine, which focuses primarily but not exclusively on Bird, Satchmo, Ella, and Duke. Charlie Parker Plaza sits nearby, as well, a little city park with a Bird Lives sculpture by Robert Graham in the center. When I was there, the park was deserted, but there is a lively youth center across the street, where maybe some teenage boy or girl is practicing 15 hours a day on an instrument they love – as he did. Maybe. Anyway, I’ve been through K.C. a fair amount in the past, playing gigs, or seeing former in-laws, and I ventured out to see Satchel Page, Harry Truman, and Thomas Hart Benton before, in various guises. In fact, one of my old band Bucket Number Six’ best gigs was headlining a Thomas Hart Benton Birthday Bash at Kelly’s Saloon, way back in the day, playing among the paintings and sawdust, in the land of Americana. But, until now, I never paid homage to Bird.
The truth is, as I cycle around the sun, I have become less folksy and more jazzy, more appreciative of the latter’s art form, its founders unique and true explorers, going to places they could sense and feel, but not quite touch. I could hear it, Bird said. Relentless, pushing to attain the elusive. Sometimes the quest took a toll on the individual; sometimes they managed to dodge bullets into old age. Life is different for everyone. As for Bird, everyone knows how the story ended; but the gift remains and Mr. Parker, I thank you for your service.
Doug Hoekstra 