Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Fifty-five

Trying to liven up the six people who shared the night with me, I buried my head in the keyboard, tapped the keys with full enthusiasm, and forged out the "C Jam Blues." It's definitely not the same song without bass and drums, but nonetheless, it still jammed.

Whenever I play that tune, I think of Oscar Peterson and the way he made it sound so simple and playful. I was first introduced to the "C Jam Blues" by Ben. He played Peterson's "Night Train" record to point out the effectiveness of simplicity and how the dude owned the keyboard. "C Jam Blues" is the first song on the album, and I was in love with it from the first "C" I heard.

Naturally, to go with the music lesson, Ben had a story about Oscar Peterson. It wasn't a particularly poignant story, but I listened like always, because Ben was such a masterful storyteller. Another reason why he was great to watch live.

According to Ben, there was a myth that Oscar Peterson could reach two octaves on the piano with one hand, which meant he could freakishly span sixteen keys from thumb to pinky. It was nothing more than a fascination with the size of Peterson's hands. So Ben said, when he played scales, he would somehow make one hand sound like two—and when he went with both hands, it would sound like a duet of scales. The way Ben described it, it sounded like a fascinating feat to observe. I said it sounded like Peterson was just quick on the keyboard, but Ben insisted that it was because of his freakish hand size, and to "shut up, I'm gettin' to that part of the story." So I shut up.

Ben explained that he had met Oscar Peterson in Paris one year, and they had been, at least in Ben's mind, competing for the same audiences. So it seemed to me there was always some professional jealousy going on. That brings us to the summer of 1961, at the London House in Chicago, where Peterson was recording live for about three weeks with Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen. Ben showed up to a rehearsal and, out of the blue, challenged Oscar Peterson to a scale off. In other words, Ben challenged Peterson to see who could get through a series of scale exercises the quickest. Ben bet Peterson a hundred bucks. In jazz, good ears as well as quick hands are a valuable asset.

Although biased, Thigpen and Brown were the judges.

"C'mon, OP, get 'em going," shouted Thigpen.

"You got nothing, Webster," Brown egged on Ben.

Not real sure if it's true, but according to Ben, Ben won the damn thing. Said Peterson's fingers were so long, they were tripping over each other, like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. Naturally, Ben tells the story every opportunity he can, but sometimes he tells it like the tortoise and the hare. I asked Ben what he did with the hundred bucks, what he spent it on. He just got a little grin on his face and said he didn't remember, which, knowing Ben, was a big fat lie.

It was about 11:30 when Kate showed up with Max and Tracy. They snuck in, or at least that's what it seemed like, because one minute I was playing the "C Jam Blues" and they were not there, and the next minute, I'm done playing and they're there. Regardless, I was glad to see them—not only because it made it feel like more people were watching, but because it started to feel like my family was here to see me play.

At first I wasn't sure if they were coming, but to make sure they got seats up close, I put a "reserved for" card on the table. But being that it was the day after Christmas and not crowded, they would've gotten the table right up front anyway.

I was only obliged to play until midnight. I usually divided it up into forty-five minute sets, with a fifteen-minute break. Some nights I'd play past twelve, maybe until one or two, and other nights, a very few, like the other night, I'd just look at Andy and say it's not working tonight. He always looks at me like I'm being a puss, but says nothing if I hang it up early.