By time I was twelve or thirteen my father had indoctrinated me with
wonderful stories about the various jazz clubs in both New York City,
and on the West Coast, were he was stationed in the Air Force
during the mid-fifties. As I got older— in the back of my mind, I desired
to understand and maybe experience some the things about jazz
that brought my dad so much joy.

In the late seventies disco was the rage, my childhood best friend Ray,
a fashion designer often rented out clubs for fashion shows, clubs like
Pegasus down on Second Avenue in the mid-sixties, was one of our
favorites. At this time in my life, I had little to no interest in jazz, hanging out in the discos, meeting the young beautiful would-be models, and
being a college student had captured all of my attention.

Another club that we frequented Bentley’s was on either on-or-near
52nd Street or 5th avenue. Years later while attending a fashion show
there, I would notice this incredibly beautiful young model, who would
later become my wife and mother of my four children. But, at this time
we were still partying, frequenting the various clubs and attending
fashion shows.

My dad would often mention these great jazz clubs along the stretch
of one single block, West 52nd street between 7th and 8th avenues,
it sounded like a magical place. At times, while partying in the area
for a split second I’d remember the stories and look westward in
wonderment, as if I was being drawn. One day, while in the
neighborhood, I decided to explore the famous street, I noticed just
a few clubs left Jimmy Ryan’s and Eddie Condon’s, on one side of
the street and a topless bar on the other. I would eventually visit two
of the establishments, but I only remember visiting one.

The very first time I entered Eddie Condon’s club was like a journey
back in time. There was a beautiful mural of a Jazz group on the wall;
I also remember the place being very dark and small. Visually it was
incredible; it had surpassed anything that I could have imaged. I was
so impressed with the place and atmosphere that I hardly remember
the music being played.

By 1977, I was twenty-one and had settled down a bit and started
seriously dating Carol Darden. Our dates usually consisted of a movie
in Times Square and dinner at one of the local Chinese restaurants. I
decided to share my jazz club experience with Carol, so one Saturday
night we ventured out to Eddie Condon’s, the music was great the
atmosphere dark and mysterious, and it was extremely expensive,
she was very impressed. I think we each had a cheeseburger and beer,
and I recall not having enough for a tip. We had a great time, our waiter
wasn’t too happy but it was fun, Carol had no interest in jazz, as I
remember she was a huge Bootsie Collins fan, but she enjoyed trying
something new and different.

I never went back after that, nor did I ever revisit the topless club across
the street. In a way, I was on a quest to capture my dad’s experience,
but when I got there I discovered my own. When, I shared my first jazz
club experience with my dad, he gleamed with pride. I was growing-up,
I was no longer just a listener of great jazz stories, I had one of my
own to tell.

© Richard K. Manigault 2006
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