PEOPLE WHO KNEW BIX 
IN DAVENPORT REMEMBER HIM

Letter from Mrs. Jennie McDermand

     On March 10, 2003, Bix's 100th birthday , Jennie McDermand wrote to the Bix Beiderbecke Memorial Society the following letter.

Article by Jim Arpy in Quad City Times.

     The July 24, 1988 issue of the Quad-City Times carried a story by Jim Arpy entitled: "Remembering Bix: Friends recall a man who always marched to a beat that only he could hear. Eighteen Quad-Citians recall the innocent boy they knew  ... and the tormented man he became." I transcribe below their recollections as told to Jim Arpy.

The card is just signed "Bix".
    One of my cherished possessions is a flowery Valentine a young man slipped on my desk in 1921 or 1922.
    The card is just signed "Bix." I'd just come from Tipton, Iowa, to be an assistant buyer at the Harned-Von Maur department store in Davenport.
    Bix would come in to the store every day, always dressed well and wearing a straw hat. He had a certain walk. Oh, the way he would swing up the stairs!
    I'm a pianist myself and listeners tell me I have a different style. It's one that Bix taught me, how to play "Somebody Stole My Gal" with a beat at the end where he'd come in on cornet.
    During my days at the store, I used to model clothes in the style show and Bix played in the orchestra. Bix and some of the musicians and I used to have jam sessions at places like Griffin's chocolate shop on Davenport's 3rd Street.
    Bix was just a wonderful guy. I can't believe some of the things they say about him today.
    Bix and I were just friends, even if the Valentine does say "To my sweetheart." He was friendly, but shy. He left the Valentine on my desk when I wasn't even there.
    I never dreamed that Bix would reach the status he did. I moved to Springfield about the time he started on his road to the top bands. We corresponded for a time, but I didn't save his letters.
    Sometimes I wish I had, now that he is famous.
Thelma Griffin. Moline.

His head was just full of music.
    Bix and I joined the band on the excursion boat, Capitol, together.
    No it wasn't our idea when we joined the boat to become great musicians. It wa just a good job, a girl in every port, we thought, a sailor sort of thing.
    We were just kids who'd both played a little with local bands. We all knew how good Bix was, but he wasn't on the boat very long. He wasn't too good at reading music and Doc Wrixon, who had the band on the boat, was pretty strict. You had to do things just the way he wanted them.
    Anyway, after Bix left the boat he immediately got a better job with another band.
    We musicians thought Bix was marvelous. He could sit at the piano and come up with ideas and beautiful chord changes.
    I never knew Bix to do any drinking, at least not while I was around him. He always went right on and played, and played very well too.
    I became a professional saxophonist, playing mostly in Chicago, and saw him backstage there once when he was with Paul Whiteman.
    One time on the boat, Bix and I played a calliope duet, maybe the only time and surely the first time he'd ever played a calliope. I played the melody and Bix he chords. Worked out pretty well, too.
    I liked the guy. He wasn't rowdy. His head was just full of music. Sometimes on a long haul on the boat he'd sit on the dance floor alone and play.
    Bix had a knack for playing rhythm. Some trumpet players tried to copy him back in those days and still do today.
    When I heard Bix was dad, I was shocked. I never knew he was such a rounder. I think he just wasn't able to take the drinking and sickness.
Omer Van Seybroeck. East Moline.

If I have one good drink, it's as good as 400.
    I first met Bix in the early  '30s when I was playing cornet at the Blackhawk Hotel with the Trave O"Hearn Band.
    When I first heard Bix was going to play with our band, I I'd thought I'd get to the hotel a half hour early and try to meet him.
    So, I got to the Gold Room early and there was a man there already on the stand, smoking a pipe.
    He stuck out his hand and said, "Bix Beiderbecke's my name."
    Prohibition was on then, so I delicately asked Bix if he'd like a drink.
    He looked at me and replied, "No, if I have one drink, it's as good as 400."
    I played with him then, too, on the Jimmy Hicks band, and later at the Fort Armstrong Hotel in Rock Island.
     I sat down next to Bix and he said, "I don't read, so will you play first cornet?"
    I knew he played by ear. After playing the cornet for a while, Bix switched over to piano.
    At the end of the dance it was pretty late, but Bix came over and asked if I had a car. When I said I did, he said, "good, then let's go out to the Bluebird," which was a joint out on the edge of town.
    I told Bix that I couldn't go, that I had to get up in the morning to go to my regular job.
    Bix was pretty incredulous. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to do anything but play music.
Merwyn J. (Bus) Howe. Davenport.

Paul Whiteman was coming to hear him play.
    I was from Welton, Iowa, and then moved to Davenport, though I didn't know Bix there. But my sister, Cora Neels, went to Davenport High School with him.
    It was in Detroit, Mich. that I first met Bix. I used to go to the Greystone Ballroom in Detroit where he was playing.
    Bix was glad to see someone from home. We had a good time one night. I went with him and arranger Paul Mertz on a sleighing party out to Island Lake after a big snow storm. It was very pretty. We all piled in a big horse drawn sled. It was maybe 1927.
    I don't know of any hard-drinking on Bix's part. Oh, it was the era of raccoon coats and on the sleigh ride everyone had enough bottles that were passed around. I didn't notice Bix drinking, though maybe he did. I didn't see much of him after that night.
    Bix was not a womanizer, just a nice kid, always a gentleman.
    One night he told me that Paul Whiteman was coming to listen to him play. That was a big thing. Whiteman was very important. It could be a tremendous break for Bix, the top of the musical ladder.
    "Are you going to go with Whiteman?" I asked.
    Bix said, "No, I like to play with this gang."
    Later, though, he joined Whiteman.
    There were two bands at the Greystone and when his wasn't playing and I was there Bix would dance with me. He was a good dancer, too. He had the rhythm.
    Arraign 1930 or 1931 I ran into Bix back in Davenport. He said to call him sometime and we'd go out. Well, we never did.
    He told me, "You know, I'm not drinking anymore."
    It was just a few months later that he was dead.
Clettis Sparks. Clearwater, Fla.

Musicians weren't always impressed when Bix sat in.
    Bix and I were the same age. I played in the Moline High School band at the same time he was in the Davenport High band and we occasionally see each other.
    Later, when I was playing professionally, Bix would come and sit in with us once in a while. I remember that he was doing a lot of drinking then.
    The local musicians weren't always impressed when Bix sat in with them. He played a very different style and didn't read music as most of them did.
    He'd just suddenly appear and sit in. That story about him carrying his horn in a paper sack is true. I saw him do it a couple of times, even into the LeClaire Hotel ballroom.
    And even though local bands weren't always thrilled to have Bix sit in because of his unusual style, they did know that he'd played with some pretty good musicians like Hoagy Carmichael, and with Paul Whiteman's Orchestra for a while.
    But none of us ever imagined that Bix would become a legend. Such a thing never entered our minds.
Cy Churchill. Moline.

He was a maverick in a lot of ways.
    As close as I came to knowing Bix was during the summer of 1928 when I was playing on the old W. J. Quinlan ferryboat, going between Davenport and Rock Island.
    One night a young fella sort of sat around the bandstand, then got up and talked to the leader, Tony Catalano. They chatted in a friendly manner for a while and then he walked away.
    None of us knew it was Bix, though, until Tony told us. Bix was famous then in New York and Paris, but not much locally. He was a kind of maverick in a lot of ways. He had trouble with the musicians union, so he didn't play a lot around the Tri-Cities.
Lloyd (Bud) Hance. Rock Island.
[Lloyd (Bud) Hance, Rock Island, was one of Bix's biggest fans, although he didn't get to know him very well.]
[In the book "Bix: Man and Legend," former Davenporter Herbert Ross Reaver, a banjo player, recalls Tony Catalano saying that the first time he used Bix on a job, he had to show him how to tune his horn.]

He'd make a beeline for the piano.
    Bix was younger than I was, but my parents knew his folks.
    His parents would take Bix along when they went to parties in various houses. I can remember them bringing him to our house on many evening. He'd make a beeline for the piano.
    It was a fine piano and Bix loved to play it. And he'd do it to everyone's confusion. He knew what he was doing, but that sure didn't help the card games. But even if his music tended to spoil them, Bix would keep playing - even if no one wanted to hear it. I don't recall his parents telling him to stop.
George Von Maur. Davenport.
[When the 28-year-old Bix was buried on Aug. 11, 1931, in Davenport's Oakdale Cemetery, Von Maur was one of the pallbearers.]

We kids never realized he was that good.
    In his younger days, I probably knew Bix better than anyone. His grandmother lived at 7th and Western in Davenport and we lived at 7th and Scott.
    He and his grandma were great buddies. Her piano was one of the big attractions for Bix.
    When we'd go to the silent nickel movies, Bix didn't care about the plot. He just wanted to hear the guy who played piano accompaniment.
    As soon as the show was over, he'd hurry back to his grandma's to play on her piano what he'd just heard.
    He was just as crazy then as he was later, not afraid of anything. He was quite a character even as a kid.
    His grandma was quite a character, too, and a good piano player. She was always ready to have him play the piano and I guess she was quite proud of him. But we kids never realized he was that good.
    Bix was an all-around boy and had a lot of friends. I remember one Halloween night that he came to our neighborhood. There was an old maid sourpuss everybody was scared to death of.
    We dumped ashes on her porch, then rang the bell. Bix was the last one to jump away as the door opened. The old maid reached out, grabbed Bix and yanked him into the house.
    Well, we didn't know what would happen. We all sat across the street staring at the house and wondering what she was going to do to Bix.
    After about 10 or 15 minutes, the door finally opened and out came Bix carrying two big bags of cookies.
    That's the kind of guy he was. He could win anybody over. He was a charmer.
    Later, at any Davenport High School dance where there was an orchestra, Bix was there, always borrowing an instrument so he could sit in. It didn't matter what it was, he could play it.
    A lot of times Bix would take a date and just forget about her if someone let him play the trumpet or piano. It didn't really bother him to leave the girl alone all night. He wasn't really that gung-ho about going out with girls anyway.
    We weren't close the last few years before I moved away. Even in high school he'd been on the road playing for some time. And even then he'd want to have a drink, but I wouldn't call him a drunk. Everyone was always offering him drinks, but he held them very well.
    If I look back at Bix, I see him as a sloppy dresser. He just didn't give a damn how he looked.
    But he had the talent even then. We always marveled at how he could remember all that music from having heard it.
    I never could understand it; it was kind of uncanny. He'd just sit at the piano and -God- he could run up and down the keys!
    I've thought about Bix many times over the years. We always called him a rounder. He had a style all his own. I see articles and think how much I lived through the things in them with him.
    He always just wanted someone to ask him to play. He had the rhythm and was a natural.
Leon (Skis) Wernetin. Rock Island.

He sat on a big dictionary to play the piano.
    I was three years older than Bix and knew his older brother, Charles Burdett, and  sister, Mary Louise, better than I did Bix.
    But I can still remember Bix as a little boy, so small that he sat on a big dictionary to play the piano.
    he was a cute, dark-haired little kid and very talented.. He looked just like the pictures you see of him at that age.
    I'm sure that even then Bix must have been considered a prodigy. And when he was perched on top of that piano, why he could really rattle it off.
    We called the brothers "Bix" and "Bix2."
Mae Steffen. Davenport.

His parents tried to set him on the right path.
I was older than Bix, who was then of high school age. I heard him play the piano while I was in his parents' home and always thought he might have quite a career ahead of him if he was physically able to handle it. By that, I mean overcoming the temptations he'd face.
    I always thought Bix was a fine young man and never a shoddy individual. He certainly came from a fine family and I'm sure his parents encouraged him and tried to set him on the right path.
Alma Maehr. Davenport.

'Red Hot Mama' knew he was special.
I first knew Bix at Davenport High School in 1918.
    I recall a school assembly when John Schmidt, associated with the Schmidt Music Co., demonstrated a variety of instruments for a firm he represented.
    He played several and he was no slouch, either. But when Schmidt played a tune on a trumpet, principal George Edward Marshall recognized it as a piece in Bix's repertoire.
    Marshall called Bix up on stage saying, "let's see how you'd play that piece."
    Well, Bix did and all I can say is that ot was out of this world. Mr. Schmidt was flabbergasted that we had such a talent in high school.
    Oh, he knew he was good, but didn't go around telling you about it.
    While he was still in high school, Bix played in the orchestra at the Columbia Theater some nights and always on weekends.
    When Sophie Tucker ("last of the Red Hot Mamas") came to town she was always the star of the show - and what an elegant lady and good sport she was.
    Every time she's come out to take her bow, she'd point out Bix and introduce him as "the greatest trumpet player in the world" and he was just a high school kid.
    Whenever Sophie was on for the afternoon matinee, Bix would play hooky and always buy a box seat and sit there alone for the show. And as soon as she went off, Principal Marshall would march up to the box seat, take Bix by the ear and lead him back to school.
    It happened several times and always brought down the house. I'd heard about it and a couple of buddies and I played hooky to see it. Sure enough, Mr. Marshall took Bix by the ear. But he understood Bix and enjoyed the joke, and he was never punished.
Rolla Chalupa. Davenport.

He looked all over for his horn, but it was gone!
    Those of us who were in bands were in the habit of meeting at Maehr's Confectionery, a downtown Davenport ice cream parlor.
    We were there one night while we were waiting for two or three cars to pick us up to take us to an engagement out in Northwest Davenport. Our instruments were piled up on the curb.
    The cars arrives rather hurriedly and we all piled in. But when we got where we were going and were ready to play, Bix discovered he didn't have his cornet.
    Well, Bix frantically caught a ride back downtown and looked all over for his horn, but it was gone. You can imagine how he felt, how much a part of his life that horn was to him. Bix was very forgetful.
    But he was very lucky. The next day he learned that someone had found it, evidently recognized it as Bix's horn, and had turned it in at the Martin Cigar store.
George Crowe. Rock Island.

Cantaloupes filled with ice cream - how grand it seemed!
    I knew Bix briefly because for about three years my mother, Anna Rauch Wiese, was a domestic helper for the Beiderbecke family. She also took care of his brother, Charles, and sister, Mary Louise.
    His parents came to our house for dinner on occasion and we were invited to upper there.
    I remember a meal when Bix was there, but the thing I recall most about it was not Bix, but they scooped-out cantaloupes filled with ice cream. I've never forgotten how grand that seemed.
    Bix must have been about 14 or 15 then and I was six years younger. He ate with us, and I don't remember anything out of the ordinary about his conversation. He was just a normal-looking teen-ager.
    But toward the end of the meal, he got up, put on a navy blue jacket, picked his horn off the piano and walked out the door. I guess he had a job to play. That was the last time I ever saw him.
Marjorie Kuehl. Davenport.

The minute he got in, the music got terrible.
    I first really got to know Bix when we were freshman at Davenport High School and both belonged to the same high school fraternity.
    The big thing about him that sticks out in my mind is that three or four times a year we'd have a fraternity dance at the Davenport Outing Club, with a hired orchestra.
    And every time there'd be Bix talking them into letting him sit on the piano. The minute he got in there, the music got terrible. it was absolutely no good, as far as we were concerned.
    We told Bix several times to quit sitting in, and when he wouldn't we just blacklisted him form the fraternity.
    But he knew more about what he was doing than all of us put together. He was just so far ahead of his time we didn't understand what he was doing on the piano.
    I can't say I was too friendly with him. His butting-in on the music was one reason. Another was that he was bumming around with some fast company, some pretty tricky guys.
    He seemed to drift toward people like that. We were concerned about Bix, but there was no way to stop him.
    This was the time when the legendary Elmer Layden (later one of the four horsemen of Notredame) was playing football at Davenport High. He and a friend of mine, Carl Vollmer, were both in line to become captain of the team.
    Carl thought he might get the job if he could recruit some new players. He talked me into it, but I got knocked around so much the first time on the field that I knew football wasn't for me.
    Then he convinced Bix to go out for the team and told me to give Bix my new football shoes. I said I wouldn't give them to him, but would sell them to him for $8 - just what I 'd paid.
    He said Bix probably wouldn't have any money, and he was right, but Bix promised to pay me, so I gave him the shoes. Well, I never did get paid. He still owes me.
Chet Salter. Bettendorf.

I felt like we were sweethearts.
    I knew Bix well and loved him to death as a dear friend, though I was five years younger and he was about 23.
    I used to do maid work for his mom and dad, who entertained a lot, and later for his brother, Burnie and his wife.
    Bix would come to his brother's house a lot. I was crazy about Dixieland music and anytime I'd say, "Bix, why don't you play the piano," I wouldn't have to coax him. We'd sit together on the bench and he'd play for me.
    I felt like we were sweethearts, though, of course we were just good friends.
    He came home during the last year of his life and I felt so sorry for him. He'd had pneumonia in new York and he'd have to lift his legs up with his hands when he first got up and then he'd just shuffle along.
    I used to read and hear things about him that I knew weren't true. He was os handsome and nice. I was going steady then with the man who became my husband, but I'll tell you...I sure could have gone for Bix.
Lillian Leonard. Davenport.

Bix pulled out a half pint of alcohol ...
    I'd worked five or six years with the Trav O'Hearn Band at the Blackhawk Hotel in addition to my job as news reporter for the Daily Times.
    I first met Bix in December 1929. One night, O'Hearn told us that Bix would be playing with us for our next fraternity dance. We were all amazed and thrilled.
    The surprising part was that Bix didn't even bother to come to our rehearsal, but showed up with his horn and sat right there on the second trumpet chair.
    We didn't use any arrangements and he'd never heard us play before, but I was really amazed at how he could just follow along.
    I went to his parents' home on Grand Avenue in Davenport at his invitation. We compared notes on piano playing and I drove him all around town to some of his old spots where he'd played when he was here.
    He'd been sent back by Paul Whiteman to recuperate and had spent several weeks in Dwight, Ill., at an alcoholic rehabilitation center.
    The next week we went to a movie together. I got to his house early and Bix wasn't ready so I talked to his mother who was the essence of culture and refinement.
    Bix called down from upstairs and said, "Play something on the piano, Les."
    I played "IN A Mist," which Bix composed. Just about the time I finished, he came down and muttered something like "very good'", but I don't think he was too impressed with my rendition.
    One night we went to Danceland in Davenport to see Krazy Katz and His Kittens, a big name band in those days.
    Of all the times I'd been with Bix, I'd never heard him mention anything about drinking, but that night some of his friends brought us a couple of drinks.
    I think that triggered what happened later.
    I was driving Bix home and when we were about even with the Blackhawk Hotel, he started shivering and grabbing out and yelling, "I have to have it! I have to have it!"
    "pull over. I'll tell you in a minute," Bix said. There was a bootleg joint in the next block since we still had Prohibition.
    In about five minutes, he was back with a sack. Bix pulled out a half pint of alcohol and said he was going to take it to bed with him.
    I've only told one other person this story. Basically, I've kept this a secret for 60 years.
Les Swanson. Moline.

I am grateful to Jim Arpy for his generous permission to transcribe here his Quad-City Times article of  July 24, 1988,  and to Rich Johnson for kindly giving me a copy of the article.
 

 


 

Through His Music, Bix Is Alive
 

Recordings
The Original 78's
Analysis of Some Recordings: Is It Bix or Not ?
Complete Compilations of Bix's Recordings
Tributes to Bix
Miscellaneous Recordings Related to Bix
In A Mist