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The
Duke & I
A professor explains how jazz legend Duke Ellington became a doctor
in 1967.
October
2002
by Arthur W. Galston
Arthur
W. Galston is the Eaton Professor Emeritus
of Botany, and a senior research scientist in molecular, cellular,
and developmental biology.
Sometimes,
it pays to be a rebel. When, after a decade of reasonably
faithful observance of conventional behavior at Yale, I chose to
deviate from established practice, my action led to a fascinating encounter with one of the true geniuses of modern American culture,
Duke Ellington.
Here is how it happened.
When I arrived as a
professor at Yale in 1955, I discovered that one of my duties involved
participation in a departmental nomination for receipt of an honorary
degree at the upcoming Commencement. I took this responsibility
seriously, and each year either proposed a nominee of my own or
joined with other department members in supporting a candidate of
their choice. For a full decade, I watched as our nominations went
nowhere. This disappointment always occurred without explanation
or indeed without any hint as to how and why our nominee had been
found inadequate. Our frustration was compounded by the feeling
that some of the successful nominations were inferior to our own.
I, for one, resolved not to waste any more time on what appeared
to be a sterile enterprise.
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"I
ventured out in the heavy rain to buy Willie 'The Lion'
Smith a cigar."
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But in 1966, when I
served as director of the division of the biological sciences, I
decided to take advantage of my acquaintance with several members
of the Brewster administration's inner circle to pursue an independent
course of action. As an amateur saxophonist and longtime jazz afficionado,
I had developed a tremendous admiration for Duke Ellington's compositions
and their rendition by his nonpareil orchestra. Why not nominate
the Duke for an honorary degree? No jazz personality had ever received
such an award from Yale, and I thought that Ellington's stature
as a creative artist entitled him to such an honor. So I composed
an appropriate statement and sent it on to my friend Ben Holden,
then Secretary of the University, asking him to forward it to the
relevant committee. But in my heart of hearts, I expected no greater
success from this nomination than from the others I had made.
Imagine
my surprise and joy when I received a phone call from Ben some months
later. "Art," he said, "you've done it!" "Done what?" was
my rejoinder. "Your nomination of Duke Ellington for an honorary
degree has been successful. And Kingman insists that you write the
citation that he will read at Commencement. But keep everything
secret until Commencement Day." When I recovered from my shock,
I agreed to do the write-up, deciding to construct a statement built
around the titles of some of the Duke's greatest creations. Here
is what I came up with:
We are indebted to
you for an important generalization: "It Don't Mean a Thing If
It Ain't Got That Swing." Your musical compositions have set our
hearts singing, our spirits soaring, and our feet tapping. We
hope that today your "Mood" is not "Indigo" and that your "Caravan"
will continue to "Take the A Train" in the direction of more "Sentimental
Moods." It might be said "You've Got it Good and That Ain't Bad."
It is a special pleasure for Yale to confer on you the degree
of Doctor of Music.
President Brewster
read every word as I had written it.
The Duke's given name
is Edward Kennedy Ellington. Ben Holden told me that our irrepressible
President could not resist playing with that name at the Corporation
meeting when he announced the honorary degree recipients. His long
pause after reading "Edward" and "Kennedy" caused considerable consternation
when it created the impression among some Corporation members that
a certain junior senator from Massachusetts was the recipient. Brewster's
final recitation of "Ellington" broke the tension amid considerable
laughter.
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"All
those saints came marching onto the same platform on the
same night."
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When sending the Ellington
citation to Ben Holden, I made him promise that I would be the Duke's
official guide and companion during his visit to the campus. But
in 1967 when the Duke received his honorary degree, my son Bill
was graduating from Cornell University, and the commencements were
to be held on the same day, at virtually the same hour. There was
no way that, as a father, I could miss my own son's commencement.
So I swallowed my disappointment and didn't get to meet the Duke.
Some years later, based
in part on the Duke's new connection with Yale, Willie Ruff, an
adjunct professor at the School of Music, convinced the administration
to establish the Duke
Ellington Fellowship. Under that program, we have been treated
to outstanding concerts by Willie, his musical partner -- pianist
Dwike Mitchell -- and outstanding young Yale and New Haven musicians.
The Fellowship even brought famous musicians like Dizzy Gillespie
to town to play pied piper for New Haven schoolchildren. (The Fellowship's
30th Anniversary concert will take place on October 25.)
For
me, the culmination of this adventure was a gala occasion at Woolsey
Hall in October 1972 when outstanding jazz musicians were brought
together to inaugurate the Fellowship. My wife and I were
invited to a pre-concert dinner in the President's room with the
musicians. At the table, my neighbor shook my hand, smiled, and
said: "My name is Smith." He turned out to be Willie "The Lion"
Smith, who pioneered the "stride" rhythmic bass piano style that
became dominant amongst jazz pianists! After dinner, Smith lamented
that he had failed to bring a big cigar, part of his traditional
costume when playing, so I ventured out in the heavy rain to buy
him one at George & Harry's (now Naples) on Wall Street. And
when he and the Duke played duets at facing grand pianos, that cigar
was part of the Lion's equipment. Also recipients of Ellington Medals
that night were jazz pioneers Eubie Blake, Art Blakey, and Noble
Sissle; drummers Max Roach, Sonny Greer, Joe Jones, and Kenny Clarke;
trumpeters Sy Oliver, Harry "Sweets" Edison, Dizzy Gillespie, "Cootie"
Williams, and Clark Terry; trombonist Ray Brown; bassists Milt Hinton,
Charles Mingus, and "Slam" Stewart, saxophonists Benny Carter, Harry
Carney, Russell Procope, and Sonny Stitt; pianist Mary Lou Williams;
and singers Joe Williams and Odetta. All those saints came marching
onto the same platform on the same night. It was probably the greatest
aggregation of jazz talent assembled at any one time in history.
Afterwards, when we
mingled with the musicians, my wife saw the Duke seated on a chair
against the wall, for the moment free of admirers. She hastened
up to him, introduced herself, and told him of my role in the awarding
of his honorary degree in 1967. He smiled broadly, asked me to approach
him, then rose, kissed me on both cheeks and recited his mantra:
"I love you madly." As we parted, he took our name and address and
promised to add us to his annual Christmas card mailing list. Alas,
he died before he could keep that promise, but the memory of my encounter with the Duke will stay with me forever.  |
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