One cold winter night Dizzy christened me "Lady Haig" during a break at Birdland; just the sounds of that place conjures up warm, mellow feelings as I reminisce about the dearness of meeting that sweet long drink of a laughing man at Birdland when it was the center and jazz palace of the world of modern jazz then located at 1678 Broadway; the club named for the incomparable Charlie "Bird" Parker...after all, on opening night, "Bird" used a group that included Red Rodney, trumpet; Tommy Potter, bass; Roy Haynes, drums and AL HAIG on piano
Ironically, forty-eight years after my short marriage to Al, I am amazed at our anachronistic linkage, juxtaposed through "us", their अद्वंत garde women, and how we randomly somersaulted, tumbled, vaulted and capriciously amalgamated into our jazz man's lives.
In hindsight,the memory of our silent soriety is really so bizarre, yet on a sub-conscious level, still en-compassingly beautiful in its will-o-the-wisp magical strength , lassoing through the time warp of space to those heartfelt embers...now only ashes of long gone passions, empty dreams, burned out nights and rooms-without-a-view which focused on us...or so we thought; the music was always paramount...the juice of all juices.
How innocent we were.
No matter how well bred, intelligent, talented, beautiful, rich and strong we were...in our own wasp world, we believed enough in them; Dizzy, Bird, Bud, Max, Fats, Bags, Miles, Dexter, Prez, Potts, Red, Monk, Zoot, Al, Chet, Stan, Sonny, Tadd, Ray, Klook et al; and my husband, AL HAIG, to cross over the lines of convention and propriety. Most jazz aficionados worth their salt are aware that bebop blossomed in Harlem in the 1940s. No one musician did it.
And as "THEY" created this new music, we gladly embraced them, while we isolated ourselves into their halcyon bebop world...if only for the heartbeat of the moment; it was the best of a mighty, mysterious intangible some women never even dared or hoped to attain.
ZEITGEIST.
But, like the withdrawal from a drug, when the relationship was over, it jabbed, and ripped out forever, a piece of our war-torn yet still tender, bebop hearts. I almost didn't make it...I was lucky.
Unfortunately, poor Bonnie Gallagher, Al's beautiful young third wife was murdered. Like Orenthal James Simpson, Alan Warren Haig was arrested for homicide and accused of murdering his wife; both were found "Not Guilty" by a jury of their peers. Thank heavens Dizzy Gillespie arranged a concert at Art D'Lugoff's: "Village Gate" to raise money for Al's defense fund.
Tout comprendre ces't tout parlonner.
To understand everything is to forgive everything.
Sincerely,
GRANGE: The Wife No One Ever Knew
