{"id":8798,"date":"2008-01-16T20:58:43","date_gmt":"2008-01-17T01:58:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.law.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/2008\/01\/16\/papa-gs-night-train\/"},"modified":"2011-08-05T14:53:34","modified_gmt":"2011-08-05T18:53:34","slug":"papa-gs-night-train","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/2008\/01\/16\/papa-gs-night-train\/","title":{"rendered":"papa g’s night train<\/i>"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

\"\" [Jitterbug Stamp<\/a>] M<\/em><\/strong>y retired mail-carrier Dad, Arthur P. Giacalone<\/a>, loved swing music and famously loved to dance. When we went as a family to wedding receptions or other big parties, Papa G. always brought along a change of clothing, so he could shed the damp ones before the last dance with Mama G. [I wrote about Papa G. on his 87th birtday<\/a> in 2006, and last September, when he and Mama G. celebrated their 60th Anniversary<\/a> (lots of photos here<\/a>).]<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"\" [big<\/a>] At his funeral on Monday, one of Dad’s very favorite nieces reminded us that their eyes would meet whenever a band started to play “Night Train<\/em>,” and then they would jitterbug<\/a> together like crazy to the delight of all. (Click for jitterbug history<\/a>, and this fun 1944 instructional video<\/a>)<\/p>\n

jitterbug gene —
\ndad’s skipped
\na generation<\/p>\n

………………….. dagosan<\/em><\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Cousin Rose Palazzo’s fond memory of dancing with Uncle Art. got me searching for a video clip of Night Train<\/em> yesterday, and refreshed my recollection on many dad-and-music-related topics from my childhood. When I learned<\/a> that Louis Prima<\/a> did a well-known version of “Night Train<\/em>,” I smiled broadly — recalling the fun I had with my parents as a (not-yet-jaded, pre-teen) kid, watching the antics of trumpet-playing band leader and “hepcat” Louis Prima and his deadpan, lovely, songstress wife Keely Smith<\/a> (who can be heard in a 20-minute NPR Fresh Air<\/em> presentation, from 2002, “Queen of Swing<\/a>“). As one commentator explains<\/a>, Italian-American Louis Prima was “one of the few obviously ethnic entertainers who never turned his back on his roots once mainstream success hit.” For example,<\/p>\n

\n

“He always revived \u2014 to his audience\u2019s delight \u2014 Italian novelty numbers [e.g<\/a>., titles like “Felicia No Capicia<\/a>” (more<\/a>),” “Baciagaloop<\/a> (Makes Love on the Stoop),” “Please No Squeeza Da Banana<\/em><\/a>,” and “Josephina, Please No Leana on the Bell<\/a>.” ], and much of his performing persona could be traced to the wildly energetic Italian kid who never grew up.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"\" With much anticipation and satisfaction I located a Prima-Butera <\/a>Night Train<\/em> Video<\/a><\/strong> version of the song, which had been released on Louis Prima’s “The Wildest!”<\/a> Album (Capitol Records, 1957), and has an amazing sax solo by Sammy Butera. I don’t think of myself as a swing or jazz fan, but this instrumental made me grin and tap my feet, and immediately recall the great Night Train<\/em> lyrics<\/a> (by<\/a> Lewis C. Simpkins) that dad would occasionally sing — in what was surely my first exposure to an anti-domestic violence theme:<\/p>\n

\n

Night train,
\nThat took my baby far away.
\nNight train,
\nThat took my baby far away.
\nTell her
\nI love her more and more each day.<\/p>\n

(Chorus) [“The Wildest!<\/em>” cover<\/a>] \"\"<\/p>\n

My mother said I’d lose her
\nIf I ever did abuse her,
\nShoulda listened.<\/em><\/p>\n

My mother said I’d lose her
\nIf I ever did abuse her,
\nShoulda listened.<\/p>\n

Now I have learned my lesson
\nMy baby was a blesssin’,
\nShoulda listened.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"\" [I plan to click on the Prima video link<\/a> often, to let Night Train<\/em> help “bring my daddy back to me<\/a>.” Listen to Eddie Jefferson’s more optimistic version<\/a> of the song, in which the night train brings his baby back.]<\/p>\n

funeral dirge —
\nwe bury the one
\nwho could carry a tune<\/p>\n

……… david giacalone – Frogpond<\/em> 31:2 (2008) – selected for \u201cwhite lies: Red Moon Anthology<\/a> 2008<\/em>\u201c<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Since my arrival in my original hometown of Rochester, New York, on Saturday, I’ve been treading water in the emotional pond formed by losing a parent. Despite a few tearful episodes, it has mostly felt like a soothing communal hot-tub, warmed with the love and affection of family and friends.<\/p>\n

\"\" Here are a few more poems that came to mind during my 4-hour trip back to Schenectady today on the New York Thruway:<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\n

driving home
\nfrom papa’s funeral —
\nthin noon moon half-empty<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

bequest wish list
\na father’s smile
\nat the top<\/p>\n

\n

dad’s empty chair – \"\"
\nmom lets me cook the pasta
\n al dente<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

…………………………… dagosan<\/em><\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

H<\/em><\/strong>ere are a few one-breath poems, by members of our f\/k\/a<\/em> haijin family, which in one way or another remind me of a man who was sadly short of breath and unable to jitterbug the past couple of decades.<\/p>\n

\n

winter woods
\nseeing myself
\nin black and white<\/p>\n

………………….. by yu chang – Upstate Dim Sum<\/em> 2005\/1<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

the pinwheel stops
\ngrandpa catches
\nhis breath<\/p>\n

………………… by Randy Brooks, from School’s Out<\/em> (Press Here, 1999)<\/p>\n

one of your sighs
\nhas stayed with me
\nforty years, so far<\/p>\n

……………………… by John Stevenson – Upstate Dim Sum<\/em> (2005\/I)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Discovery channel \u2013
\nan older male vanquished
\nheads for the hills<\/p>\n

\n

within the red wine
\na nap in my chair<\/p>\n

my wife catches me
\npicking from our trash
\nagain<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

letting her
\nwalk all over me
\nladybug<\/p>\n

without consent
\nmy old sneakers
\nin the trash<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

yardwork:
\nsome of the old tire water
\non my shoes<\/p>\n

\n

the river
\nfull of ice
\nbroken free<\/p>\n

\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026. Tom Clausen<\/a>
\n“Discovery channel” and “within the red wine” – Upstate Dim Sum<\/em> (2003\/II)
\n“me wife catches me” – from Upstate Dim Sum<\/em> 2007\/1
\n“letting her” — being there <\/em>(Swamp Press, 2005)
\n“without consent,” “now that I’m over,” and “yardwork” – from Homework<\/em> (2000)
\n“the river” Upstate Dim Sum<\/em> (2005\/II)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

update<\/em><\/strong> (Jan. 17, 2008): f\/k\/a<\/em> “Cousin” Ed Markowski<\/a> knows a lot about family love and loss, and caring for friends. He sent me three poems overnight that belong here in this post:<\/p>\n

funeral procession
\nthe silence of the engine
\ndad tuned last april<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

winter funeral
\na bead of holy water
\nfreezes in mid-air<\/p>\n

dad’s funeral
\nthis morning uncle walt
\nties my tie<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"\" [mama g, 1948]<\/p>\n

afterglow<\/em><\/strong> (Jan. 18, 2008): That cutie my Dad fell in love with in 1947 loved Glenn Miller, too, and we often heard “Moonlight Serenade<\/em>” at Casa Giacalone (click for YouTube version<\/a>), as well as “In the Mood<\/a>“. Ed Markowski sent us this little gift, which incorporates another of my favorite insects:<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\n

moonlit serenade
\nfireflies appear just beyond
\nthe jitterbugs<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

…………………………………………. ed markowski<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Meanwhile, the rarely-sentimental Prof. Yabut<\/a> penned this tell-em<\/a>, and caught me in a weakened condition, so I’m passing it along (with apologies to Groucho<\/a> Marx):<\/p>\n

\n

in the mood
\ninnuendo goes
\nout the window<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

afterwords<\/strong><\/em> (Jan 21, 2008): Thanks to Gideon at Public Defender Stuff,<\/em><\/a> for including this posting in his stirring 2008 Martin Luther King Edition of Blawg Review [#143]<\/a>.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

p.s<\/em><\/strong>. A Butterfly Connection<\/em><\/strong>: Go here<\/a> to learn why, from now on, butterflies will remind me of my Dad, and to find a couple dozen butterfly poems by our Honored Guest poets. I\u2019ve uploaded a “butterfly haiku memorial collection for Papa G.<\/a>,” which is a Word document that you can print from this website, to create a two-sided, trifold brochure. It contains most of the poems found in the butterfly haiku posting<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n

\"\"<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

sunset stroll \u2013
\nsearching snowbanks
\nfor butterflies<\/p>\n

\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026………………….\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026 \"\" by david giacalone<\/a>
\n[in mem<\/em>., Arthur P. Giacalone; haiga photo by Yu Chang]<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Jitterbug Stamp] My retired mail-carrier Dad, Arthur P. Giacalone, loved swing music and famously loved to dance. When we went as a family to wedding receptions or other big parties, Papa G. always brought along a change of clothing, so he could shed the damp ones before the last dance with Mama G. [I wrote […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":94,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[555,900],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8798","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-haiku-or-senryu","category-viewpoint"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kP1R-2hU","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8798","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/94"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8798"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8798\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12364,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8798\/revisions\/12364"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8798"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8798"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/ethicalesq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8798"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}