I never met Maxine. But she was married to the legendary reedman — as long-lived as a great sequoia — Franz Jackson. And it seems as though she had a fairly reputable set of jazz friends. These two photographs came to me (and to JAZZ LIVES) as wonderful unexpected gifts from Michelle Jewell, Franz’s daughter, who is writing a book about him and his place in the Chicago jazz scenes. So, if any of my readers have stories or memories of the esteemed Mr. Jackson, I’ll put you in touch with Michelle — who deserves something very generous in return for her generosity.
Here’s a little-known pianist. I’ll let the people who argue about such things whether the signature is “authentic” or not. All I will say is that if you were to look back over a collection of papers you’ve signed over many years, you might notice variations: I am vain about my handwriting but sign my name in different ways, depending on the context. But enough of that. What follows is more important.
Neat! And here’s another obscure fellow.
To quote Yeats, “Say that my glory was I had such friends.” Blessings of all sorts on Michelle, Maxine, Franz, Art, and Louis — and on the readers of JAZZ LIVES, too.