Andy Kirk was a wonderful leader of bands large and small. He played a little saxophone in the early days but not well enough to be featured doing it or even do it in bands he led. He was from Denver, played around that town in the early 1920s, then moved to Dallas and teamed up with Tee Holder. This was the last time he played in a band; in 1929 he assumed the leadership of Holder’s Black Clouds of Joy, changed the name to the Twelve Clouds of Joy and was on his way. The band was very popular and he kept it together until 1948.

I caught up with Andy forty years later. He was one of the first people I interviewed for The Ghosts of Harlem. He was also the oldest. Perhaps I thought I should hurry; he was eighty-eight and long retired from the music business. He was still a resident of Harlem; he lived at 555 Edgecombe, a beautiful building that overlooked the Polo Grounds before they knocked it down, and the home of such luminaries as Joe Louis, Paul Robeson and Lena Horne.

He told me about his days of struggling on the road, how Mary Lou Williams joined the band and what it was like to play the Savoy Ballroom. He had led a band, infrequently, for special projects, like in 1956, when a producer brought him out of retirement, assembled a bunch of good studio musicians and RCA an album entitled A Mellow Bit Of Rhythm. He said it was a lot of fun to hear the music again.

This got me to thinking. I was planning to put together a crack orchestra for the 1987 edition of The Floating Jazz Festival, and have it play charts of noted big band leaders. I planned to ask Cab Calloway, Erskine Hawkins, Jay McShann, Buck Clayton, Benny Carter and Panama Francis. I asked Andy if he still had his book. He said he did, that it was in one of those large rolling drum cases. I told him about the cruise and whether he might like to come on board and hear his music played once again. He said he’d think about it.

We spoke about it for the next few months, into 1987 and finally he agreed to come on board. I was thrilled. This is part of what I wrote in that year’s program.

The band was one of the most popular in the country throughout the Swing Era, until 1948, when Mr. Kirk disbanded the group. By that time he had taken the band to 368 cities in every state of the union, at least once. In more recent years Mr. Kirk has been involved in business and church affairs and was for many years associated with the American Federation of Musicians, finally retiring in his mid-80s. He occasionally organized groups to play his wonderful arrangements but his participation in this festival aboard the S/S Norway is the first time he has done so in over twenty years.

I went to visit Andy in early October to pick up his music. We chatted for a few minutes and then I asked about the big rolling case. He said, “But you already have it.” I was puzzled with his answer and said I didn’t have the case, in fact, I hadn’t seen him in a few months. He then said something like, “Well, just last week a white boy came up here and asked me for the music and since he was a white boy I just assumed he must be working for you. He took all the music.” I asked if he’d left his name or anything. Andy didn’t remember. 

Somebody had talked Andy out of his entire music library. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d been robbed. I said I’d do what I could to find it. In the meantime, I told Andy he was still welcome to come on the cruise, as an honored guest. He said he’d think about it. I don’t know if he did, but he didn’t make the cruise. Somewhere along the line I think he realized what had happened. Andy lived another five years and the music has never been found. I don’t think anyone has looked very hard. Just like Andy couldn’t remember in 1987, neither does anyone else in 2010.

Andy Kirk, 555 Edgecombe Avenue, Harlem, New York City, September 15, 1986