The memories emerge, the stories you recall about what happened to you then, & they’re good ones (making clear how memory is a form of story-telling to the self), Andrew.

I think you come close to making a kind of haibun with the first one ending with those song phrases, & perhaps attempting something along those lines would tighten the memories even further? 

(also, that stand by the bandstand?)

Doug
> On May 31, 2017, at 6:51 AM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> 
> Like particularly the realisation of head on shoulder, Andrew.
> 
> Bill
> 
> On Wed, 31 May 2017 at 9:49 pm, Patrick McManus <
> [log in to unmask]> wrote:
> 
>> Andrew thanks for those glimpses your youth seems to be more colourful
>> than mine!!!
>> 
>> 
>> On 31/05/2017 11:23, Andrew Burke wrote:
>>> ~
>>> 
>>> Someone back then called her my ‘jazz chick’ – I was in the last year of
>>> school and she worked at some clerical job, studying Italian at night
>>> school to advance herself. We met at *Dixie for Dancing *at the Claremont
>>> Football Club where the Riverside Jazz Band played Dixieland and quieter
>>> dance tunes. St Louis Blues was always a favourite, trumpet in Joshua Fit
>>> the Battle of Jericho, the growling trombone on Tiger Rag, and Mama Don’t
>>> Allow where all the band members played a short solo. I’d buy my ticket
>> off
>>> Heidi at the door (the pianist’s wife), stand at the side of the band
>>> stand, listening to the band and watching the drummer, until the last
>>> couple of numbers for the night when I would suddenly realise what I was
>>> there for – and go to ask -  shyly and awkwardly – a girl to dance. A
>> turn
>>> down would finish the night for me! But an acceptance would mean holding
>> a
>>> girl in my arms, making small talk, telling lies (who’s going to admit
>>> still being at school) and, palm sweating, trying to move my feet in an
>>> acceptable dance-like fashion. Ah, the nerves were at fever pitch!
>>> 
>>> I don’t remember the first dance with my Jazz Chick. I remember we met
>>> again the second week, and at last she rested her head on my shoulder as
>> we
>>> danced under dim light at the end of the night. Oh such small steps to a
>>> passionate romance! The music soon faded into the background and Friday
>>> nights became a red hot date with long kisses and much groping and
>>> passionate expressions of love on the back seat of my mother’s car. I
>>> learnt the intricacies of bra backs and suspender belts clipping on to
>>> stocking tops more than paradiddles and trading eights!
>>> 
>>> *Mama don't 'low no shimmy-shakin' here.*
>>> 
>>> *You can't shake your shimmy, shake some'n' else.*
>>> 
>>>    -
>>> 
>>>    *Washboard Sam*
>>> 
>>> ~
>>> 
>>> Language keeps changing and growing. As does jazz. As do we. I wandered
>> to
>>> Sydney and back over a couple of years, frequented El Rocco when I was
>>> there – and then returned to Perth, looking for a jazz club. I found The
>>> Hole in the Wall Jazz Club which was linked to the theatre of the same
>>> name. It was a key club which played recorded jazz during the week and
>> live
>>> jazz on weekends. I found it and stayed! Each night I was there, drinking
>>> booze and listening to a rich assortment of jazz styles – MJQ, Miles
>> Davis,
>>> Bill Evans, Mose Allison, Coltrane … on Friday nights it was mainly a
>> solo
>>> pianist; Saturday a house trio with sit-ins from all the clubs around
>> town
>>> as the musos finished work and looked for somewhere to jam; Sunday night
>>> developed into home night for the Keith Stirling Quintet or Sextet
>> playing
>>> the latest developments in jazz. It was home away from home for me and I
>>> spent every night there until they closed in the wee small hours of the
>>> morning.
>>> 
>>> One night the owners of the club asked me to meet them the following
>> night,
>>> alone, earlier than usual. I turned up, a little nervous – alone (without
>>> my girlfriend who I had met there). The guys sat me down, put on some
>> cool
>>> jazz, and faced me. “Do you want some tea?’ One of them asked, and I
>>> swiftly replied, ‘No thanks, I’ll have coffee.’ ‘Not that kind of tea,
>> you
>>> idiot - *tea* you smoke.’ Ah, marijuana. I had read enough jazz magazines
>>> and poetry and novels to know exactly want they meant. And it was cool to
>>> be offered some tea – so I accepted. So I was accepted into a little
>> clique
>>> who imported weed and hash – plus some cheap lines of watches, perfumes
>> etc
>>> – from Asia. We had our in-group secrets and our own jokes and lingo. I
>> was
>>> home *further* away from home in what I believed was a true jazz world.
>>> 
>>> 
>>> 
>>> Andrew
>>> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
>>> Books available through Walleah Press
>>> http://walleahpress.com.au
>> 

Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/

Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Listen. If (UofAPress):

I go down to the Twilight Arcade
and watch the Martian invaders,
already appalled by our language,
pointing at what they want.

          Bill Manhire