Imagine
the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown without Willie Mays, or the
courtyard of Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Hollywood without the
imprints of Jimmy Durante's nose or Marilyn Monroe's hands.
Our
own walk of fame down on Beale Street feels just as empty thanks to the
omission of Jimmie Lunceford, who called Memphis home in the late 1920s
before taking his Chickasaw Syncopators on the road, and eventually
gaining recognition as the top swing bandleader of his day. His
competition? We're not talking Big Bad Voodoo Daddy here friends. In
1940, Lunceford and his ork beat out Count Basie, Woody Herman, and
Glenn Miller in a battle of the bands.
Lunceford made his mark
here, as so many other unheralded makers of the Memphis Sound have, as
a high school bandleader. He taught at Manassas in North Memphis. A
historic marker out front of the school commemorates Isaac Hayes, but
no public display of affection for the onetime king of swing.
Scott Yanow writes in an assholic Lunceford bio on allmusic.com that:
"The
Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra has always been a bit difficult to evaluate.
Contemporary observers rated Lunceford's big band at the top with Duke
Ellington and Count Basie but, when judging the music solely on their
records (and not taking into account their visual show, appearance and
showmanship), Lunceford's ensemble has to be placed on the second tier."
And
I suppose Robert E. Lee was a second-tier general. It's easy to look
back and judge history by our standards, but quite another to assess
someone as they really existed, that is, in the eyes of their peers.
Perhaps this ex post facto
bias against the smooth Lunceford sound explains why a musical giant
has been overlooked in his own, generally musically conscious town.
Lunceford doesn't fit into the pantheon of gritty working class heroes
that embody the Memphis Sound, though W.C. Handy probably wouldn't be
real comfortable boozing around with Ike Turner either, and he's got
plenty of shit named after him.
Lunceford
appears in the 1927 Memphis City Directory with a residence at 585 E.
Iowa Avenue. Though the street no longer exists by that name, I
transposed historical and current maps and found the vacant lot where
his house stood. It's for sale if anyone's interested. Looks, um,
weedy. The neighborhood reflects the worst in Memphis civic planning,
with the block 1/3 abandoned, 1/3 brokedown housing, and 1/3
industrial. I guess this is the what a "transitional" neighborhood
consists of.
Here's the view facing E.H. Crump Blvd. (nee
E. Iowa Avenue) from the Lunceford lot. Notice the homes across the
street. Judging by the looks of them, they could have been here in
Lunceford's day.
Lunceford's listing in the city directories from 1928-1930 place him in the second house from right, 576 E. Iowa. Crackheads have sinced scorched the place, leaving another blown opportunity for the city to preserve its rich musical legacy.
During Lunceford's lifetime, his appearances in the Bluff City stirred up some noise. 
The black Memphis World
newspaper, published on Beale until 1969, reported that Lunceford sold
out the Beale Avenue [yes, avenue] Auditorium, where Robert Henry
booked shows, in minutes for his August 1944 show. The preview said
that Lunceford looked forward to "renew[ing] personal remembrances," an
interesting phrase considering our current local amnesia regarding his
legacy here.
He appeared in this national ad campaign for RC Cola, which ran in the World December
8, 1944. Fortunately, Lunceford chose cup "X" in his blind taste test,
otherwise it could have been Chick Webb in that ad.
Lunceford
died under mysterious circumstances in Seaside, Oregon July 12, 1947.
The 60th anniversary of that date approaches, and still no love for
Lunceford in Memphis.
Shelby county has no death certificate on
file for Lunceford, which might help clarify the mystery of his death.
There is one monument to the bandleader's memory, though. Lunceford
thought so much of the place that he planned to be buried here. He
rests under a shade tree in beautiful Elmwood Cemetery, practically
within sight of the Stax compound. The aforementioned Beale Street walk
of fame includes bronze musical notes cast into the sidewalk stamped
with the names of local music luminaries. All in all, one has to be
pleased with the artists chosen: Willie Mitchell, Memphis Minnie, Rufus
Thomas, even Nat D. Williams, and Maurice Hulbert, Sr. Now its time to
stamp Jimmie Lunceford's name on the city that bears so little
resemblemnce to the one he knew.
