In 1994, I was at an event with my parents at Weaver High School in Hartford, CT, and met Jackie McLean for the first time. He insisted on teaching me how to properly eat conch and other “Island foods.” I agreed. I also had no idea who he was, no clue as to his profession, and certainly no inkling that he was a master of the alto sax.

McLean played with the greats – Monk, Davis, Parker, Rollins, etc. – and though suffered greatly with addiction to heroin, shared his love and dedication to jazz through two important outlets. Both played a roll in leading to our meeting. He taught at The Hartt School of Music at the University of Hartford (now home to the Jackie McLean Institute of jazz). With his wife Dolly, he also founded the Artists Collective Inc. in the city, an organization dedicated to preserving the arts and culture of the African Diaspora and offering education in music theater and visual arts.

It was through the Artists Collective, and more aptly my parents involvement with the organization, that I became familiar with Mr. McLean. Through my high school years I’d watch him perform at University of Hartford, often with a star studded cast ranging from Roy Hargrove to Bobby Hutcherson. He also brought Roy Haynes to the city, as well as youngsters like Ravi Coltrane. Later in his life he’d play most frequently at the Iridium Room in New York, the band lead primarily by son Rene. The memory of those nights are some of my best in jazz. Sitting with Dolly and hearing stories of Jackie’s Harlem years between the sets were really special moments.

I’m remembering those times with Jackie today because I’ve just had a chat with my grandfather who recalled his own moments with McLean. For each of the men in the family who spent time with McLean (my mother’s father, my father, and myself), the memories are the same and the very notion that we were able to interact so frequently with such a remarkable musician continually excites.

I’ll leave this entry with A Fickle Sonance recorded in 1961 with Tommy Turrentine on trumpet, Sonny Clark on piano,  Butch Warren on bass, and  Billy Higgins hitting the  drums.

Outside of football and hoops, boxing ranks high in my sporting interest. Couple that with one of my favorite rappers, RA the Rugged Man, and you get a great track.

Rugged Man is a font of knowledge when it comes to b-movies and ring action (basically he’s the Max Kellerman of rap). He’s also often criminally underrated as an MC… a true legend who deserves credit as such.

Anyway, I’m exhausted… don’t miss this…

Added a new chair to my collection over the weekend. Chairs of this type were common in the Connecticut River Valley from roughly 1785 to 1810. This one has a nice family history and is of Rhode Island origin. The treatment to the bottom of the splat is unique – I’ve seen these made by at least 35 different hands and never like this example.

Back in 2006 I delivered a lecture on this style of chair at Furniture Forum. Without a doubt it was the highlight of my furniture study career (despite having later published in a rather large study of Southeastern, MA furnishings). These are, as such, close to my heart. The armchair joins two side chairs already in the collection.

Chuffed.

Whenever some free time presents itself (rarely) I’ve been heading into North Philly to hunt for “ghosts.” These markers of industry past are great signals of the lives once lived in the neighborhood. I’m particularly fond of finding sets that connect discrete parts of a specific trade. For example, finding a horse hair dealer near an upholsterer.

Anyway, here are a few recent pictures. All are taken north of Girard and east of Broad Street.

11 Chatham Square is the most important address in New York’s vibrant tattoo history. The space first functioned as the shop of Samuel O’Reilly, who in 1891 patented the first electric tattoo machine. Though its widespread use is disputed, the change to the industry the patent represents is huge. For one, electricity changed the soundscape of tattooing. Without it that constant buzz we now associate with the tattoo parlor wouldn’t exist.

After O’Reilly’s death, the shop landed in the hands of arch rival Electric Elmer Getchell. Elmer had, at one point, attempted to sue O’Reilly for infrigement… the basis of the claim being that all credit for the tattoo machine should go to Thomas Edison. (For many reasons, this is actually true. O’Reilly simply played with a preexisting Edison design).

Many other famed Bowery tattooists had their start at 11 Chatham Square. Charlie Wagner, who ruled the Bowery for almost 50 years, apprenticed under O’Reilly. He later moved to 4 Chatham Square and from there created a good many sideshow acts. In 1911 he returned to no. 11, working at the address until his death. Guys like Lew the Jew also worked in the shop. Lew is famed for his flash designs, a function of previous employment in wallpaper design.

Little of the rough and tumble nature of the area remains – save for an Off Track Betting outpost. The long tattoo tradition is basically removed from contemporary street scape, yet for those of us who love tattoo lore  11 Chatham Square remains hallowed ground.

Below is an image of the building as it looks today (or to be exact last Sunday).