I separated from my first wife in December of 1996. We owned a house that had an in-law unit, and I moved into the in-law unit. It wasn’t great living on the same property as she did (nor was it great sharing a laundry room), but in the Bay Area housing market, half of the mortgage on the property was much cheaper than rent elsewhere, and while we were getting things sorted out, it was mostly tolerable.
However, of course, my emotional state was not great, as you would expect of somebody going through a divorce. My best friend, Paul, decided to setup a road trip down to Disneyland, and hang out with his other best friend, Richard, whom I had met a few times, and another mutual friend of theirs, named George.
So, I took a Friday in August off from work, and we piled into the car and drove down to Richard’s house in Santa Barbara. Just getting away from the South Bay was already relaxing. And being with a sympathetic friend in the car for a few hours also helped.
Richard turned out to be the perfect friend I needed at the time. He had been through a much rougher divorce than I was going through, and he listened to me, but was realistic when he told me I was full of it. He also painted my soon-to-be ex in the most negative light possible. His support through this entire trip was amazing. When I thanked him for it later, he said:
“Syd, every divorcing person needs a friend on his side who has been through a divorce before. There are things only divorced people understand.”
Wise words.
On Saturday, we drove down to Anaheim and met up with George. And we proceeded to play in Disneyland like teenagers. At one point, as we were going through the New Orleans area, some music came on, and we all started dancing. Paul, Richard, and George all had experience teaching some form of ballroom dance, and I had taken some lessons (still somewhat hopeless), but we had a good time. We rode rides, danced around, and talked about life, work, and romance.
We got hungry. We decided to go to the Blue Bayou to get food. The young woman showed us to our table, and asked if there was anything else she could get for us. I piped up:
“Dance partners.”
She said, “Excuse me?”
Richard, taking the cue, said,
“Yes, three of us are ballroom instructors, and Syd, over there, is an aspiring student. After a day at the park, we would love to go out dancing, but we don’t have partners, nor a good venue.”
The young woman said:
“Oh! I love swing dancing! At 8:00, there is a band here in the park at the Carnation Plaza, and there is lots of dancing. I can try to see if I can get some friends to tag along.”
Thus, our friendship with Elizabeth began. We knew lots of Elizabeths, and her last name started with M, and she also has a lot of friends named Elizabeth, and she just said, “Call me Em”.
After a full day of frolicking and eating and laughing, we made our way to the Carnation Plaza.
And this amazing big band was playing. They swang hard. The solos were great. The band was tight. And the writing was incredible.
I think it was Gordon Goodwin’s band. Certainly many of the players in the band ended up in Goodwin's band. Was not yet the Big PHAT Band, but the seeds were there.
We had a wonderful evening there.
At the end of the night, I introduced myself to the bari sax player, and we talked shop a little bit. At this point in my life, I was open to just about anything, and if there had been a job in the LA area, I would have moved down. This guy might have given me a line to places to play. That did not happen, but still…
And I remembered them, and when their debut album, Swingin’ for the Fences, appeared on the scene a couple of years later, I immediately bought it, and devoured it. I have since played many, many Gordon Goodwin charts.
RIP, Gordon Goodwin. You helped me get back on my feet in a difficult time, if only in a small way. Even if I did not see you live, your first album came out while I was still getting back on my feet, and I absolutely loved it.
