Music Ruled My Life

MANY know me best by my nickname, “Trummy.” For years I played the trombone with Louis Armstrong, as well as with many big-name orchestras. My different technique with the trombone helped put such songs as “Ain’t She Sweet?” and “Margie” on the best-seller record lists.

During the late 1930’s and the early 1940’s I also composed many of the hit songs. Perhaps two of the better-known ones were “T’Ain’t What Cha Do, It’s the Way That Cha Do It” and “What Cha Know, Joe?” Also, I wrote the song “Travellin’ Light” for Billie Holiday. She recorded it with Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra, and it sold into the millions.

While working with Jimmy Lunceford’s Orchestra in the late ’30’s, I appeared in several movies. My first was “Blues in the Night.” Later, with Louis Armstrong, I worked in such movies as “The Glen Miller Story,” “Five Pennies” and “High Society.”

Music was bringing me fame and riches, but at a higher price than I cared to admit. However, before I get into that, perhaps a little about my background may explain, not only how music came to influence me so deeply, but why I almost allowed it to ruin my life.

From the Deep South

I was born in Savannah, Georgia, in 1912, the only son among three children born to a hardworking railroad worker, Osborne Young and his wife, Annie Evangeline. In those days Savannah was a very superstitious city, with many objectionable things going on.

One of those lamentable things was the Ku Klux Klan. They paraded constantly in the Negro districts, trying to frighten blacks into ‘knowing and keeping their proper place.’ I can still remember the fright that I felt as those men came riding down the streets, hiding behind their white robes and white hoods. They made their point well​—we children would run and hide in fear.

Music was very much a part of life. In our area of town there was a “Holy Roller” church. It caused a lot of commotion, but, at the same time, provided plenty of rhythm!

There were also many musicians around, mostly blues singers. We youngsters were greatly influenced by the Jenkins Orphan Band that visited from Charleston, South Carolina. We would move in and march along behind it all over the city.

Among the shows that came to town was that of a Dr. Rabbitfoot. He would sell little bottles​—supposedly of medicine—​for $1, a lot of money in those days. He would just pitch a tent on the corner of a street and begin his show. He had a little band, some comediennes and dancing girls.

Music quickly came to have major influence on me, due to these various visitors and the environment there in Savannah.

Schooling and the Beginning of a Career

My father died when I was twelve. Two years later, mother sent me to a Catholic military school in Rockcastle, Virginia. Although mother wasn’t a Catholic, she sent me there because I could earn my way through school by working.

I was a bricklayer and plasterer one week, and went to classes the next. I hadn’t particularly thought about a musical career when entering school, although I loved music. But when I saw the band sitting in the shade enjoying themselves playing while I was out in the hot sun drilling with a rifle on my shoulder, that convinced me! Soon I became deeply involved with music, and most of my time was spent in the band room practicing.

My mother never had enough money to bring me home to Savannah for the summer months. So I stayed at school and worked on the farm. On leaving, after four years in this Catholic school, I swore I’d never look at a church again. I had knelt so much that I was getting carbuncles on my knees. We never learned anything about the Bible, and the Latin confused me.

Leaving school in 1930, I headed for Washington, D.C. All I knew about the place was that a former classmate lived there. I made my professional debut there as a teen-age trombonist with Booker Coleman’s Hot Chocolates Orchestra. It was Coleman who gave me my nickname, Trummy. He had difficulty remembering the names of those in the orchestra, so he called everyone by the name of the instrument that each played.

We traveled around several eastern states filling engagements. During the summer of 1931 we played for “Father Divine” in Asbury Park, New Jersey. He was holding his meetings in a dance hall there. We would start the meeting with one of those happy hymns to get the people fired up, and such singing, clapping and stomping of feet you’ve never heard! Then “Divine” would come on with his usual speech​—“The Lord Loves a Cheerful Giver”—​and he’d collect buckets of money. And this, mind you, during the Great Depression! He’d pay us two dollars a night, a lot of money to us.

In 1933 I went to Chicago with Earl Hines’ Orchestra, the first orchestra of repute that I played with. We worked at the Grand Terrace on the South Side. This club was run by underworld elements, as I learned later that so many of them were. Some nights the place would be full of gangsters, and I was so scared that I could hardly play. It was during prohibition, and the cashier in the kitchen would sell us players in the band cheap liquor for $3 a pint. This would give us enough courage to play. We worked from nine at night to four in the morning for $40 a week, not bad pay at the time.

The work was plentiful, so I stayed on in Chicago. Then in 1936 I left and went to New York, joining Jimmy Lunceford’s Orchestra.

Success, and an Unusual Woman

It was with Lunceford that I enjoyed the sweet smell of success and fame. Also, right after joining his orchestra I was exposed to another influence. It came as a result of my contact with a most unusual woman.

I first met Ida Fitzpatrick backstage. She had an unbelievable knack for getting to places backstage, where even we performers couldn’t go. She specialized in visiting musicians and entertainers, talking to them about things in the Bible. She certainly knew that Book! And believe me, we musicians and entertainers needed the message that she had, as we were as footloose as anyone could possibly be.

One day when I was supposed to study the Bible with Ida, I recall that I told my roommate, “When Mrs. Fitzpatrick comes by, please tell her I had to go to rehearsal.” Well, imagine my surprise and chagrin when I left the building an hour later and Mrs. Fitzpatrick was standing downstairs. She asked: “Mr. Young, how was the rehearsal?” She certainly was persistent, but in a nice way.

After starting to study with her I never felt quite satisfied with myself. This was because I knew many things that we were doing as musicians were wrong. Let me explain.

We played a lot of “one-nighters” in those days. We’d get very tired, because there was a clause in most contracts that a group couldn’t play within a 300-to-400-mile (500-to-600-kilometer) radius of the city that it had just left. This protected the booker. He’d thus make musicians play a long way from their last engagement, thereby protecting his territory. We’d make the long jumps by bus, and we just stayed tired all the time. So, to keep awake, we took Benzedrine, and to relax, we drank alcohol. Most of us were caught up on this merry-go-round and couldn’t get off.

I worked in and out of New York for many years, studying the Bible off and on with Mrs. Fitzpatrick. But being on the road so much, I never had a chance to study very long at a time. In the meantime, I was achieving national prominence, and more of my time was spent maintaining my position in the entertainment world.

Modern Jazz and Movies

It was on 52nd Street in New York city where New Jazz, called bebop or modern jazz, really came to the fore in the early 1940’s. The top jazz musicians of the era played at the small clubs along that street near 6th Avenue (now Avenue of the Americas). I played in a club there with Billie Holiday, now long deceased. But she is a legend in the entertainment field, a woman who had remarkable talent. A popular movie was recently produced about her, called “The Lady Sings the Blues.”

Movie stars, producers and writers frequented those clubs because of the great artists performing there. But so did pimps, prostitutes and dope peddlers. Billie Holiday was a big user of narcotics, so “pushers” hung around where I worked. When a person sees so much of this type of life, it begins to seem all right. Then he’s in trouble, because he starts doing these things himself.

Billie, it seemed to me, was a victim of circumstances. She was exploited, not only by the unsavory men in her private life, but by bad management. When she recorded the song “Travellin’ Light” that I wrote, which sold in the millions, all that each of us got was $75. We didn’t understand the laws on royalties, and so we were exploited.

Working in movies also began to take its toll on me. We would start as early as possible so as to get as much sunlight as the day would furnish. Then we’d work late at night shooting the night scenes. To look alive for the cameras I took Benzedrine. Then came television, and the filming of shows for it. Rehearsals were long and grueling. No wonder I wound up with high blood pressure.

A Family, and Louis Armstrong

Finally I decided to go to Hawaii, where, in 1947, I met Sally. We were married later that year, and a daughter was born to us in 1948. My wife was studying the Bible and, although my working schedule didn’t permit me to be as diligent as she was in learning, I attended meetings at the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses with her. Then, in 1952, I left Hawaii to accept an offer from Louis Armstrong, and was to spend the next twelve years with him.

My family tried traveling with me, but it wasn’t the kind of life for them​—the marijuana smoke, the foul language and the late hours. I would rent a suite of rooms, send my wife and daughter out shopping, then I would lock myself in and practice on my horn for five or six hours. I was putting my whole life into an instrument; it and the money it brought had become my god.

Eventually I settled my wife and daughter in Los Angeles, where we bought a home. But, really, I was gone most of the time, sometimes spending six or seven months at a stretch in Africa and other places. We did many movies in Europe. I thought that, since I was sending a lot of money home, this was all right. Yet my family wasn’t interested in all these material things; they wanted me home. But I couldn’t see this. My little girl was growing up hardly knowing her father.

Since this business is highly competitive, I practiced my horn constantly to stay on top, often all day long. I was becoming more and more unhappy because I never seemed to have time to do anything but practice, travel, play and send money home. Armstrong was a good man to work for, and perhaps that’s why it was more difficult to see the things that I later forcefully had brought to my attention.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick studied with Louis when she could contact him. This was hard to do, but occasionally we would play a theater in New York and she would study with Louis, and me too, between shows. While I was playing Las Vegas in the late 1950’s, my wife visited me, and imagine my surprise when I learned that she and Mrs. Fitzpatrick had gone out in the witnessing activity together! Later Ida asked me: “Mr. Young, what are you waiting for? With the knowledge you have of Bible truths, it’s dangerous not to act on what you know.”

Every time I came back to Los Angeles, I would resume my Bible studies and go to the meetings with my family. My wife had by now become a baptized Witness, and my daughter was studying also. I was impressed by the Witnesses’ kindness to Sally and our daughter Andrea, their always coming around to see that everything was all right, knowing that I was on the road.

Breaking Free

Then, early in 1964, something happened that shook me. My wife called long distance and said that she was ill. Previously, when I had wanted to quit, I would be offered more money. This time was no exception. But now nothing was going to keep me from my loved ones.

I prayed to Jehovah God, and I know that it was he who gave me the strength to break away. This didn’t set well with the orchestra backers. In fact, they were very angry. Money had always “talked” with me before. But no longer! Mrs. Fitzpatrick had been so right. What had I been waiting for? I had failed to value the Bible proverb: “The getting of wisdom is O how much better than gold! And the getting of understanding is to be chosen more than silver.”​—Prov. 16:16.

I quickly returned to Los Angeles, where I began studying the Bible again with earnestness. At last my eyes really opened to the foolish things that I had been doing, making my horn and money my god! To see now how I had been failing my family was shattering. After much soul searching, I was baptized as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses a few months later.

Sally continued getting sicker and, after many tests, it was discovered that she had cancer. It was a terrible blow! We were planning to go back to Hawaii, but the doctor insisted that she go right into the hospital and start cobalt treatments. By August 1964 she had finished her series of treatments. When she got out of the hospital, I would take her back for checkups.

I can honestly say that this was the most trying time in my life. It made me see how futile the quest for fame and riches is when compared with the truly important things in life. When Sally got sick, to whom did I go? To Jehovah God in prayer. How glad I am that I have come to appreciate that a close relationship with him is more valuable than all material things!

Later, I took my family back to Hawaii. My wife recovered, and she is still well today.

Happier than Ever Before

For years now I have had my own small orchestra, performing at one of the largest hotels in Honolulu. But music is now kept secondary to spiritual interests. Several members of my orchestra accepted my offer of a Bible study, and one is now a Witness. Our daughter is also happily married to a Witness. My wife and I regularly attend congregation meetings with our fellow Christians, and we share in the public witnessing work, telling others about the grand blessings God’s kingdom will soon bring to humankind.

I seldom leave Honolulu in connection with my music, even though I’ve had numerous offers. I did accept a request from Smithsonian Institution, the Division of Performing Arts; and this past September they made a six-hour taped interview of my life and career.

When I look back on my tours with Louis Armstrong, one experience now stands out as a highlight. It was when we were in Japan in 1961. Although I was not then a Witness, I spoke to a group of young musicians about the Christian activity of the Witnesses. What I said fell on responsive hearts and, I later learned, several of those young men became Witnesses.

I often talk to young aspiring musicians, and I urge them: “Count the costs.” If a person lets music rule his life, as I once did, it can ruin him. It’s only by getting our values straight that we can receive real happiness. How grateful I am that I finally was able to do this!​—Contributed.

[Blurb on page 12]

Louis Armstrong and I played together for twelve years