A bittersweet anniversary ... and an amazing treat

Fifty years ago today, likely in the late afternoon, Vince Guaraldi would have smiled in satisfaction.

He and his trio members — Seward McCain, bass; and Jim Zimmerman, drums — had just completed the third and final recording session for the 15th Peanuts TV special, It’s Arbor Day, Charlie Brown, at San Francisco’s Wally Heider Studio. They probably had dinner together: either somewhere in the city, or en route to Menlo Park, where they then took the stage for the first set of their ongoing Friday evening performances at Butterfield’s, the supper club where Guaraldi’s trio had been in residence since the spring of 1974.

 

“We played to a pretty full house the first set, and it was quite good,” McCain recalled. “The last song we played was ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ and Vince had a nice, exciting version.”

 

After the set concluded, Zimmerman followed Guaraldi into the adjacent Red Cottage Inn, where they had a regular “green room” in which to kick back between sets.

 

“Vince was feeling sick to his stomach,” Zimmerman recalled, speaking with the precision of one who has carried every little detail in his head, during all the intervening years. “He got up, maybe to go to the bathroom … and went down.”

 

And died. That quickly.

 

I cannot imagine the overwhelming grief in that moment, or during the next days, weeks and months, as his family, friends and colleagues mourned his passing. He was a force of nature who could suck all the air out of a room, who delighted in becoming the center of attention. 

 

But I certainly understand the sense of loss — of what his ensuing career could have been — from this distant remove.

 

It also hit me personally, at the time. I was in my third year at UC Davis, already many years into being an avid Guaraldi fan. I knew he performed regularly in the greater San Francisco Bay Area, but — key detail — I didn’t have a car. I figured that didn’t matter; what was the rush? Guaraldi was only 47; surely there was plenty of time.

 

But no.

 

The somber gravity of this day — 50 years later — has been assuaged, to a degree, by the folks at Lee Mendelson Film Productions. Today they’ve debuted two special items.

 

The first is a sweetly edited series of interviews with McCain, Zimmerman, drummer Lee Charlton and Lee Mendelson, sharing their memories of Vince’s passing, and his influence, and the loss to the jazz world. Be warned: It’s quite sad, in spots.

 

The second, however, will bring a smile to your face. Indeed, you just might let out a cheer.

 

I refer you to this earlier post, when I explained what brought Guaraldi, guitarist Bola Sete, bassist Tom Beeson and drummer John Rae to San Francisco’s KQED Channel 9 studios on August 21, 1964, to record a series of short music “fills” that would air at the end of each episode of the imported British series Stories of Guy de Maupassant. Sete did two solo numbers, then joined Guaraldi’s trio for a quartet reading of “Star Song.” That concluded Sete’s participation, after which Guaraldi’s trio played three songs; the session finished when Guaraldi soloed on two takes of “Treat Street.”

 

Thanks to months of negotiations, Lee Mendelson Film Productions was able to obtain permission to share one of the trio numbers.

 

This is the only known video recording of Guaraldi and his trio performing his iconic Peanuts theme, “Linus and Lucy.” And take note of the aforementioned date: August 21, 1964. Months before jazz fans would be able to hear the tune on the album Jazz Impressions of A Boy Named Charlie Brown, and well over a year before the nation at large would hear “Linus and Lucy” while watching A Charlie Brown Christmas.

So: This is both a sad day, and a happy day. Guaraldi still is very much with us, and — as I’ve been saying, during the past few years — some of us are doing our best to ensure that he’ll become an American “evergreen” composer, like George Gershwin and Cole Porter. Heck, why stop there? Assuming Schroeder doesn’t mind, let’s make Vince an American Beethoven.

Blessings to the folks at Lee Mendelson Film Productions!

Archival gold

Hang onto your hats; this one is huge.

The first tantalizing seed was planted at some point in 2009, during the research phase of my Guaraldi bio (a few years before I began crafting the actual text). One of San Francisco Chronicle music critic Ralph Gleason’s columns — on July 16, 1964 — briefly mentioned that Guaraldi and Bola Sete soon would record some short programs, known as “fills,” for National Educational Television (NET) member stations. That’s all I would know for more than a decade, despite extensive investigation.

 

In early 2011, I began what quickly became a warm and friendly email and phone correspondence with a fellow Guaraldi fan named Doug, who worked (still works) on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. His proximity to the Library of Congress — and his willingness to lend his investigative talents — proved quite helpful, on numerous occasions. In mid-June, I mentioned the NET fills, wondering whether there might be any reference to them in the Library of Congress (LoC), and/or whether any leads might point to former NET (now PBS) stations possessing additional information … or, better yet, copies of old tapes. During the next several years — to my grateful surprise, when he later detailed this effort — he exchanged more than 180 emails (!) with “various and sundry folks” while trying to confirm existence and contents. A few individuals provided encouragement and direction, although — alas — every potential lead went nowhere.

 

My Guaraldi bio was published in April 2012. The filmography (Appendix C) includes a listing for the NET fills, along with a frustrating final sentence noting that “no tapes have been found thus far.”

 

And that’s where the matter remained, for nearly a decade. I re-checked the LoC databases every year or so, to no avail.

 

Then, in early May 2020, I stumbled upon the LoC’s recently added NET Microfiche Special Collection … and the picture rapidly expanded. I learned that the Guaraldi/Sete fills had been made specifically to accompany an imported 13-episode Granada-TV anthology series titled Stories of Guy de Maupassant; I even was able to determine which episodes were attached to Guaraldi and/or Sete performances. (The full story of that discovery is detailed in this earlier blog post.)

The De Maupassant connection

On July 16, 1964, San Francisco Chronicle columnist Ralph Gleason reported that Guaraldi and Bola Sete were scheduled to record some short programs — known as “fills” — for National Educational Television (NET) member stations; San Francisco’s KQED Channel 9 was one such station. (NET existed from 1952 to October 4, 1970, at which point it was replaced by the PBS network we know today.)

Guy de Maupassant

As with PBS, NET programming aired without the advertising spots found on commercial networks such as ABC, CBS and NBC. The aforementioned short spots therefore were used when a series — often imported from the UK — ran only 54 minutes or so, which required the NET network to “fill” the remaining time with a short subject of some sort.

Guaraldi, Sete, Tom Beeson (bass) and John Rae (drums) recorded their fills during a single session at KQED's studio on August 21. Sete did two of them solo, then joined the Guaraldi Trio for "Star Song." Sete then departed, and the Guaraldi Trio performed two takes of "Linus and Lucy," followed by two compositions never recorded on an album: "Twilight of Youth" and "Water Street." Finally, Guaraldi did two takes of "Treat Street" as solos.

On January 27, 1965, Gleason reported that “a series of solo ‘fills’ of five and six minutes, which Guaraldi did for Educational TV, now is being shown on KQED before dramas.” 

Despite the fact that numerous copies of these fills must’ve circulated among the country’s many NET stations, none has surfaced. (I can’t help feeling that tapes are Out There somewhere, in some station’s storage room, or some retired line producer’s attic.) These fills therefore remain high on the list of Guaraldi’s most-wanted video appearances.

Indeed, until just a few weeks ago, I hadn’t even figured out how many existed, and how they were used. That said, I’d seen tantalizing clues over the years, although their significance was difficult to judge. Scattered among the results of generic Internet searches on “Vince Guaraldi,” I’d see occasional newspaper TV listings at odd hours of the evening, which read something like this:

Channel 7, 10:55, “Vince Guaraldi: Twilight of Youth.”

(Since I didn’t learn that “Twilight of Youth” was an unrecorded Guaraldi composition until several years after my biography was published, I didn’t immediately suspect it might be one of the aforementioned fills; it sounded more like a short interview segment.)