Dear All:
The pieces about Stuyvesant Casino
and Central Plaza were so nostalgic.
They took me back to my almost two
years in harness as a photographer
at both places. I don't know how I
actually got started, but as an
almost penniless guy with a Speed
Graphic camera, a love of jazz and
the people who played it, I worked
ringside from 1948-50 through the
courtesies of both Bob Maltz (at the
Casino) and Jack Crystal (Plaza).
I know I got started at the former
place and remember that Bob's mother
was the gatekeeper, not one for
extending free passes but, shall we
say, a good steward of the money.
Bob, a true visionary, saw in me a
bit of a sideshow, claiming that he
liked the idea of an apparent press
photographer working the room, and
photographing virtually every
musician in sight, even unto tubaist
Cyrus St. Clair and pianists Norman
Lester and Elmer Schoebel, names
indeed with which to conjure! Of
course, one couldn't overlook Lips
Page, Wild Bill [Davison] and even
the young Bob Wilber.
The weekly postcard (which I feel we
all saved) posted a galaxy of names
we could only otherwise dream of
ever seeing in person. The Maltz
payroll was probably next to
starvation, and I doubt that the
Central Plaza musicians fared much
better. I was at least getting in
free.
In the summer of 1950 I got married,
and introduced my diminutive bride
to Crystal's Palace, likewise a
walk-up catering hall a block or so
up the street and across Second
Avenue. Here the house band might
include The Lion, Pee Wee [Russell],
Red Allen, or Higgy [J.C.
Higgenbotham], with Big Sid
[Catlett] generally taking charge
along the back wall.
I began to shoot photos at both
establishments, and Jack Crystal's
welcome was as sincere as Bob
Maltz's had been. In order to pay
for my film and flashbulbs, I began
to offer 8 x l0s of the previous
week's shooting for the blushingly
low price of 35 cents, or three for
a dollar. Patrons could then have
their heroes autograph the glossies
on the spot. My wife Betty, all five
feet of her, would man a table at
The Plaza and I would be working the
Stuyvesant Casino, shooting and
selling a few prints as possible.
One unforgettable moment remains: I
was still covering things at my gig
when closing time came at the
Central Plaza, and Betty packed up,
preparing to cross Second Avenue and
join me. It was well after 1 AM and
as she hit the sidewalk, a giant
figure loomed up beside her and
said, "Where you going, Mrs. Schiedt
?" Looking up, she recognized the
six-foot-four frame of Sid Catlett,
and relaxed. "I'm going over to join
my husband," she said. He shook his
head. "Now you don't want to be
doing that this time of night. It's
not safe. Let me walk you over
there."
And he did. That is why I cannot
forget Big Sid, one of the great
gentlemen.
Duncan Schiedt