Thursday, October 4, 2001

I remember Reggie

Reginald H. Walley, 1914-2001

By Chet Williamson

I remember Reggie. He was my friend and teacher. He was a trailblazer who showed us that music is a continuum - life may be short but the music outlives you. Before he died last week at the age of 87, Reggie stoked the flame of his rhythmic fire right up to the end and his legacy will live forever.

His secret? Mr. Walley knew the simple art of connecting. He made a joyous sound for all to hear.

I first met Reggie in 1967 when I was 14 years old. Besides being the owner of the Kitty Kat nightclub on Main Street, he was the "house drummer" in a band that played every Sunday afternoon. The jazz and blues session attracted musicians near and far to "cut their teeth" and have big fun.

Reggie was from the old school. He always made you welcome and I instantly recognized my mentor. His music always had room for you. He made a place at his table. Inviting someone so young and impressionable to play my harmonica with him and Howie Jefferson and Barney Price - Worcester's pioneers of jazz - was an immeasurable gift. It would be 30 years later, but it was a dream come true when I finally got to play in a band with him.

In February of 1997, Holy Cross College organized a tribute to Reggie, thanking him for his contributions to the local music scene. At the time, I was a freelance reporter for Worcester Magazine and was asked to write a story about the event. In the process of interviewing Reggie, I discovered that he hadn't worked in a while. He hadn't retired; people just didn't call him. They assumed, because he was "old," that he had hung up his drumsticks. I said, "You want to play? I'll put a band together." He said, "Sure." A week later we were opening for Shirley Lewis at Gilrein's. The next day, Reggie went out and bought a new drum kit. From that day forward, we played virtually every weekend. And to quote Bobby "Blue" Bland, "We played the high-class joints and the honky-tonks."

Billed as Reggie Walley's Bluesicians, we entertained senators, mayors and neighborhood royalty. We played bar mitzvahs and block parties, weddings and colleges, nightclubs and social clubs. We opened for the Platters and the Drifters and shared stages with calypso dancers, strippers, comedians and priests.

Reggie may have been in his 80s, but he carried and set up his own drums. He was the first one at the gig and always dressed to the "nines." And the minute he hit the downbeat his smile lit up the room. He spread joy like Errol Garner playing "Misty." It washed over you like morning dew.

I remember Reggie. Every gig we played he reminded me that the music is ageless, boundless and endless. If you're not ready now, the music will wait for you. If you think that if you are not rich and famous by the time you are 25, you should put away these childish things, Reggie would lift his voice and with one note would make you think otherwise. He sang and played with such effortless mastery that it was like returning to that first day. That bright morning when your teacher assigned you to play saxophone in the school band. That moment when a splash of glee came over you when you made that first blissful sound on that instrument of joy. It was soul made manifest.

When he died, his memorial service was pure church. Brother Earl Waithe played piano and Nat Simpkins moaned low on the tenor saxophone. Rev. Yelverton spoke from the heart and his remembrance of Reggie spilled out like a solo, riffing on how he kept the beat with his music but more importantly with his friends and family. One young man sang a sky-reaching version of "Eye on The Sparrow," that made the hardest of men weep. There were testimonials by friends and family and each and every person acknowledged their love.

Because he was a decorated veteran of WWII, Reggie was given a military burial complete with flag folding, gun salute and taps. He was also an American Indian, and a chief of the Nipmuc tribe put feathers on his casket, looked to the heavens and recited a prayer in his honor. As he lived, Reggie went out in great style and somewhere in heaven he is jamming with Louie, Duke and Count, and making God smile.

by permission of the author: Chet Williamson may be reached at chetw@worcestermag.com