Jazz music roosted itself at Dartmouth around 1915 and blossomed in the 1920s. It was fun to listen to and even more fun to dance to with the Girl of My Dreams or some Betty Co-Ed. The tunes and the lyrics were part of many students’ education – first through the traditional medium of sheet music, then on phonographic records, and by the late 1920s through sponsored musical programs on radio. Finally, this popular music was entertaining all America via the new talking pictures from Hollywood. It was the Jazz Age.

Here’s how it was in 1928 in Hanover. Students returning to college in September of that prosperous year were proudly aware of the new Baker Library and its tuneful clock-tower chimes. Also, the sound of band practice floating up from the gym area foretold the football season. An occasional snatch of recorded music issued from someone’s dry-battery dorm radio, but most of the jazz came from the latest 78-rpm black-wax record on a student’s wind-up Orthophonic portable or a fraternity’s all-electric Brunswick Panatrope console.

Who in Hanover were the hard-core buffs of this dance music? A few dozen student musicians, plus a handful of others with jazz in their genes. Ed Lilley ’28 commented recently about such folk: Musicians are a special breed, bound by a talent hard for others to understand. Some are so indelicate as to infer that we are a little kooky. Could be. But we make music to make people happy. Russ Goudey ’29, reed man and leader of the Barbary Coast for 1928 and 1929, wrote: “We felt we were carrying on a tradition at the time, with great pride in our activity and the prestige which accompanied our considerable success and acceptance. We dedicated our performances as background for social dancing. We provided excitement.

A publicity blurb in Goudey’s scrapbook described the Barbary Coast as a Favorite child of the Goddess Syncopation. Contagious rhythm. Entertaining. Eleven instruments full of wild, harmonious, mad, exuberant music. With the help of this band we will all make whoopee in the dance immediately following the Musical Clubs concert.

Some of the Instrumental Club members of that time still think the jazz musicians were unduly high-hat and two full of their own importance. It makes one wonder if a football hero ever was envious of a jazz man.

Paul Freeman ’30, banjo regular with the Barbary Coast for three years, remembered that as a freshman he had especially admired Ed Lilley, who played tenor sax with the Green Serenaders under the leadership of Ed Plumb. (Both men also were sometime Barbary Coasters.) Freeman wrote:  My most vivid memory of Lilley is as a comedian on a Musical Clubs trip. In a parody of a radio program, he announced, speaking through his saxophone: ‘We will now present another episode of that great drama of the Golden West entitled Hoof Hearted.’ A few guffaws of appreciation always greeted this flatulent gag. Freeman remembered other outstanding student musicians:
 

   Rollie Howes ’28, banjo, had an excellent ear, a completely flexible and controllable wrist, and rhythmic ingenuity equaled at the time only by the jazz professional Carl Kress. The last time I heard Rollie was in a graduation-time concert in Webster Hall. He took a chorus on “Tiger Rag” and the audience burst into spontaneous applause.
   Then there was Johnny Hahn ’30. He was tall, quite handsome, a strictly wild character who played vigorous hot trumpet with the Coast (plus other instruments) and led and managed them my senior year.
   I must also mention that brilliant young scholar Franklyn Marks ’32, youngest in his class and the only member to get straight A’s his first semester. Later, he was Phi Bete and Senior Fellow. Frank was a talented jazz pianist.
   Another all-around good fellow and friend was Neal R. Dowe ’28, better known as Nibs. He was all of five feet tall, but right away you noticed his jolly face. He was a constant source of humor and entertainment, played piano with the Coast prior to Marks, and piano in the Nugget during the year or so before movies spoke up. He couldn’t play jazz, classical or swing but was great on all popular music.
   My roommate was the Coast drummer Jeff Jeffrey ’30. Both he and I disliked the trend toward stock arrangements. It meant dragging music stands to a job.

Paul Weston '33 noted: "I thought the Barbary Coast was pretty keen, particularly since I wasn't good enough to play in it." Weston led the Green Serenaders, a student band whose members often interchanged with the Barbary Coast. Weston, of course, was plenty good enough to be piano man for the Barbary Coast, but that chair was already filled by Frank Marks. Bill Scherman ’34 noted that Weston studied harmony at Dartmouth under professors Whitford and Longhurst, won his Phi Beta Kappa key in junior year, got into professional piano playing and band arrangements in New York, and helped build such bands as those of Joe Haymes, Phil Harris, Rudy Vallee, Tommy Dorsey – and, according to Scherman, “from there to Hollywood, TV, and glory.

The Green Serenaders date from around 1922 and were organized by Joe Egolf ’25, piano. Early regulars were Ken Christophe ’24, violin, and Stu Edgerly ’25, sax. Wat Dickerman ’28, drums, reported that the 1928 band included Jack Brabb ’29, trumpet, Don Childs ’29, banjo, and Bruce Benson ’29, piano. Frank Hodson ’31, sax, singled out Benson “as an excellent piano player – with hands like hams – with which he banged out a mean bass.” Hodson noted that Jack Brabb was a good trumpet man who played with the Green Serenaders, and occasionally with the Coast. The switch-around was true of Hodson, too, though his main responsibility in his senior year was as leader of the Barbary Coast. He spelled out the interrelationship in a recent letter:  

There were almost two Barbary Coasts. We booked our own dance jobs, set our own pay scales, and were free agents. The other set-up was when we played for and went on the Musical Clubs trips. All the Coast members were in the Instrumental Club and played in the concert with the Glee Club. After the concert, the Coast played for dancing, and were played $2 per hour per man. [The jobs the Coast booked themselves netted rather high compensation.] We used a few stock arrangements. Most scores were worked out on a one-chorus arrangement for harmony, and there was a great deal of ad lib. 

Records continued to be the useful link between limited campus listening to the live sound and what the record industry sloganized as “the music you want to hear when you want to hear it.” New records on the Victor label arrived at Allen’s Drug Store at a rate of six per week. Ads in The Dartmouth invited students to “gather ‘round the Orthophonic awith the gand and listen to George Olsen play his latest.” That would be, perhaps, “Doin’ the Raccoon” or “Walking With Suzie,” both of which had sprightly melodies and memorable lyrics. (These same issues of the newspaper advertised an offer by local tailor Pat Kelly to make a free suit or overcoat for the man who scored the first touchdown against Yale. But the jinx prevailed. Dartmouth lost, 18-0.)

Bud’s Smoke Shop, across Main Street, featured Columbia and Brunswick records and Dartmouth Cigarettes in a stylish green and white package.

Collectors of these vintage records take such tender care of their treasures nowadays that it is painful to recall how casual one was at the time such discs were bought. We just spun them until they broke. Columbia records were laminated and lasted longer than the brittle Victors and Brunswicks, but all of them were nearly as transitory as the hot cheese kistwich sold at Allen’s or the gooey strawberry jigger invented at Saia’s. The only sanctuary for records was the back storage bin of a fraternity house console, harboring old echoes like Whiteman’s 1925 “Charleston,” the California Ramblers’ “Sweet Georgia Brown,” Abe Lyman’s “12th Street Rag,” Waring’s “Collegiate,” Ted Lewis’ “Some of these Days” with Sophie Tucker belting out the vocal. There might even be a now rare and valuable jazz treasure like Fletcher Henderson’s 1925 “Sugar Foot Stomp,” with Louis Armstrong playing three red-hot trumpet choruses that still churn the blood.

In 1928, fans bought the latest Duke Ellington, Johnny Hamp or Jacques Renard, Paul Ash, Rudy Vallee or Jan Garber, or any of dozens of other name bands. The best male vocalist was Gene Austin or Cliff Edwards. Nearly everyone bought Ruth Etting or Paul Whiteman hits from the musical Whoopee!

The top songs were “Makin’ Whoopee” (sung by Eddie Cantor), “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” “Love Me or Leave Me” (a Ruth Etting top seller), and “I’m bringing a Red Red Rose.” When Bill Scherman played banjo in the Commons Orchestra his freshman year, the first number they put together was “My Baby Just Cares for Me.” They played it, rested, then played it again. For about three weeks. He said: “The rolls flying up the balcony stirred us to new heights and after a while we got some additional arrangements.”

Jazz was to be heard on radio, especially late in the evening. Temp Nieter ’31 remembered that any dorm radio receiver had to be dry-battery powered because the College electrical service was 220-volt direct current. He said: “Applicances like toasters and percolators were proscribed. If found by campus policeman Spud Bray, they were confiscated. My record amplifier was a very early pick-up, which used the sacred 220-volt direct current for plate power and a six-volt storage battery for filaments. Spud never caught on.”

Carnival in 1929, featuring a show called Double Trouble by Charles Gaynor ’29, was a major event in the realm of song and dance. The month of March that year was enlivened by the first of a new series of Victor “race” records (as they were called). These 150 or so hot dance records by black bands were choice additions to a jazz library. Among the best of the sides were 6 Henry Allens, 3 Henry Dodds, 16 Duke Ellingtons, 3 Paul Howards, 12 McKinneys, 14 Jelly-Roll Mortons, 12 marvelous Bennie Motens, 10 King Olivers, 9 Tiny Parhams (one of the hottest of all bands), 5 Victoria Spiveys, 8 Fats Wallers, 3 Clarence Williams, 8 Fess Williams, and a sprinkling of white bands that sounded hot enough to rate inclusion. Three thousand dollars would hardly buy a complete run of this series today.

March in Hanover also brought what later was known as “schlump.” It was the duckboards-across-campus season of melting snow. Weather advisories said “mud has rendered the roads in Vermont almost impassable.” Jazz was a welcome alternative for the marooned student.

As promised, the Nugget introduced talkies at Dartmouth in August of 1929. It was an RCA system called Photophone. Admission was increased from two bits to 35 cents. The patrons also got a comedy short (mostly with sound) and a newsreel or sports short with screen-captions. Many excellent musicals were advertised in The Dartmouth, including Street Girl with Betty Compton, Jack Oakie, and Ned Sparks. Matinees at 2:00 and 3:45. Students’ show at 6:45 and townspeople’s at 8:30. The wisecracks from the audience at the 6:45 show were often worth the full price of admission.

Who were some other Dartmouth jazz musicians of that period? Duke Sarles ’30 held down the trumpet chair in the official jazz band for the 1929 Musical Clubs tour. Heinie Stewart (or Johnny Sanders) were Class of ’30 trombonists. Dick Olmstead ’32 followed Stewart for two years. Chuck Peacock ’30 was a short-term but well-remembered banjoist. The Class of ’31 contributed a one-of-a-kind, Roger Burrill, whose adventures in music were original and memorable:

Joe Linz ’31 and I began writing songs together when we were sophomores [Burrill wrote recently]. It was his idea. We spent a good deal of time together over the beat-up grand piano that used to be in the lobby of Commons – and evening hours in “Z” Webster creating and composing. Finally, we developed enough of a book and a sufficient number of songs so that the Music Department (Professor Maurice Longhhurst, that is) decided it was possible to produce another Carnival Show. So along came Exit Smiling, which opened February 7, 1930. 

It was a potpourri of efforts by Joe and me, Paul Freeman and Frank Marks, writers Tom Donovan ’30 and Milt Lieberthal ’32. Plus several songs by graduate Charles Gaynor ’29. The best song from Linz and Burrill was “Deep Sea Lowdown.” Joe Linz’ father had interests in a Dallas hotel which had engaged Bernie Cummins and his orchestra [a big band that had scored at least one hit on Victor: “Little By Little”]. Bernie thought he could place the song if we cut him in for one-third. It was published, arranged, and recorded. I was convinced I had a brilliant career ahead of me in song writing. Victor released it on Victor 24053, on the “B” side of a Ted Weems “Play that Hot Guitar.” I sat and waited for my first royalty check. It finally came: $6.59. At this point I realized that I was going to have to go out and find some kind of job.

Some three months before Exit Smiling came the Depression, in October 1929. Although the Dartmouth for October 25th carried the banner headline "GREEN AND CRIMSON AWAIT ANNUAL GAME AS STUDENT BODY DESCENDS UPON CAMBRIDGE" - and a second lead story noted "Possibilities Arise of Gridiron Contest with Notre Dame" - the third front-page news item was that "Stocks Take Downward Plunge During Frantic Day of Selling."

The rest of 1929-30 at Dartmouth was a musical hodgepodge. Yes, it was a big movie year. The Broadway Melody was full of hit songs, including “You Were Meant For Me.” Big bang programs were crowding the evening hours on radio. Record buyers had a choice of “When You’re Smiling” by gravel-voiced Louis Armstrong, “Am I Blue” by Ethel Waters, or “Moanin’ Low,” which Libby Holman sang in a new style as the first great torch song. Nick Lucas rode lightly through “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” (faithfully copied a generation or two later by Tiny Tim). Fats Waller talked to his piano with “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” Rudy Vallee hypnotized the girls with “I’m Just a Vagabond Lover.” Hoagy Carmichael’s immortal “Stardust” got its third and best recording (even without a vocal) by Irving Mills and his Hotsy Totsy Gang, with Miff Mole, Jimmy Dorsey, Pee Wee Russell, and Hoagy himself on piano.

The Barbary Coast was much in evidence at party time. They starred at the Statler during the Harvard-Dartmouth game weekend, although until the last minute the band was touted as a prime attraction at the rival ball at the Copley Plaza. At fall House Parties the Coast held forth at Tri Kap. They were then signed for the first Green key prom in March. Over the Christmas holiday they were picked from a large group of Eastern college orchestra candidates for the nine-day West Indies cruise of the Cunard liner S.S. Carmania. The band included Johnny Hahn '30, leader, Jeff Jeffrey, George Sarles, Paul Freeman, Frank Hodson, Frank Marks, and Gene Hammett ’33, a talented freshman sax player who later led the band. For the Carnival Ball, the Barbary Coast held forth in the Trophy Room at the gymnasium while Paul Specht and his orchestra played in the cavernous gym upstairs.

Side One Out of Nowhere Walkin' Medley You Took Advantage of Me Don't Get Around Much Anymore Side Two Basically Blues, Take 1 Our Love is Here to Stay Imagination The Way You Look Tonight Angel Eyes Basically Blues, Take 2

Recorded "under the somewhat strained surroundings of a fraternity living room," Hanover Dance Party, lives up to its billing as a danceable collection of dance tunes!

The 'Coast Lineup for Hanover Dance Party:

Saxes: Harry Washburn, Jim Watson, Steve Willard, Rick Shute, Dick Reynolds
Trombones: Sam Swansen, Ted Cantril, Bill Davies
Trumpets: Dick Petrie, Al Houser, Chris Swansen, Tiger Olds
Bass: Mike Bromer
Drums: Jack Lindsay
Piano: Mike Melvoin

Cover by Dick Reynolds
Produced by Harold Washburn