Remembering the Remarkable Henry Blackburn

It’s part of the human experience to encounter people who have major impact on your life. For most of us, it’s our parents. And for the fortunate among us, it’s close friends and mentors. Henry Blackburn was both the latter to me.

In 1988 my very good friend Bill Barnes (of Bix Beiderbecke Memorial JB) got a call from a fellow coming in to Orlando and needed a group with a “Dixieland instrumentation” sans clarinet.

This soft spoken, horn rimmed glasses wearing fellow was attending an American Heart Association conference. His name was Dr. Henry Blackburn. And besides being the dean of cardiovascular epidemiologists, he was a fine Creole-inspired clarinetist and a Bechet-inspired soprano saxophonist.

When Billy found out Henry’s involvement with Preservation Hall, he said, “Dutch is the one you should really make connection with.” This because of my love of the New Orleans dance hall tradition. And connect we did.

Henry became more than a friend and musical collaborator. He became a dad, uncle, older brother all rolled into one.

Henry’s life experiences were amazing, so much so that he wrote two beefy tomes on them. The longer we hung out the more stories unfolded.

You’ve heard of the Mediterranean diet? Henry played a major role in its discovery and documentation.

You know Preservation Hall? Henry was responsible for the first bands (George Lewis, and later, Sweet Emma) going on tour. He helped hang the instrument case signs at the early days of the hall.

Aside from a distinguished academic medical career, here was a gent who had attended a Jimmy Lunceford dance, hung out with Muggsy Spanier and Lee Collins, and spent his residency in New Orleans in the 1940s. (see earlier issues of The Syncopated Times).

It was old home week when my friend and drummer David “Panama” Francis (Cab Calloway, Lucky Millinder, Savoy Sultans) joined us on the bandstand. Both were born in 1925 in Miami and had memories of old Florida.

As his father was an itinerant Methodist preacher in Florida, Henry lived in Miami, Tampa, Bradenton, Lakeland, Ocala, and Gainesville.

In 1939, at age 14 he had a summer job at Florida’s Silver Springs tending the rubber alligators used in a Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan film. It was, he confided to me, “a great way to meet girls.”

At age 18 Henry played in a big band with quite a view. Here is how he tells it “Played second tenor saxophone with our U.S. Navy Swing Band at a huge Biltmore Hotel Veterans Benefit Gala in 1944, with the sax section 12 inches posterior to Sally Rand’s posterior (whose age at the time was about 45, based on a reasonable guess of her age at her more famous performance in the Chicago 1933 World’s Fair). I will attest that she rarely used the feathers to protect her posterior, and that she, in fact, danced totally nude and had reason to be pleased with herself…”

Henry remained musically active after the war. In later years he discovered 14 year old Butch Thompson and introduced him to Minneapolis’ Hall Brothers Jazz Band. Readers here will know ( or at least should know) what a tremendous talent Butch was.

Henry’s latest protege is Minneapolis band leader/ clarinetist/ impresario Tony Balluff. The two collaborated on multiple CDs.

Henry introduced me to French musos Marc Laferrière and Renaud Perrais, the latter resulting in several wonderful tours.

I was pleased to have Henry in two recording sessions. I likened his alto to a polite Captain John Handy mixed with dashes of Johnny Hodges.

There are so many stories I would like to include here but words and anecdotes are simply not enough.

Henry and his loving wife Stacy Richardson were always so welcoming, and drew people into their circle and into their extended family. This good man truly exemplified the “life well lived.” RIP friend.