Watching Over Basie

A moment from the Count Basie Memoir Project

A hotel on the road with Basie.

Through a connecting door, I could hear him breathing while he slept. It wasn’t a performance night, but travel days wore him out in their own way. I was glad he had been able to get to bed early.

The room was quiet. Then I noticed something different in his breathing.

There was a shudder in the pattern.

I went into his room, turned on the nightstand lamp, and picked up the telephone. I pressed zero.

When the operator answered, I asked for a long-distance call to Freeport.

“Freeport, Long Island?”

“Yes.”

In that moment, I was no longer simply traveling with Count Basie. I was watching over someone whose presence had been woven into my life for as long as I could remember.

There is a particular kind of intimacy that comes with being trusted to care for someone who has spent a lifetime caring for others. It changes the relationship, sometimes so gradually that you don’t recognize the change until a moment makes it impossible to ignore.

This is one of the stories I am beginning to share through the Count Basie Memoir Project—a personal account of the life I experienced with Count and Catherine Basie, told from the perspective of someone who knew them beyond the public spotlight.

The music made Count Basie famous. The life behind the music is another story.

And this is where I begin.

Introduction

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My Basie Memoir Project

There are some stories you remember.

And then there are stories that have been waiting for you to understand what they meant.

I grew up in the world of Count and Catherine Basie.

To me, Count Basie was not simply the legendary bandleader whose name was known around the world. He was part of the landscape of my childhood—a man I knew, watched, traveled with, and eventually, in a very different season of life, helped care for.

The story begins around 1947, when my mother’s connection to the Basie family began with an audition. Years later, that connection would become part of my own life and shape my understanding of family, trust, music, responsibility, and what it means to belong to someone else’s extraordinary world.

I am writing that story now.

The Basie Memoir Project is a work in progress—a memoir drawn from my life with Count and Catherine Basie, the experiences that shaped me, and the relationships that have stayed with me across the years.

Here, I will share selected memories, scenes, and reflections as the work develops. Each offers a glimpse into a larger story: one about childhood, family, trust, and the extraordinary things that can become part of an ordinary life.

What follows is not the whole story.

It is an invitation into it.

— Craig Matthews

The Basie Memoir Project is a memoir in progress.

AIR MUSED

So Womanly

Divine Feminine

Such beauty

Every detail a luscious revelation

Each incendiary

Igniting neurochemistry

Spontaneous fireworks

Fueling fantastic imaginings

One after another after another

Longing

Pulse quickening

Desire gains altitude

Eyes inhaling every sumptuous contour

Pausing waist high

Envying the seatbelt adorning her lovely lap 

And that exquisite leather strap

Crossing sheer paradise.

Its privilege.

                                                                                                                                                       CKM1 260626

BasieLand: Keepin’ Count

The morning after 11/11/22

Grief ground the pieces of my breaking heart to dust

Crushed so fine, particles that could be windblown blanketed the altar of my soul

Gentler even than my the silence of each falling tear, came whispers to my spirit

Glimpsing a vision of Ma, Dad, and Rocky together again, their love and memories of it filled the air

Each breath a gift, a balm given to soothe, just as being with each of them and dearly loved by them always was~

Sow/Be

 

Still

Counting blessings

 

Hopes I’d hoped

Manifesting fruit

 

Promises blossoming forth

Life RENEWING LIFE

Grateful for seeds of love

The Whisperer bid me

“Sow/Be light in the deepest depths of this dreadful darkness”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms. Mango

Your firmness

a sweet fullness in my mouth

the hues

shine

and feel of your skin

amaze

Holding you close

Breathing you

my head swims

Your wet deliciousness

fills my throat

oozing past my lips

dripping down my fingers

My, my, my Ms. Mango

I love the delectable mess I make of us both enjoying you ~

AMN ;-)

(A Moment’s Notice)

Occurring suddenly, they are borne of many things

Never accidental, they can appear coincidental

At first

Then their resonance manifests

reaching the deeper consciousness

awakening it to see

Memories feelings thoughts questions once tucked in darkness

Swirl

Stirred back to life and strewn across the mind’s horizon

Now connected

Revealing a bright and shining newness

Yielding peace that is a balm to the soul

The spirit rises in the light of such

A moment’s notice~

An Active Addict

I am walking death an abomination

to any who love me I am pain and frustration

a heartless thief and a cold-blooded liar

I leave no stone unturned to sate my desire

I am thought and emotion gone totally erratic

I am the active addict

I am self hate taken to new extremes

A living nightmare among dying dreams

A white-collar, blue-collar, no-collar illusion

A tale-chasin’ fool on a ball of confusion

I am psychotically schizoid depression that’s manic 

I am the active addict

I am in constant denial my own antithesis

A haywire renegade a chemical synthesis

I’m strung out by instant gratification 

I’ve no sense of permanence or long term duration

Any bridge that I cross I quickly burn

With every step I’m moving closer to no return

A pseudo-social parasitic hellacious affliction 

I am an addict imprisoned in active addictive 

Like a fish that’s hooked

God knows

I’m hurtin’ bad

God’s Roses

Most blessed of Sharon You’d always been referred to in human history
Thorns of ridicule crowned your willingness
To love unlovely me

Life’s spark was sheltered in your slender stem
Mother’s love a wonder
Your wit created poems for my soul
Angelic songs sung amidst the thunder

A bit more twinkle to your mother’s eye
Curious thing it was to see
A certain something beyond her smile
New life had come to be

Love that was is and yet to be
No coincidence and no supposes
Before during and after this life
God handpicked for me God’s Roses

In memory of Callice Rose