After my grandpa died, I scanned in all the photos that we found in his house. Going through them, I found this photograph of my grandmother. Click on it to see full-size.
This was my grandma in her blond phase. I remember as a child, she told me that she had been blond for a while, but she didn’t like it. She looks like a knockout to me, so maybe there was something else about being blond that she didn’t like. I have NO IDEA who the ruffian with the bandaged forehead is. It’s certainly not any of her three husbands.
The photograph isn’t quite as important as the cover it was enclosed in. This is the front:
Birdland: Nightly Concerts of Jazz
Broadway and 52nd Street, New York
This is the inside cover:
I knew that my grandmother had traveled greatly over her years, but when I saw this photograph, her life suddenly became an adventure that I had only briefly glimpsed. Birdland Jazz Club was the hip jazz club in New York where all the cool cats played.
It still exists today, if not in the original location.
Knowing that my grandmother was a small part of that historical place makes me happy. How I wish she had told me the story of the night she went to Birdland and who she saw play there.