Past Events
September 6, 2007 - Junior Mance

On the evening of September 6, 2007 pianist JUNIOR MANCE had a spirited conversation with Loren Schoenberg about his life and career in jazz. “I was born Julian Clifford Mance, Jr. on October 10, 1928 in Chicago at 4:59 am.” His parents were both from Augusta, Georgia, and his father loved stride piano and big band swing. He grew up mainly in Evanston, Illinois, and when his family would move, his father would take an upright piano that had been left in one of the apartments they had lived in. Mance began noodling on the piano at the age of five, and began formal training at the age of eight.

His first piano teacher loved Earl Hines and Teddy Wilson, and Mance came to love their playing also. But as Mance developed his skills in the 1940s, Art Tatum’s shadow over jazz piano loomed large. He recalled a story that Coleman Hawkins used to tell:

“Hawk had a gig in Toledo, Ohio. He heard about this fabulous local pianist and went to hear him play. He was mightily impressed. So, the next night he and Teddy Wilson went to the club, and Teddy wanted to sit in. I told him, ‘I think we better sit this one out.’ Once Teddy heard Tatum, he went into a corner, smarting, and listened.”

Even the great Teddy Wilson was no match for the peerless Art Tatum.

In approximately 1940, Mance began playing a roadhouse gig, and the tenor saxophone player in the group showed Mance blues and “Rhythm” changes. As a young man Mance also fell in love with the boogie woogie styling of Albert Ammons, Pete Johnson, and Meade “Lux” Lewis.

He attended Evanston High School and played in the big band as a freshman. His mother wanted him to be a doctor, but told him that if he was to pursue music, he’d have to do his homework first.

Mance did his homework alright, and began attending Roosevelt College, where he signed up with the School of Music and “registered for nothing but music courses.”

Knowing that his mom wouldn’t be pleased, Mance had a sit-down with his dad. “You’ve got a problem,” a smiling Mance recalled his father saying. “That’s between you and your mom. Leave me out of it.”

He left college after being suspended for, get this, playing jazz piano in a practice room. This liberated Mance, and he began a professional career, joining Gene Ammons’ band in 1947. The audience at the Harlem School of the Arts were treated by Schoenberg to a 1950 recording of Mance with Ammons, performing “You’re Not the Kind,” Ammons’ breathy tenor and Mance’s simpatico comping bringing a smile to all. He explained that they were inspired to record the tune because of Sarah Vaughan’s perennial version.

He also had this to say about Gene Ammons: “To hear him play a ballad, you knew it was him. He always played the melody beautifully, and always gave the band room to stretch out.”

Mance came to New York with Ammons, and they gigged at the Three Deuces on 52nd Street, where, among others, George Shearing and Oscar Pettiford were performing. After several years with Ammons, he played a few side gigs with Lester Young. Roy Haynes was in Pres’s group, and even named a composition—“Junebug”—after the nickname he gave Mance. 

Mance was so good that Young offered him the gig in 1949, around the same time that Woody Herman asked Ammons to join his big band. For two years he played with the legendary saxophonist, of whom he called “fantastic; he wasn’t like a band leader. He would say, ‘I want everyone to play, because they may not like me.’ We played the Savoy Ballroom a lot.”

One evening not long after joining the infantry in Kentucky he heard some wonderful music while on guard duty. “We would walk for two hours, and rest for one. All I had been hearing in the barracks was hillbilly music.” Well, during one of those “rests” he ventured to where the jazz was being played. It sounded so good that Mance thought that it had to be a recording. “But when I entered the club on base, there was this rolly-polly guy leading the band. I was in full military gear, with a helmet on. The guys playing were in civilian clothes. I asked if I could sit in, and the piano player gladly let me in because he had a date waiting!”

The musicians were skeptical. One of them told him to “take that damn helmet off.” Then Adderly finally said, “Okay, man, what do you wanna play?”

“Play something out of your book,” was Mance’s rejoinder. They ended up playing a Count Basie blues in C, and Mance had the cats shaking their head in appreciation in short order. Adderly took him to see the band director, who said, “You must be good, they like you.”

Unfortunately, the army band didn’t need a piano player, and Adderly hadn’t told Mance to say that he played, say, a percussion instrument. Although he couldn’t join the group, Adderly made arrangements with the First Sergeant for Mance to hang out with the band.

But Adderly didn’t stop there. He cleverly came up with a way for Mance to play with the boys, delivering him from the drudgery of basic training. Adderly asked him, “Do you know how to type?” Upon hearing yes, Adderly told him that he must tell the band director this.

He did, becoming a house clerk by day, playing jazz by night, and rooming with Cannonball.

Not long after he obtained the clerkship and a way to follow the bliss of his passion for jazz, the training unit that Mance had been in was sent to Korea to fight in the war. All except a few—who came back with missing limbs—were killed.

“Cannonball Adderly saved my life.”

After his discharge from the Army in 1953, Mance became part of the house rhythm section at the Bee Hive Jazz Club in Chicago for a year, and accompanied jazz greats such as Charlie Parker, Coleman Hawkins, Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis, Sonny Stitt, and many others.

In 1954 Mance joined and toured with Dinah Washington. In 1956 he reunited with Cannonball Adderley, becoming a member of Cannonball's first organized working band. The band did a series of recordings on Mercury Records, some of which was played during intermission.

Mance joined Dizzy Gillespie's band in 1958, a period Mance considers one of the highlights of his career. Besides the joy and fun of playing with Dizzy, he remembers this period as a great learning experience in musicianship, showmanship, and just about everything related to the business of music.

The fortunate in attendance were treated to a video of Mance performing on a classic clip—the only extant footage of Dizzy and Louis Armstrong performing together—from a late ’50s Jackie Gleason show featuring the Timex All Stars. The song was “Umbrella Man,” and Mance is seen singing off-key on purpose to the feigned bemusement of Dizzy, who, along with Pops, brought the house down with laughter. But that clip got serious quick as Diz and Pops traded fours, with Mance anchoring the rhythm section in spine-tingling swing.

In 1961 Mance decided to form his own trio, following the release of his first recording as a leader. (JUNIOR, Verve Records) In between gigs with his trio he played and recorded with the Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis/Johnny Griffin Quintet. With his trio he also accompanied singer Joe Williams in l963/64.

Over the remaining decades hence Mance has been feted with numerous awards and honors, and has continued to perform with majestic brilliance in small ensembles as a sideman and leader.