Seven Jazz Dwarfs

With his new American trombone under the arm, Dopey took an evening ride from the nearby station in the district of Saska Kępa, located on the east bank of Vistula River. Traveling toward his nightly gig at Hot-Club Hybrydy, on Mokotowska Street in central Warsaw, the bus crossed over the old Poniatowski Bridge. The brief river crossing gave the young jazz Dwarf a chance to admire the fully restored, lit up medieval Old Town on the west bank. The Polish nation went very far in the postwar reconstruction process of the ancient and historic district, a revered symbol of national pride. As the legendary Phoenix bird had risen from the ashes, so did the capital city of Poland. By the summer of 1944, when the liberating Soviet Army arrived from the East and the occupying Nazi Forces retreated to the West, eighty-five-percent of Warsaw was in ruins. Now, after decades of costly restoration through the patriotic efforts of the Polish people, the capital city looked bright and prosperous.

Within that historic revival, Dopey received a good place to live in a rebuilt apartment complex, owned by a rich member of his family. For the past two years, he was sharing his bachelor flat with Agnieszka, a prima ballerina from the Opera and Ballet Theater. All this time, declaring Dopey the love of her life, the beautiful dancer put up with the trombonist’s heavy jazz schedule. She had no choice because of his dedication to the Great American Songbook. As a devoted professional musician, he had to convert his normal circadian cycle to an abnormal, drug-induced sleeping pattern. He performed until late at night and then partied with his jazz buddies, until the wee hours of the morning.

After joining Agnieszka in the bedroom, who had slept there alone most of the night, they embraced for a couple of hours. Then, they parted company again. As she went for her early morning rehearsal, he went to sleep. A doctor-prescribed narcotic pill later and Dopey went to sleep for rest of the day, leaving his beautiful girlfriend to her own devices. Thus far, the two of them seemed to be separated most of the day and night, by their radically different showbiz careers. So it must have been the true love for each other that kept them under the same roof, for all this time. Their interaction was limited to a few hours a day, period. They had no time for an evening at the movie theater, a romantic walk through the historic Łazienki Park, or an afternoon at the nearby French café. Least of all a chance to dine out and dance the night away, as most lovers their age did!

However, the two showbiz paramours were happy to share the same roof over the head, in a city like Warsaw that went from a postwar ruin to a city that never sleeps. Rebuilt with the hard work and money of the returning refugees, the revitalized district of Saska Kępa they lived in, was a good example of the enormous Polish national pride. In the recovery process, the restoration of the infrastructure and historic buildings made it possible for the universities and colleges to reopen their doors for the students. In the process, Dopey became the beneficiary of a great education at the Warsaw Conservatorium of Music, where he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in composition and orchestration. With the latest economic revival, after the crushing fall of the Iron Curtain, he quickly climbed up the showbiz stepladder. He has secured himself a position as the best trombone player in Poland.

As a famous jazz Dwarf, he was in demand at most nightclubs, public concerts, television shows or international music festivals. Over the years, his biggest inspiration was the American jazz Giant, Tommy Dorsey, a trombone player like no one on this planet. Dopey knew the famous musician’s life and career well and was saddened by his death from an overdose of opioids, mixed with alcohol. Deep down in his heart he did not want to copycat the lifestyle of his American idol. Yet, his contracts at Hot-Jazz Hybrydy, recording studios, open-stage concerts gave him no choice but to resort to the help of prescribed sleeping pills. In addition, the latest relationship with Agnieszka demanded additional physical efforts to keep her happy.

Looking into the history of the two trombone players, the American Giant and the European Dwarf, they both had a few things in common. For starters, none of them could stay with the same woman for too long. Just as Tommy Dorsey was exposed by the Downbeat Magazine’s critiques, for his nightlong schedules at jazz clubs and drinking parties, so was Dopey described by the local Polish press. Their absence from home, while touring the world with big bands made them both unreliable sex partners. Furthermore, to catch up with the lack of sleep, they both took the advice of their personal physician and started taking narcotic pills. The opioid regimen, in conjunction with a few drinks has given them a sedated look. Hence, it was a matter of time before the European Dwarf from Warsaw has received his rightfully deserved nickname of Dopey the Trombonist.

The new label, as well as the teasing that went along with it made him even more determined to identify with Tommy Dorsey at every available occasion. To copy some of his American idol’s techniques, he had also recently purchased a new Bach trombone from a special music shop in Warsaw. With the proper bribes in place and hard currency in hand, it took him a few months to be able to order and have the instrument shipped from Indiana, USA. Now, he was the proud owner of a new brass instrument with an elegant case and many great accessories. From the special silver-coated silencer, to the vertical stand made of stainless steel, the new acquisition was meant to improve the sound and technique effects during Dopey’s future performances at Hot-Club Hybrydy.

For the past two years Dopey had joined the Urban Swingers jazz combo, which played a vast repertoire ranging from Rhythm & Blues to standards from the Great American Songbook. The band received a long-term contract to play in a designated room, reserved exclusively for jazz aficionados and local socialites. As of lately, the popular club on Mokotowska became famous for its great variety of attractions. It had several large rooms on different levels allocated solely for dancing events, cabaret shows, poetry lovers or marathon film devotees. With the latest addition of two new buffets and drinking bars with billiard tables, its popularity grew exponentially as the most visited private venue in Poland.

The day he had purchased his newly imported Bach instrument, Dopey the Trombonist arrived earlier at the Hot-Club Hybrydy’s jazz room. He went straight for the stage and took his regular seat in the front. Leaning forward, he slowly opened the case looking around to see the reaction of his buddies. Setting up his shinny tripod on the floor and placing the trombone’s bell on top of it, he suddenly felt groggy due to the unavoidable side-effects of the sleeping pill. To shake off the long-lasting impact of the opioid medication, it became a daily struggle. By the time the first jazz tune of the evening performance had to be performed, he should have been free from the dopiness that followed the morning dose. But it did not always work that way.

“It’s a prize piece of American beauty, Dopey!” the sax player said, looking at the new Bach trombone. “How much did you pay for it?”

“Five-hundred dollars, my friend! It’s all the money I’ve saved for the past two years. But the sound effects I can create with this new horn are worth every single penny!”

“You look half asleep again, Dopey,” the trumpeter and bandleader said, after joining the chat and looking at his trombonist’s groggy face.

“Well, I don’t see the daylight at all,” Dopey replied. “By eight in the morning I’m still walking around the apartment like a zombie and chain-smoking, as there is no tomorrow. Then, I swallow a sleeping pill, have a last shot of vodka and pass out in bed …”

“Is Agnieszka upsetting you?” the pianist asked. “Do you have any sex with her, or you just pass by each other during the daytime?”

“Leave him alone,” the bandleader said. “He thinks he is Tommy Dorsey, just as famous, a great womanizing and unforgettable …”

“I admire him greatly, for his jazz but not lifestyle,” Dopey said. “I don’t want to end like him, falling into a deadly coma from a cocktail of opioids and booze.”

“Then, stop drinking during the gigs,” the drummer added. “After my last girlfriend had broken up our relationship, I’ve never touched a drop of vodka again.”

“I’ll try that too, starting tonight,” Dopey said. “But I am totally dependent on the damn sleeping pills. I need a few hours of deep rest during daytime. Otherwise, I’ll never make it through the whole gig every single night.”

“I have a new musical solution to your opioid addiction, Dopey,” the bandleader said. “I want you to become our special stage vocalist, starting tonight!”

“Is this your musical solution to my grogginess?” Dopey asked.

“Yes, if you sing and swing, you’ll have to stay very alert the whole night. I found a special tune that will make you indispensable for our performances. Meanwhile, I hope it will make you less dependent on vodka and the addictive opioids.”

“Is this a precondition for my starry future, as a jazz Dwarf?” Dopey asked.

“Yes and the song title is: In the Wee Hours Of The Morning. It’s an easy tune made popular by Frank Sinatra, while singing with Tommy Dorsey’s big band. It might soon become part and parcel of your idolization for the American Giant.”

“Where do I start?” Dopey asked.

“Here are the lyrics and the music sheet. Let’s have a quick rehearsal run, before the first customer enters the club,” the bandleader said, grabbing the trumpet and taking his place on the frontstage.

Promptly, the musicians took their seats and the pianist played one chorus alone. Next, he gave the signal for the whole band to kick in with the next round, all by ear. After a couple of rounds, Dopey took the lyrics into his hand and took the place in front of the microphone. Softly imitating Frank Sinatra’s voice, he tried his best to give the tune a new life.

Dopey finished the two verses amid smiles and strong approval from the band members. At the end of the impromptu rehearsal, the bandleader looked at him in disbelief.

“Your voice sounded just like Frank Sinatra and your trombone solo was a perfect imitation of Tommy Dorsey’s style of improvisation. From now on, you’ll perform this piece every single night as our opening number.”

After the first and very successful trial, for all the following nights the regular jazz aficionados greeted the opening number with thunderous applause, whistles and cheers. The band members were thrilled that a romantic song was now the signature tune. The popular jazz band, the Urban Swingers, with its talented European Dwarf, Dopey the Trombonist had a new signature tune. As an encore for the standing ovation, Dopey obliged by repeating the last verse:

With the new success and popularity in place, Dopey remained determined to his earlier pledge not to touch a drop of Vodka. He also started to cut down the sleeping pill usage, by reducing their dose and frequency. The first promise was much easier to keep, since none of his jazz buddies drank at night as they used to. But the latter has been a much harder job, because his reversed circadian cycle, the day-to-night balance of his sleeping pattern. He could only fall asleep by eight in the morning, while Agnieszka was about to wake up and get ready for her daily routines as a prima ballerina. As of lately, Dopey relationship with his beautiful girlfriend started to deteriorate. When he arrived from the Hot-Club Hybrydy, she was always deep asleep. In the late afternoon, upon her return from the ballet routine, he was still fast asleep. By the time he woke up to get ready for the nightly gig, she was already gone back to the theater for the evening performance. What kind of love life or relationship was that, he pondered many, many days in the row? Their sex life too, was by now near zero.

One night in the springtime, when the jazz gig ended at two in the morning, Dopey packed his expensive Bach trombone and made his way back to the apartment in Saska Kępa. In the entry hall, he gently placed the instrument case on the floor and took off his shoes. For the past few weeks of sobriety and attempts to reduce his opioid addiction, the last thing he wanted was to wake up the love of his life, Agnieszka. He walked softly toward the kitchen to pour himself a fresh glass of milk. He was as sober as ever and mentally alert as never before. After he drank the milk, he made his way toward the bedroom. Alas, Agnieszka could not be seen lying in bed as usually at that time of the morning. He switched on the ceiling lights and noticed, resting on top of the bed, a note written in capital letters. Holding it with his right hand, Dopey placed his left hand on his heart, reading it over and over, between spells of sobbing:

Weeks went by, since that shocking morning and the abrupt separation from Agnieszka. Dopey had missed her badly and waited for her call, which had never arrived. Just as in the lyrics of the song, In the Wee Hours Of The Morning, he found himself alone and destitute in his bachelor apartment. He realized again and again how he missed her most and how much he loved her. But his jazz Dwarf routine and his dependency on the sleeping pills would not allow him to make Agnieszka happy again. Besides, his fiscal dependence on the present jazz gigs at the Hot-Club Hybrydy made him completely unable to change his nightly routines. In addition, to regain Agnieszka’s love and keep her as happy as he could, he would also have to drop his addiction to opioids. That again, was the worst part of his mindset.

What a pitiful crossroads he continued to ponder, while lighting one cigarette after another? At the best time in his jazz Dwarf career, when his popularity had reached the top of the chart, Agnieszka had left him for good. What a sad coincidence he mused. He was performing every night In The Wee Hours Of The Morning, a song with the lyrics that fitted exactly his state of love affairs. Lonely and with tears in his eyes, he started singing with a crooner’s voice:

For a long time he never went straight to sleep, after he had arrived home at three o’clock in the morning. He felt deserted and deprived of the past pleasures of kissing and hugging his beloved Agnieszka, the love of his life with her perfect and athletic body. At some moments in his growing depression, he even considered taking an overdose of sleeping pills, downing them with potato vodka. As his American idol, Tommy Dorsey had ended his life of misery decades ago, the European jazz Dwarf, Dopey the Trombonist was at the threshold of suicide.

One night, after he had crooned the lyrics of the In The Wee Hours Of The Morning, with much passion and conviction than ever before, he broke into tears on stage. During the next intermission, the bandleader signaled Dopey to follow him inside the manager’s office, at the back of the Hot-Club Hybrydy. When they entered the room, to the sad trombonist’s surprise there he was, the famous New York impresario, Mr. Jimmy Schwartz himself. He was ready for them, with a bottle of French champagne and fresh Beluga caviar. Dopey had recognized him immediately from the many articles and pictures in Downbeat Magazine’s latest issues. As one of the most successful jazz promoter, Mr. Schwartz was traveling all over Europe recruiting new talents for the Carnegie Hall’s regular jazz concerts.

“Should I call you Frank Sinatra or Tommy Dorsey?” he said with a broad smile, looking straight into Dopey’s tearful eyes. Then, standing from his chair to shake the musicians’ hands he continued the introduction. “My name is Jimmy Schwartz and I am an American jazz agent, in charge of international events at Carnegie Hall.”

“Mr. Schwartz has been crucial in helping us with our annual Jazz Jamboree Festival in Warsaw,” the club manager added.

“I’m well aware of Mr. Schwartz unlimited capabilities,” the bandleader added. “We’ve already had our earlier meeting with lawyers at the American Consulate.”

“Listen to him guys; he is a real guru in promotions,” the manager said.

“Call me Dopey the Trombonist, a jazz Dwarf from Poland,” Dopey said, smiling for the first time. “What do I deserve the honor of meeting you, Mr. Schwartz?”

“Your jazz band has been selected by our New York office, for a tour of the United States and a weekend appearance at the Carnegie Hall. You, Dopey will be a featured new artist with a special slot, a unique symbiosis between Sinatra’s and Dorsey’s sounds. I have a firm belief that the audiences will go wild in that hallowed American theater.”

“When do we fly across the Big Pond?” Dopey asked. “I’m ready to leave right now, since my personal life has been a great disaster as of lately!”

“The club manager has told me a few things about you. Let’s leave the sad stories behind and look for a brighter future in the Land of the Free,” Mr. Schwartz said.

“I have already signed the contract,” the bandleader added. “You have no say in the decision-making process, Dopey. Go home and pack your assets, as we are leaving for New York next month.”

The Carnegie Hall was packed to its fullest and the audience was exclusively made of jazz aficionados. The concert went very well and the first half ended with Dopey the Trombonist performing In The Wee Hours Of The Morning. His Frank Sinatra impersonation was met with cheers and applause and his trombone improvisation satisfied the critiques with a five-star rating. The Downbeat Magazine issue of the month rated Dopey as the best ghost of Tommy Dorsey. After a few days of recordings at the nearby RCA Victor studio in New York City, Dopey received a huge cash bonus, translating into a two-year income back in Poland. Not knowing what to do with such a lot of cash, he went into the nearby liquor store on Fifth Avenue and bought a bottle of highly distilled, Polish potato vodka.

Alone in the hotel room, across from the Central Park, his world started to implode, slowly but surely. All this time, Agnieszka and her beautifully shaped body was still on his mind. Her sweet voice sounded as clear, as if she were lying in bed next to him in Warsaw. Dopey knew well that after the last appearance on Carnegie Hall’s stage, the band would have to return to Poland and resume the gig at the Hot-Club Hybrydy. And then what, he mused? What life would he have? He will be all by himself without a companion, as lascivious and sexy, as the prima ballerina from the Warsaw Opera and Ballet Theater.

Swallowing a handful of sleeping pills, Dopey took a big gulp of vodka and lay back on his bed. The lyrics of the song, In The Wee Hours Of The Morning rang into his ears, with the same romanticism as they did earlier on the Carnegie Hall’s stage.

As Tommy Dorsey did a generation earlier, soon Dopey went into a comatose state of mind. His earlier hallucinations turned into a world of darkness. Soon he was without any worry, nostalgia and desire for love or any regrets. He became motionless.