Possumblog

Vanity of vanities;

all is vanity.

Subtitled: Them Internets is something else.

Long story on this one--and full, again, of way too much Faulknerian dysfunction for my tastes. But hey, that’s my family.

Anyway, my paternal grandmother’s side of the family was composed of Gastons and Grays, and according to what my folks and my aunt have said, at one time they were well off, having some land and slaves before the war, and continuing to have at least some semblance of wealth afterwards. My aunt relates that her mother (my grandmother, who shall from hereon be known as she was to me, “Big Mama,” and who entered the world in 1894) had told them she didn’t even brush her own hair until she was 16, because her family had a mammy to see after her.

She did, however, marry into a situation quite a bit less genteel, and although Big Daddy worked for the railroad, due to some bad personal decisions and the Great Depression, the whole lot of them--my grandparents, my dad, and his brother and sister--were all brought down to near destitution.

Times eventually got better, but Big Mama and Big Daddy remained quite poor the rest of their days. They held on to what they could, part of which seemed to be a rather strong remembrance of a proud past. Although I think this might have gotten a bit out of hand. Before I get to the point of the story, maybe a couple of episodes from the more recent past might be instructive.

My uncle apparently had a bit of the pride to him, too, and it seems what he could not rightfully claim for a heritage, he never really had a problem manufacturing in order to suit his need. Some men like this go on to become Presidents, but others are just seen as serial confabulators. I recall close to 35 years ago or so, my dad went up to visit him in Maryland, and came back with something I sensed was shame. His brother had served in the Army in World War II, and made sergeant, and went to college on the GI Bill--honorable things, one and all. No need to embellish, but I overheard my dad telling my mother that his brother had shown him “his old uniform” from way back then--which was full of ribbons, and oddly enough, all sorts of gold braid on the hat.

He’d gone and gotten himself an officer’s uniform. I’m not sure if he ever actually tried to impersonate an officer or not, but it turns out, he sorta had a history of big talk.

My mom and dad got to talking about the time sometime back during the early ‘60s when he’d come to Birmingham to visit them. He and my dad were driving downtown with my uncle's then wife, and they passed by the A.G. Gaston Motel, which during that time was quite a fancy place--modern and clean. And strictly for Negroes. For those who don’t know his history, Dr. Gaston was one of Birmingham’s wealthiest men, and made that fortune by managing to turn Jim Crow to his advantage with several large businesses catering to the segregated market.

Anyway, as they drove by, my uncle puffed up and proudly pointed and noted that we were kin to those Gastons.

Now, personally, I wouldn’t mind a bit if we were, but given the situation, my dad felt compelled to point out that although we might have shared a name, we probably weren’t directly related.

What made the whole thing even funnier in retrospect (well, to me, at least) is that Big Mama and Big Daddy weren’t what you would call great lovers of the African race--I still get tickled thinking about the time my mother took Big Mama shopping at the Pizitz store downtown, and Big Mama mortified her by attempting to accost a young black man to carry her bags by shouting “HEY! HEY BOY!” at him. My mother wouldn’t go shopping much with her after that.

Anyway, on to the part of the story that I’m actually trying to tell about.

It seems Big Mama’s familial pridefulness also found another outlet. As you recall, not only was she related to some less-pigmented Gastons, she was also of the Gray family. For as long as I’ve been alive, I have heard my parents say that the somewhat-famous ‘30s and ‘40s big band leader Glen Gray was somehow related to us. I’ve even told the kids before about it, although they have no real concept of what I mean by “big band,” or hardly even “the 1940s,” but I had always thought it was kind of neat. I even bothered one of the young women at church about it--her maiden name was Gray, and I’ve asked her if she might somehow be related to us down the line, or maybe even to that swingin’ hep cat Glen. She didn’t know.

But, no matter. I had no real reason to doubt it--I mean, who would make up stuff like that?

Well, obviously, given all the foregoing discussion, I was in for somewhat of an expected revelation. I have thought on and off over the years that I ought to use the mighty power of the Internet and look this dude up. It has always gotten lost in my mental pile of junk, though, until yesterday. For some reason, that name crossed my mind, and I set in to see what I could find.

Typed “glen gray” into the oracle of Google, and hey!--Glen Gray and his Casa Loma Orchestra! Wow--right off the bat a hit! “Rigid, concise style of big band jazz in early 1930s helped blaze a trail for other big bands. Glen Gray's Casa Loma Orchestra never broke completely out of the drill type style but waxed some decent sides in the late 1930s and early 1940s” Cool, daddy!

Then the bio--

Glen Gray
Knoblaugh, Glen Gray (Spike)
leader
Born; Roanoke, Ill., 6-7-1906
Died; 8-23-1963

Knoblaugh?! What?!

Yep, after a few more searches, it turns out that Glen Gray is actually the stage name of Glen Knobloch, (or Knoblauch), (and, yes, even Knoblaugh). That last reference also says he was born in 1900, not 1906 as the first one has it.

In any event, I am saddened to note that barring the revelation of any heretofore hidden genealogical information, there are no Knoblochs (et al.) in my family tree. I fully intend to manufacture some, however, should the need arise.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at February 14, 2006 12:01 PM