By Rick Mitchell “When I stop to think about it, which I don’t alwaysdo, I feel kindof a certain pride. I can’t help but feel like I’ve donesomethingworthwhile. I don’t goshooting my mouth off.” Max in Portland during high school rom the early 20th Century journalist/activists John Reed and Louise Bryant to present-day jazz saxophonist Jim Pepper and political cartoonist Bill Plympton, there is a long and honorable roll call of talented Portlanders who’ve gone to New York to find fame and fortune. One who belongs right at the top of this list is Max Gordon, the founder and owner of The Village Vanguard, the most famous and prestigious jazz club in the world. Born in Lithuania, the son of a peddler, Gordon came to Portland by way of Ellis Island in 1911. He attended grammar school and high school in Portland, and graduated from Reed College in 1924. Gordon dreamed of becoming a writer, but his parents wanted him to practice law. He arrived in New York in 1926 to study at Columbia Law School, but dropped out after only six weeks. He knocked around Greenwich Village, working an assortment of odd jobs and hanging out with the poets, artists, radicals and bohemians who called the Village home in those days. In 1932, he borrowed a hundred dollars from a friend and opened his first club, the Village Fair, a Prohibition-era artist hang-out where you could buy a bottle of booze by stepping out the backdoor. In 1935, he moved the club to its current location in a converted basement on the corner of Seventh Avenue South and 11th Street in the heart of Greenwich Village, and changed the name to The Village Vanguard. Originally a showcase for poets, the Vanguard eventually obtained a cabaret license and began presenting a variety of entertainment. It didn’t become a jazz club exclusively until the 1960s, but from the mid-’50s on, nearly every great musician in jazz has worked there. Artists who’ve recorded historically essential sessions at the Vanguard include Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, The Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Big Band and Dexter Gordon, among dozens of others. It’s only appropriate that Max Gordon titled his 1980 autobiography Live at the Village Vanguard (St. Martin’s Press). For one who has associated with so many living legends, and who himself has played such a vital, catalytic role in shaping the development of jazz as an art form, Gordon remains relatively mat- ter-of-fact and understated about his life’s work. Perhaps he’s past the point of needing to impress anybody. And he still listens with an open mind. As Nat Hentoff remarks in his introduction to Live at the Village Vanguard, "Max is too genuinely hip to limit his interests to only that music that he himself can immediately dig.” Hentoff also notes that in his 35 years as a jazz critic, he has not heard “ a single malign word from a performer about Max Gordon.” This interview took place late last year at the Vanguard prior to the night’s performance by saxophonist Richie Cole. Gordon sat at a table in the back of the darkened room, smoking a cigar, a deep red curtain and photos of various jazz greats on the wall behind him. At 83, he appears stooped and physically frail, but he’s mentally sharp. Little happening in the club escapes his attention for long. Employees continually interrupted the interview to ask job-related questions, and long-time patrons stopped by the table to say hello and reminisce. The Vanguard is still Max’s baby, and he obviously loves it like a father. From 1942-1963, Gordon also was the co-owner of a swanky midtown club called The Blue Angel, but one suspects his true heart always remained A Monday night jam with Dizzy Gillespie, Harry Lim, Vido Musso, Billy Kyle, Cootie Williams, Charley Shavers and Johnny Williams. down in a small, dark basement in the Village. Clinton St. Quarterly: What year were you born? Max Gordon: 1803. (Chuckles) I mean, 1903. CSQ: What are your memories of growing up in Portland? MG: I went to high school there, and I went to Reed College. I remember quite a bit about Portland. I used to sell papers on the streets of Portland as a kid. I had to bring some money home to help pay the rent. We were a poor family. CSQ: Was there any music in Portland at that time? MG: (shakes head) At Reed College, we used to go out Friday nights dancing at the Multnomah Hotel to the Herman Kenin Trio there. Herman Kenin later became the International Vice-President of the Musician’s Union. He was a violinist. CSQ: What was Reed like in those days? MG: Reed was a great school. Reed was simple. No football. No teams. Reed was a sweet school. Still is. They didn ’t charge nobody. I couldn’t afford to pay. I lived at home. I used to take a street car out there, and then later I lived on the campus. I graduated in 1924. CSQ: What did you get your degree in? MG: Literature. But first I studied political science. I wanted to write, you know. That’s how I happened to write a book. Took me 40 years. I wrote other little things at the time, book reviews, essays. 30 Clinton St. Quarterly—Winter, 1987
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