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Columnists - Columnists: Mike Mooney

Friday, Apr. 18, 2008

Ask, and ye shall find ... a grave site

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NEW ORLEANS, La. -- Our plan was settled over breakfast at the Chateau Sonesta Hotel.

We would hire a cab and set out for historic Metairie Cemetery, the final resting place of two legendary jazz trumpeters -- "Jumbo" Al Hirt and "Gigolo" Louis Prima.

Past and Present stroll arm-in-arm here in the Crescent City, bound by a music tradition -- jazz music -- that infuses the soul with a spirit even hurricanes such as the monstrous Katrina cannot diminish.

"You want to go where?," the cabbie asked. "Oh, sure. Metairie Cemetery. I haven't been there but I know where to go."

With that, we piled into the cab -- a large SUV -- and made our way to what is considered by many historians as the nation's second -- after Arlington -- most historically significant cemetery.

The cabbie immediately pulled out her cell phone as we sped off. She was asking the voice on the other end how to get to Metairie Cemetery.

Six of us -- all members of the Modesto-based Ernie Bucio's New Orleans Travelin' Band -- were making the pilgrimage.

We had performed in the Chateau Sonesta's famous "Clock Bar" on Thursday and Friday evening.

Now, it was time to seek out two of the world-class musicians who had inspired us.

Hirt, a versatile musician, perhaps is best known for his traditional, a k a "Dixieland," style.

Prima, meanwhile, is the "Godfather" of "jump swing."

While drummer Gene Krupa and clarinetist Benny Goodman get most of the credit today, it actually was Prima who wrote the jazz standard "Sing, Sing, Sing."

Prima also penned "Just a Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody" and "Jump, Jive and Wail," among others.

During the 1990s, "Jump, Jive and Wail" was rediscovered by the Brian Setzer Orchestra, who scored a hit with it as Prima had done decades earlier.

So, the trip to Metairie Cemetery was a must for us.

But things were looking bleak.

"Do you know where to go?" the cabbie asked, as we sped by blocks and blocks of marble and granite tombs, mausoleums, crypts and monuments -- veritable "cities of the dead."

After crossing back and forth under the freeway several times, I decided it was time to act, though I violated a basic tenet of the "Guy Code" in the process.

"Maybe we should stop and ask someone?"

Our cabbie looked relieved.

We promptly pulled up to the nearest funeral home. I got out and asked the kindly woman at the front desk if she knew where Louis Prima and Al Hirt were buried.

"Why, Metairie Cemetery," she said, in a very kindly and understanding way.

"Where's that?"

She gave me a kindly smile and nodded. "It's just down the road, dear."

The kindly woman even followed me outside and kindly pointed out the way.

Eureka!

Finally, we had found it -- Metairie Cemetery. But we still were no closer to finding Prima or Hirt.

Metairie Cemetery must be the size of Turlock.

We didn't know where to begin.

We found an on-site funeral home but the door was locked.

I was walking back to the cab, when Chris, a trombone player no less, asked me if I had tried the button next to the door.

Button?

Sheepishly, I went back and pressed it.

"Can I help you?," said the kindly voice coming from the other side.

"Hell, er, I mean ... Yes! We're looking for the graves of Al Hirt and Louis Prima."

There was momentary pause before the voice came back.

"Who? Maybe I'd better let you in."

A few moments later, a kindly woman came to the door.

She, too, was unfamiliar with the two trumpet players but agreed to search the cemetery's database anyway.

By the way, did I mention the cab's meter still was running?

Twenty minutes later, she kindly handed me a small piece of paper. Written on it was the precise location of each man's grave.

Al Hirt, or rather, his cremated remains, were contained in a small urn in a large mausoleum adjoining the funeral home.

But what about Prima?

The kindly woman handed me a map, prepared by a kindly gentleman co-worker, who had kindly marked on it the exact location of the Prima grave.

Off we went.

An "X" may have marked the spot on the map, all right, but it was not the Prima grave site.

Everyone jumped out of the cab and set off in different directions. It was useless.

We returned to the cab. The map had to be wrong.

Something came over me. I began shouting directions to the cabbie.

It was as if I was speaking in tongues.

Turn right. No left. No back up. No turn right. OK. Let's try it to the left again. No. No. No. Veer right here.

I was still looking at the map, barking out directions, when someone in the back of the cab shouted: "Look, there it is."

The Prima family crypt loomed to our left.

There was the trumpet-playing angel Gabriel, standing atop the tomb, and below, the famous inscription -- gleaned from from the lyrics of "Just a Gigolo."

There could be no doubt that this was Prima's resting place, especially given the inscription's prophetic last line:

"As life goes on without me."

Mike Mooney's column appears every Friday in Local News. He can be reached at mmooney@modbee.com or 578-2384.