BRATTLEBORO — It's really impossible to write about the passing of my mentor and dear friend, trumpeter Howard “Dr. Bebop” Brofsky, and to reflect on his legacy as president emeritus of the Vermont Jazz Center without looking through the lens of his life accomplishments.
Those of us who knew Howard are still processing the news of his peaceful death at the age of 86 on Oct. 17. Since his passing, many individuals have come forward to express how he changed their lives through an act of encouragement, a thoughtful suggestion, or even something as simple as how to approach a tune.
The legacy of Dr. Bebop is really that of a great yet humble human being who did things because he believed in them, not to create any fanfare for himself.
Howard was more concerned with making critical decisions, finding good musicians, and playing swinging jazz than about creating a legacy. His goals were more about cultivating real relationships with family, students, colleagues, fans, friends, and peers than about serving as the figurehead of an institution.
It was this straightforward, tell-it-like-it-is, sometimes-cynical honesty that allowed him to cut through unnecessary clutter and bureaucracy and move forward, powerfully changing institutions and gently changing lives.
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Dr. Bebop quietly made a huge impact on three specific institutions and thus created three separate but connected legacies.
It was his insistence that led to the establishment of the Masters in Jazz Program at Queens College in New York City and the installation of jazz icons Jimmy Heath and Sir Roland Hanna as its well-respected professors.
It was his persistence that resulted in Queens College taking over the Louis Armstrong House and Archives and converting what was considered a white elephant into what is now a national treasure.
And for the Vermont Jazz Center, Howard has been a critical influence, a pillar of our community, our direct link to the music's origin.
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My life was changed by Howard Brofsky's generosity and a friendship that was kindled at a jam session at the Hotel Coolidge in White River Junction in the mid-1980s. He encouraged me to move to New York and develop my skills at the graduate program in jazz studies that he established at Queens College.
Later on, his presence in southern Vermont was one of the fundamental reasons that my wife, Elsa, and I moved to Brattleboro from Medellín, Colombia with our two young children to accept Attila Zoller's offer and direct the Vermont Jazz Center.
Howard served as president of our board and was a key consultant to Zoller, its founder. After Zoller's passing, he was always there to consult and support me personally. His attendance at our meetings was reassuring, and he always cut to the chase and brought an air of respectability to even the most casual of gatherings.
Howard was no fool; he knew when to apply force and when to let go. He had no interest in micromanagement, and he knew when to gracefully step out of the way. He knew how to instill confidence in others and when to fully trust in their leadership.
Much like in an improvised jazz solo, he knew when to give way to the energy and emergent visions that complemented the architecture he carefully helped to create.
Up until the last week of life, his wise advice was a quick phone call away. This is what I'm missing the most.
Howard always encouraged me to keep the VJC's concert programming swinging, to never forget that the main reason the VJC exists is to keep the music alive. He let me know that it was sometimes okay to choose to jam with him rather than attend a stuffy meeting. I now wish I had done a little more of that.
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Howard Brofsky's legacy to effectively guide institutions was organic and unpretentious; he quickly befriended his students and discerningly invited them to become his band-mates and colleagues.
Hearing of his illness, saxophonist Tim Armacost, a seasoned graduate student-turned-faculty at Queens College, showed up to Dr. Bebop's gig at the J Street Bar on the Sunday before Howard's passing in the hope of getting one last chance to play with him.
Bebop wasn't there; he had recruited me to play the piano, to explain the situation to the musicians, to make sure the gig happened, and to make sure that everyone got paid.
That whole afternoon and evening, we chose tunes that Howard loved. To start us off, Armacost called the Tadd Dameron composition “Hot House” but only after commenting, “Howard's help on this tune totally changed the way I play jazz.” We launched into a blistering, emotionally charged rendition.
Tim's improvisation reminded me of Howard's approach – it was a masterful demonstration of invention, staying clear of conventional licks; his lines were melodic, fresh, and “in the moment.”
Tim responded deftly to the rhythm section yet, rather than create a conversation, he chose to be carried by the group's swinging energy, to rise above it lightly, and to use the group's momentum as a fountain of power.
Tim never used words to decode how Howard Brofsky changed his life, but he was able to convey his message clearly through his saxophone.
We ended with Duke Ellington's “It Don't Mean a Thing if It Ain't Got that Swing.”
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In describing Howard's tremendous impact on the Jazz Masters program at Queens College, Maestro Maurice Peress referred to Josef Skvorecky, Czech author and publisher of banned books, who tells a story that harkens back to World War II, when authors and musicians were unable to get their work published.
Peress stated that they continued to write plays and poems and stories, and they passed them among themselves in the form of mimeographed or carbon copies of their typed manuscripts, held together with a single staple. And even after the front sheet with the title and the name of the author would tear off, the most interesting manuscripts continued being read and passed around.
For Josef Skvorecky, this was the height of honor: to create a work so worthy it had a life of its own - author unknown.
Peress, a close friend of Brofsky's since 1948, noted that Howard's own accomplishments carried with them the same selfless quality of these creations whose authors' names were unknown, pieces that were read or played for their sheer beauty and emotional content.
In spite of all of his amazing accomplishments, Howard was self-effacing and humble.
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The Vermont Jazz Center will continue without Howard Brofsky's physical presence, but his spiritual presence is deeply embedded in our essential core.
In a way, it's the legacy of Howard's functional honesty, authenticity and reverence for the music that now permeates the VJC's fibers. The jazz center intends for this model to continue to change lives through the experience of live music, educational opportunities and direct, learn-by-doing transformations.
Howard's legacy lives on, because the institution itself has been imbued with his values, his place in the lineage of jazz, his sense of programming, his critical thinking, his aesthetics, and his unconditional love for music, place, and friends.
We are all much richer for having known Howard Brofsky; appreciating and remembering this truth will keep his legacy alive. We will always have the Vermont Jazz Center, Queens College, and the Louis Armstrong House standing tall and strong - indestructible edifices that serve as living memorials to Howard Brofsky's great vision, diligent effort, and collaborative nature.
But in spite of these awesome accomplishments that will reinforce our memories of Dr. Bebop, I still miss my friend.