by Harold McMillan

Ghost Stories

When I was a kid, ghost stories always scared me a little. Death was scary, especially when I knew the folks about whom the stories were told. But I guess that's why the stories had something hopeful about them. Ghost stories about, say, my grandmother were fun to tell and listen to, good reminders of a loved one gone home.

The old folks always seemed to have these stories about bizarre happenings, about death that they heard their folks tell about times back in the slavery days. For whatever reason, none of that stuff ever seemed to happen anymore, so the scary ghost stories were also a way of passing on family history, oral culture, beliefs and other good things. The stories always dealt with death, but there was always an over riding moral that taught some good lesson, expressed a glimmer of hope, or exposed character traits of great grandfathers I'd never know. I guess these were mostly stories about good spirits who found their path to eternal life. You'd be amazed at how much mileage one can get out of a ghost story.

After a while I finally realized a bit more about the good work of the death angel, and how a good ghost story is just another way to make sure that the spirit of a loved one plants itself in your heart and memory. Ghost stories are just another way that our departed friends find eternal life with each retelling.

Several years ago I was lucky enough to come to know a real, living Ghost--Roosevelt "Grey Ghost" Williams. I guess he was close to 80 years old by then. His knack for telling stories of the old days, about his life in the early part of this century, telling stories he heard some other old folks tell of their olden days was spellbinding.What a character this Grey Ghost was. Sometimes when I'd ask him how he was feeling, he'd answer with: "I guess I'm doin' tolerably well for a half-dead man!"

From our first meeting Grey Ghost fascinated me. Here was this dapper dressed old guy, right hand in his pocket, dark plum pleated trousers held up by white suspenders, a deep red shirt, deeper red patterned tie, and four strands of gold chain around his neck, dark shades, thinning hair dyed black/slicked back, standing there projecting more cool than anyone else in the room. This was classic Ghost dressed for a gig.

You see, Grey Ghost was the best dressed old guy in town, but that is only a very small part of this ghost story. Grey Ghost was a living, walking history book of the South, of American music, of the Souls of Black folks, of blues and barrelhouse, of piano style, of race relations, of love and hate and respect, of the hard life, of Central Texas and Austin. Grey Ghost's life was truly a study of the blues. In our day, Grey Ghost was both one and the last of a kind. He was the last of the first generation of Texas blues piano players. To call him a "cultural treasure" would not be overstating his status.

After living more than 92 years, after several starts and stops of his professional music career, after warming the hearts and souls of scores of friends, fans and family, Roosevelt "Grey Ghost" Williams has passed on.

There has already been much written about his public life and death. Here I'd just like to tell one more personal Ghost story that I feel best illuminates both his love of life, people and music, and his roots in the historic tradition of the hard-good-life associated with poverty, survival, and the blues. Make no mistake, in his final years The Ghost was a kind and gentle soul. But he too was one of the last authentic connections to a time when being a traveling bluesman had very little to do with big money, creature comforts, or guaranteed safety. Grey Ghost for close to 80 years played all kinds of music, it's his life story that's the true testament to the evolution of blues music and blues people.

A Kind and Gentle Ghost

Several years ago, when I was working on my graduate degree at the University of Texas, I had a teaching assistantship in the Music Department and African American Studies. My class was a music history class, "the Music of African Americans." I mostly graded papers and tutored this group of bright young UT students. But, whenever my boss was out of town I actually got to teach the class and put my particular spin on the subject matter. In fact, my students liked me better than my boss: I was more hip, knew all the local players, and was working around town quite a bit myself. They thought I was cooler than my opera-singing, academic-hardass colleague.

It was about this time that I began my initial research for work that would ultimately become the Blues Family Tree Project. By that time I had come to know the Ghost pretty well. I listened to him at the Continental, had booked him to play a handful of times, and selected him to be our first inductee of the Clarksville Jazz Fest Hall of Fame, dedicating the first festival to him. As well, I'd had enough conversations/informal interviews with him to know that my class would really love to have him come to talk about his life/career and play some tunes. Most of my class had no idea who he was, but my description of Grey Ghost made them really keen for his visit.

Well, my boss was to be out of town for some interviewing and I got to plan a week's classes. I set a target date and then went over to visit Ghost at his East 8th Street residence. After I sat with him for about an hour, heard yet one more time about how he in the old days always needed to have his gun with him when he played that joint in Houston, I started talking about my class.

Ghost listened to me and looked at me with his "why the hell are you telling me about it" look. I explained that my kids would really learn more about the history of blues in Texas if he would come to my class and do a guest lecture/performance. I told him that the class was only about an hour long and he would not have to play the entire time. I'd open the class, introduce him, and he could just talk to the kids and play a few tunes.

Ghost eventually looked at me and told me maybe he would come to my class, but I was "sho' asking a lot of an old man. What makes you think I wanna get up in da morning and play for these kids for a whole hour?" Then he said, "I guess I'll do it for you McMillan, but I probably won't play more than 15 or 20 minutes." Of course I thought he would want to play longer than that, but I told him I'd be happy for him to play as long as he felt like playing. We agreed, I set the time to pick him up, and expressed my appreciation for his willingness to help me out.

A few days later I showed up before class to drive The Ghost over to the music building. He greeted me, and reminded me that he might not feel like playing for more than a few minutes. I reminded him that I'd be happy with whatever he wanted to do.

Once back on campus and in the classroom, Grey Ghost sat up front, looking as sharp as ever (especially for nine o'clock in the morning!) and waited for me to invite him up to perch behind the grand piano. As I introduced him, I told the kids how lucky we were to have Mr. Williams join us. I instructed the students to welcome The Ghost and listen closely because Mr. Williams was only going to play a little while. Then, I asked Ghost to come on up and take over.

Ghost, somewhat predictably, opened by saying something about how he was just happy to be alive, lucky to be "only half dead." Some of the kids laughed out loud. Some sat and looked confused, not exactly understanding Ghost's sense of humor. I don't remember what his first tune was, but as soon as he started playing the whole class sat up, perked up their ears, and melted into submission. Then The Ghost sang one of his standards-maybe it was "Nobody Loves You (When You're Down and Out)," and smiles of disbelief came over their faces. Before I knew what was happening some of the kids were sliding their desks around to see better, and handful from the back of the class came up front, sat on the floor and fell in love with Mr. Williams.

By this time, however, the clock on the wall was telling me that my "about 20 minutes" were up. Now, I didn't want to get on the bad side of Ghost, so I allowed the song to end and asked him if he wanted to say a few words to the kids before he finished up. Taking him at his word, I thought he was about to end this early morning performance, one that he did as a favor for "McMillan."

Ghost proceeded to spend about 10 minutes telling the kids why he didn't really have much to say, how he was just an old man who played the piano--always had, since the 1920s--and he didn't know if he had anything to teach anybody. Then he answered a few questions. The best reply to the questions turned out to be playing another tune.....by then he was on a roll. He was loving the attention, he was loving getting to play on a newly tuned grand piano, he was loving these kids interest in him, his music, and his life.

It was at that point that I knew that all parties involved were sharing a great victory. I felt great. Ghost was playing as relaxed and confidently as I'd heard him play-voice clear, chops making melodies roll from his fingers as water pours from a carafe, his famous little stories and jokes that he was so good at delivering between tunes had the kids hanging on every word. With the class period nearing the end, I came back up to the front of the class and waited for Ghost to do his last tune. The bell rang, signaling the end of the session.

Now this is really the point of this little Ghost story. This is what I feel is an example of just how genuinely loving and kind Mr. Williams was. This is what I feel is an example of how much pleasure Ghost found in playing-for himself and for other folks. I was lucky enough to be part of this beautiful scene where kids 60 years younger than Ghost were sitting at his feet, taking in all he had to offer. Having him hang in there until the end of the class felt like a grand favor to me. I was proud and happy that he played all the way until the end of the class.

Oh yeah, my point.......so the bell rings and I expect Ghost to get up and say his good-byes to my students. After all, he's a busy man and I needed to get him back to his house.

First good-bye

Well to my delight and surprise, as the bell rang, Ghost smiled at the kids, about half of the class came up and surrounded the piano. My students and my friend Mr. Ghost proceeded to laugh and talk, play and sing, sign autographs, and share fellowship that was genuine and moving. He came to do me the favor of playing for 15 or 20 minutes. He played, talked, and sang for an hour, said good-bye, and played for another 40 minutes.

So you remember this advice from Mr. Grey Ghost Williams. "Every shut eye ain't sleep, and every good-bye ain't gone."

You dig?