by Lisa Schneider

One gray afternoon in January, I had a reunion with my "adopted grandfather" and former fiddle teacher, Sebastian Campesi in San Antonio. He doesn't like to talk about himself, but at 76, he still expresses all he needs to through his sweet jazz fiddle.

We talked. We played. We reminisced. We listened to some of his recent session recordings and played along with them. He talked a lot about letting the music speak for him. And when you have the chance to hear him at the 1997 Clarksville Jazz Festival, you'll understand. It does, beyond the shadow of a doubt, communicate soulfully the honesty and love in his heart for what he does best -- that old-time jazz.

He told me where he came from, how he learned to play, and how he learned from and developed a relationship with his mentor and long-time friend, the infamous jazz violinist Joe Venuti.

"Campi," as he's called by those who know and respect him, is definitely a master at his craft. But he's one of those Central Texas hidden treasures yet to be discovered by most of the rest of the world.

He played for a long time with the San Antonio Symphony and taught in the San Antonio ISD for many years. He was also the concertmaster for the orchestra at Fiesta Texas until health problems forced him to quit the rigors of theme park work a few years ago.

But he's taught, played, and recorded with most of the best musicians in the state (and the country, for that matter) from the Grey Ghost and Mary Anne Price, to bluegrass musician Hank Harrision with Tennessee Valley Authority in San Antonio.

When I studied with him in the early '80s, he was a pipe-smoking, second-generation Italian with an equal love for classical and jazz. He wouldn't teach me jazz, though, because he stressed the benefits of a good foundation in classical technique. And it's that classical technique that still holds him to this day: playing luscious melodies and improvised phrases with a tone beyond compare, and a passion that belies his seven decades of fiddle playing.

What follows are some excerpts from our Sunday afternoon meeting, in his own words.

I was born March 2, 1921 which makes me 76. I started playing when I was 4. I was playing on the radio when I was 8, but no one knew I was a kid 'cause I was playing with adults. Some of them had played with my father who played clarinet. He was my first teacher. He taught me to read music and everything.

I grew up in Jamestown, New York in a very musical neighborhood. The people next door to me played. The people across the street played guitar. My father played, my uncle played. It was a very musical environment and they played everything... Italian music, jazz...that's when jazz was just starting, too. And I was just fascinated by it. I'd ask them if I could sit and listen. And I'd just sit and listen and take it all in. They were very kind to me, very nice. I was just a little kid. I thought everyone lived like that until I got to junior high and high school and found out that people don't do that.

I never practiced too much until I started playing out. My first gig I must've been about 8 years old, but I don't count that because I was playing with adults all the time. But when I was about 14, I started playing in this one place that wasn't too far from my house. My folks didn't even know I was playing there. They'd see me take off with the clarinet (couldn't play fiddle there cause it was too noisy). I had a working knowledge of clarinet, you know. So, I asked my father for his, but he wouldn't give it to me. So I went out and rented one for five bucks, got the job, and then I went and bought a cheap little second-hand one for twenty-six bucks. And I played clarinet there for two and half to three years. It was a saloon, really. But at least they had a stage and everything. When they got their sound system in (a cheesy microphone) then I could start playing fiddle there because I could be heard. I was playing jazz, of course. They didn't want to hear Strauss waltzes in there! They weren't drinking beer, you know, they were drinking boilermakers and everything else. And the guy used to feed us at the end of the night, too, that was another nice thing about it.

And then finally, one night the police came to my house, and my mother was home. They told her that I was playing there. Since I was only 14 and they were selling alcohol over there, I couldn't play there anymore. My mother had to tell them she didn't even know that I was playing there. No one knew. She was wondering where I was getting all that money from. 'Cause I brought it home to help the family. I was brought up that way...you're the oldest, you have to help the family.

And so, they put a stop to that. So I took other things. But they weren't as nice as playing the saloon ... 'cause there I could really cut loose. The others you had to read and everything.

I met Joe Venuti when I was about 14. Where I lived on Chautauqua Lake, one side of the lake had a ballroom overlooking the lake and it was called the Casino. These big bands would come. And I knew that every time they'd come, they'd rehearse. So I used to go up there and listen to them. And I was 14, you know, and I got the world where I wanted it, and I just walked up to them and talked to Venuti's manager and said "I want to meet Mr. Venuti." And he said, "Well, Sure!" I never had anybody tell me no or chase me out. They were very nice.

Then I met him and he asked me if I was practicing my scales and my etudes. And I said, yeah, I'm playing etudes....I played (something) for him and it impressed him ...He really liked that. In those days kids didn't improvise. Even adults didn't. And that impressed him. After that, every time I knew he was going to be here or there, I'd go see him again. And we'd work up in the room and he'd show me this or that. But the one thing he insisted on -- he'd say, "Don't imitate me." And I'm glad of that.

With me, my experiences with him were all the direct opposite [of most people]. ..knowing him as a child. In those days, he was known as a boozer and a gambler. But he never drank in my presence. He had a filthy mouth, but he never cussed in my presence. And the last time I saw him, I was in my late 50s and he was still that way with me.

Like I said, I saw him as a wonderful old man who took an interest in me when someone should've taken an interest. He inspired me. Who could ask for anything more than that?

Now I'm just a tired old man that loves music. And I would like for others to love it as much as I do. I wanted to play the violin since I was three. I didn't start till I was four. The reason I wanted to play was I loved the sound. I used to listed to Ellman and Kreisler records. I loved what the sound did to me. That's why I'm playing now. I like what the music does to me. How it makes me feel. And if I could in any way make other people feel like that...because that's a message from God. You know, you have the music in here. You use the violin as the medium for that expression. To get it out. The music's dying to come out. And how's it going to come out of you? Through improvisation. The spirit wants to be free."

Campi performs Sunday night, June 8th at 8pm for the Clarksville Jazz Festival at the Victory Grill. You certainly shouldn't miss him.