Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, January 22, 1995 TAG: 9501230006
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARK MORRISON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
At 77, why?
Fred "Freddie Lee" Corstaphney didn't need to explain. All he had to do was pass out the sheet music and offer a few instructions.
"I want this very quiet and very pretty, very Tallulah Bankhead," he said.
The brass, the saxophones and the rhythm section took it from there.
Like ducks to water.
Like hepcats to the familiar licks of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey - the big bands.
"All right, let's see what this one sounds like," Corstaphney said, counting off the lead-in to "It Had To Be You."
"Everybody take a look at me ... a one, a two ... yeah!"
Then, quickly, he waved his arms to stop the song.
Something was wrong. The trombone solo. "I can't hear it," he said.
Much of the afternoon had been like this, starting and stopping, smoothing out the rough spots, giving direction.
"A nice, easy swing," he encouraged, counting off a second time.
Again he waved his arms. "It's all going together."
Some of the players offered suggestions. Maybe there was a problem with the arrangement. Maybe they should move on to another number.
No, Corstaphney urged, not until they get it right. "Now that you know where we're going and where we're going to end up," he told them. "A one, a two ... ''
This time around, they came closer.
Corstaphney started bouncing in time to the music. Then, for a moment, he did a little shuffle across the floor as if with a silent dance partner in his arms. A joyous grin broke out on his face, an exuberance, really, that had been absent from the flush of his cheeks for a decade.
It had been too long since band leader Corstaphney felt this magic.
And he had missed it, these moments when a group of musicians look at a page of music and, under his guidance, come together with punch and rhythm and swing.
"I tell you what," he said. "After all these years I don't feel like there was anything in between but a long intermission."
Corstaphney was back where he belonged - out in front of a big band. The setting was the Jefferson Center in Roanoke. The scene: the first rehearsal he had led in 10 years.
"A rebirth," he called it.
For nearly 40 years, leading a swing band like this was as much a part of his identity as his blue eyes, his Lynchburg roots and the Corstaphney name he sheds for the stage.
Likewise, his Freddie Lee Orchestra was as much a part of the Hotel Roanoke, The Homestead in Hot Springs and The Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia as their posh furnishings - the great constant during the decades from Elvis to Madonna.
But 10 years ago, Corstaphney ended his tenure on the bandstand. At 67, he said he was ready to try retirement, and he sold the band to his second trumpeter, Dennis Reaser.
"I wanted to see what it was like not doing anything," he explained. "I wanted to sit down and look around me for awhile."
It was easy to understand why. Corstaphney had been hustling in the music world for 50 years, beginning in his hometown of Lynchburg, where he got his start as a trumpeter in several regional bands.
The band business was a calling his parents didn't easily understand for their teen-age son. "Nobody in the family could swing with 8 feet of rope," he explained coyly, dropping the line into his conversation like someone who can swing just fine without a rope in sight.
But his parents didn't object. In the Great Depression, almost any job was a good job, and a good-paying music gig was better than most. "I would come to school with my pocket jingling. Everybody else didn't have a dime, and I had a dollar."
He got to travel, to as far away as Denver and Buffalo.
In 1937, he won a scholarship to the Peabody Conservatory of Music in Baltimore. He organized his first band. "I thought I'd try my luck and see what the world offered me, but quickly found out there were 1,500 bands out there doing the same thing."
So, instead of becoming his occupation, music became his hobby. After two years at the Peabody, he returned to Lynchburg, then settled in Roanoke in 1942.
First he managed several B.F. Goodrich tire stores and worked as a salesman and advertising director at WSLS radio. Then, in 1959, he co-founded Associated Advertising, where he remained until his retirement.
On the bandstand, he formed the Freddie Lee Orchestra in 1949. Over the following 35 years, the group became a regional entertainment fixture, playing at the inaugurations of two Virginia governors and backing up such stars as Bob Hope, Cab Calloway, Red Skelton and band singer Helen O'Connell.
When Corstaphney sold the band in 1984, it continued under Dennis Reaser. Today, Reaser performs mostly as the Dennis Reaser Orchestra or the Dennis Reaser Orchestra formerly Freddie Lee.
Meanwhile, Corstaphney enjoyed his retirement.
He spent some of his time organizing a stockpile of Freddie Lee memorabilia and an impressive collection of big-band music. A room in his Salem apartment is dedicated to the collection.
He gave his trumpet to his grandson, Hunter, although Corstaphney recently borrowed it back. "I told him, `Hunter, I'll have to borrow my old horn, but you'll still get it when I kick off.'''
Corstaphney and his wife of 55 years, Ruth, have two daughters and three grandchildren: Robert, Hunter and Tiffany.
The bandleader never considered himself an institution. "No, I consider myself as someone who should be in one," he cracked on cue.
But it was a public demand of sorts - at least from his acquaintances and friends - that finally persuaded Corstaphney to put together a band again.
The main instigator was Johnny Cocke, who wanted Corstaphney for the Jefferson High School 60th class reunion dance in May.
"It's a recollection of the old big-band days," Cocke said, "when we were in our, quote, youth."
Cocke's wife, Nancy, added: "He never played a tune we couldn't dance to."
Corstaphney understands the sentiment. It's nostalgia. "It's part of their history," he said. "I was identified with fun and games after dark, entertainment."
He agreed to play the Jefferson reunion, but asked for $1,000 up front - about half his fee - for start-up costs such new bandstands and sound equipment.
In re-forming the band, Corstaphney said, the only stipulation was that he didn't want all the responsibility, as in the old days. He wanted only to lead the band and decide the arrangements. "So I won't have to be the first to arrive and the last to leave," he said.
Those duties will be handled by pianist Dee Roberts of Lynchburg and his wife, Norma, who is the group's featured singer.
There are plans for future gigs. Not surprisingly, Virginia Tech is considering featuring Corstaphney and his orchestra at the re-opening of the Hotel Roanoke in April.
What made Corstaphney special as a band leader was his rapport with the audience and an instinct to keep people dancing.
"I watch the feet," he explained. "Within 20 minutes, I've got the pulse of the crowd for the night."
How frequently the band will work in the future he isn't sure. "Just about every one of the guys in this band has had a major operation of some kind, but we're all functioning," he said, only half-joking.
In truth, Corstaphney and trombone player Rusty Nichols are the band's oldest members. The youngest are in their 50s.
But at the first rehearsal, their advancing ages came into play only as a subject for their banter - not as a factor in the music.
"You dead yet?" saxophonist Dave Figg said in greeting Rusty Nichols, who didn't miss a beat.
"I'm working on it."
Later, another saxophonist, Wilbur Grant, was overheard telling a story. "I went to the doctor the other day. He said two things happen to you when you get older. One is you start forgetting things more." He paused for effect. "I can't remember the other thing he said."
Still, the underlying reality could not be glossed over completely, particularly when one of the players had to leave the rehearsal early to cut up his wife's dinner and another kept a cellular telephone close by to check on his wife in the hospital.
At 77, Corstaphney acknowledges, too, that his time left on the bandstand is limited now. He said that's why he wanted to return.
"It's the last call, I reckon."
A
He's Fred, but is he ``Freddie Lee''? The answer may have to come from a judge. PAGE 10
Fred Corstaphney picks up the baton again after a decade
|By MARK MORRISON| |STAFF WRITER|
T 77, WHY? Fred "Freddie Lee" Corstaphney didn't need to explain. All he had to do was pass out the sheet music and offer up a few instructions.
"I want this very quiet and very pretty, very Tallulah Bankhead," he said.
The brass, the saxophones and the rhythm section took it from there.
Like ducks to water.
Like hepcats to the familiar licks of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey - the big bands.
"All right, let's see what this one sounds like," Corstaphney said, counting off the lead in to "It Had To Be You."
"Everybody take a look at me ... a one, a two ... yeah!"
Then quickly, he waved his arms to stop the song.
Something was wrong. The trombone solo. "I can't hear it," he said. Much of the afternoon had been like this, starting and stopping, smoothing out the rough spots, giving direction.
"A nice easy swing," he encouraged, counting off a second time.
Again he waved his arms. "It's all going together."
Some of the players offered suggestions. Maybe there was a problem with the arrangement. Maybe they should move on to another number.
No, Corstaphney urged, not until they get it right. "Now that you know where we're going and where we're going to end up," he told them. "A one, a two ..."
This time around, they came closer.
Corstaphney started bouncing in time to the music. Then, for a moment, he did a little shuffle across the floor as if with a silent dance partner in his arms. A joyous grin broke out on his face, an exuberance really, that had been absent from the flush of his cheeks for a decade.
It had been too long since band leader Corstaphney felt this magic.
And he had missed it, these moments when a group of musicians look at a page of music and, under his guidance, come together with punch and rhythm and swing.
"I tell you what," he said. "After all these years I don't feel like there was anything in between but a long intermission."
Corstaphney was back where he belonged - out in front of a big band. The setting was the Jefferson Center in Roanoke. The scene: the first rehearsal he had led in 10 years.
"A rebirth," he called it.
For nearly 40 years, leading a swing band like this was as much a part of his identity as his blue eyes, his Lynchburg roots and the Corstaphney name he sheds for the stage.
Likewise, his Freddie Lee Orchestra was as much a part of the Hotel Roanoke, The Homestead in Hot Springs and The Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia as their posh furnishings - the great constant during the decades from Elvis to Madonna.
But 10 years ago, Corstaphney ended his tenure on the bandstand. At 67, he said he was ready to try out retirement and he sold the band to his second trumpeter, Dennis Reaser.
"I wanted to see what it was like not doing anything," he explained. "I wanted to sit down and look around me for awhile."
It was easy to understand why. Corstaphney had been hustling in the music world for 50 years, beginning in his hometown of Lynchburg where he got his start as a trumpeter in several regional bands.
The band business was a calling his parents didn't easily understand for their teen-age son. "Nobody in the family could swing with 8-foot of rope," he explained coyly, dropping the line into his conversation like someone who can swing just fine without a rope in sight.
But his parents didn't object. In the Great Depression almost any job was a good job, and a good-paying music gig was better than most. "I would come to school with my pocket jingling. Everybody else didn't have a dime, and I had a dollar."
He got to travel, to as far away as Denver and Buffalo.
In 1937, he won a scholarship to the Peabody Conservatory of Music in Baltimore. He organized his first band. "I thought I'd try my luck and see what the world offered me, but quickly found out there were 1,500 bands out there doing the same thing."
So, instead of becoming his occupation, music became his hobby. After two years at the Peabody, he returned to Lynchburg, then settled in Roanoke in 1942.
For his occupation, he first managed several area B.F. Goodrich tire stores and worked as a salesman and advertising director at WSLS radio. Then, in 1959, he co-founded Associated Advertising, where he remained until his retirement.
On the bandstand, he formed the Freddie Lee Orchestra in 1949. Over the following 35 years, the group became a regional entertainment fixture, playing at the inaugurations of two Virginia governors, and backing up such stars as Bob Hope, Cab Calloway, Red Skelton and band singer Helen O'Connell.
When Corstaphney sold the band in 1984, it continued under Dennis Reaser. Today, Reaser performs mostly as the Dennis Reaser Orchestra or the Dennis Reaser Orchestra formerly Freddie Lee.
Meanwhile, Corstaphney enjoyed his retirement.
He spent some of his time organizing a stockpile of Freddie Lee memorabilia and an impressive collection of big band music. A room in his Salem apartment is now dedicated to the collection.
He gave his trumpet to his grandson Hunter, although Corstaphney recently borrowed it back. "I told him, `Hunter, I'll have to borrow my old horn, but you'll still get it when I kick off.'"
He never considered himself an institution. "No, I consider myself as someone who should be in one," he cracked on cue.
But it was a public demand of sorts - at least from his acquaintances and friends - that finally persuaded Corstaphney to put together a band again.
The main instigator was Johnny Cocke, who wanted Corstaphney for the Jefferson High School 60th class reunion dance in May.
"It's a recollection of the old big band days," Cocke said, "when we were in our, quote, youth."
Plus, Cocke's wife, Nancy, added: "He never played a tune we couldn't dance to."
Corstaphney understands the sentiment. It's nostalgia. "It's part of their history," he said.
"I was identified with fun and games after dark, entertainment."
He agreed to play the Jefferson reunion, but asked for $1,000 up front - about half his fee - for start-up costs like new bandstands and sound equipment.
In re-forming the band, Corstaphney said the only stipulation was that he didn't want all the responsibility, like in the old days. He wanted only to lead the band and decide the arrangements. "So I won't have to be the first to arrive and the last to leave," he said.
Those duties will be handled by pianist Dee Roberts of Lynchburg along with his wife, Norma, who is the group's featured singer.
There are plans for future gigs. Not surprisingly, Virginia Tech is considering featuring Corstaphney and his orchestra at the re-opening of the Hotel Roanoke in April.
What made Corstaphney as a band leader special was his audience rapport and instinct to keep people dancing. "I watch the feet," he explained. "Within 20 minutes, I've got the pulse of the crowd for the night."
How frequently the band will work in the future he isn't sure. "Just about everyone of the guys in this band has had a major operation of some kind, but we're all functioning," he said, only half-joking.
In truth, Corstaphney shares the distinction with trombone play Rusty Nichols as the band's oldest members. The youngest are in their 50s.
But at the first rehearsal, their advancing ages only came into play as a subject of their banter - not as a factor in the music.
"You dead yet?" saxophonist Dave Figg said in greeting Rusty Nichols, who didn't miss a beat.
"I'm working on it."
Later, another saxophonist, Wilbur Grant, was overheard telling a story. "I went to the doctor the other day. He said two things happen to you when you get older. One is you start forgetting things more." He paused for effect. "I can't remember the other thing he said."
Still, the underlying reality could not be glossed over completely, particularly when one of the players had to leave the rehearsal early to cut up his wife's dinner, and another kept a cellular telephone close by to check on his wife in the hospital.
At 77, Corstaphney acknowledges, too, that his time left on the bandstand is limited now. He said that's why he wanted to return.
"It's the last call, I reckon."
by CNB