Page 32 - Contrast1957Springv1n1

The Cellar

T. E. DAVIES, JR.

In Frankfort on the Main, in post-war Germany, Carlo Bolander's
"Domicile du Jazz" is the center of the intellectual jazz movement.
"The Cellar" is located in the heart of Frankfort's bustling modern
downtown area in a crumbling basement of a bombed-out grocery store.

The vaulted dark ceilings present an almost church-like atmos-
phere, which is complemented by the hushed patrons sitting in small
groups around the bare wooden tables, conversing in whispers, or
simply thinking alone. It is dark. The indirect lighting is cast
upward along the aging central pillar, accentuating only the crudeness
of the Gothic arch it seems to present. The bricked-in pointed door-
ways are covered with faded bills of jazz concerts long passed, proudly
announcing the names of Mulligan, Hampton, Chet Baker, Kenton,
and others.

The bar in the corner is the only bright spot there, with its back.
ground of autographed photos of the artists to whom the temple is

dedicated. The old standbys are at the bar talking music, or politics.
or painting, or literature; or philosophizing with Johann, the bar.
tender. They stand bearded and solemn in old leather jackets and
corduroy trousers, some stained with paints, others ragged and worn;
and they talk and talk.

The old potbellied stove, the center of interest during the cold

German winter, is neglected in summer, and it stands alone amid the

smoke and haze formed by the evening's first jazz connoisseurs smok-

ing their pipes. .

At the table in the corner sits a girl in a red coat. That's Carlo's
wife. She has long black hair pulled to one side, tied in an off-center
pony tail. It cascades down over the contrasting red of her coat.
Her eyes are dark and sad; no one knows why; she talks to no one.

Not even to Joe, the tall gregarious Negro. Joe speaks perfect
German; he's lived here for five years, since he got out of the Army,
and he gets along wonderfully. Joe knows everyone. He's coming in
now, along with his usual following. Most of them are students, with
shaggy unkempt hair; but they're all wearing coats and ties.

Taped music is playing. That's a recording of Kenton's last con-
cert in Frankfort. Yes, I like it. No, the musicians don't come in till
after midnight. Well, they don't get paid here. They only come in
for their own entertainment, and for anyone else who appreciates their

30