By Lanny Morgnanesi

A writer may write, and may be appreciated, but for him or her there is nothing like, say, applause. So writers take satisfaction in notes sent by readers. I received such a note this week, a reaction to a simple piece I wrote 10 years ago, one that may not have been entirely accurate.

It was a sad piece, about the death of a man named Baird Parker, who at the time of his death worked quietly in a Lansdale, Pennsylvania, grocery store. In his life, Baird Parker had known fame, but it was not his fame. It was his father’s, a man named Charlie Parker, a saxophonist and one of the greatest jazz innovators of all time. The headline on my story was: “Is the son of a god a god? The problem with famous sons.”

What I wrote was based primarily on Baird’s obit and included a statement from Baird’s mother that his life, for the most part, was destroyed by the fame of his father.

That was 2014. Ten years later, on the anniversary of Baird’s death, I received an online message from his old roommate, a drummer. For a time, the two lived together with their girlfriends on Clinton Avenue in Doylestown, about five minutes from my home. The roommate told me that Baird’s life was not one of sadness, that there was success, joy, happiness; that it was a good life, one to be celebrated. It was a simple message but moved me greatly. Most important – and this was not in any obit – Baird was a musician and a composer. On the 10^th anniversary of Baird’s death, I now share with you drummer Paul Bozzi’s touching account of his old friend.

Lanny, I read your post about Charles Baird Parker. I was disappointed and I thought I would take this opportunity to fill in a few details on the 10th anniversary of his passing. His life was not a failure by any means. Here is what I know.

Charlie “Bird” Parker died in 1955 when Baird was only 3 years old. Shortly after that, Bird’s widow, Chan moved the family to Paris. Chan remarried another great saxophonist, Phil Woods. Baird studied guitar and created a unique style, slightly dark and moody with a relaxed groove. His guitar influences ranged from Jimi Hendrix to Django Reinhardt.  

In the early 70s, Baird moved back to Pennsylvania. I met Baird in 1973. My girlfriend had known Baird as a child when they both attended Ramblerny, a summer camp for the performing arts in New Hope, Pa., that has become a thing of legend. Other “campers” included the Brecker Brothers, Holly Cole and the recently passed Richie Cole, who after Phil Woods died had become the one remaining bearer of the bepop saxophone. Sadly, with his passing, there seems to be no successor to truly carry on that torch.

We were living in Connecticut at the time and the best friend of my girlfriend was in a relationship with Baird, so we came down to visit for a weekend. The drummer in the band Baird was working with fell ill on Saturday and they asked me to sub for him. A few days later I returned to CT and picked up what I needed and moved to Doylestown, Pa. to join the band.

We moved in with Baird and his girlfriend in a two-floor apartment on North Clinton St. in Doylestown, where we stayed for a few years. During that time, we worked with a few bands, most notably, Ronnie Rinard and The Shadows.  Ronnie was a well-known Elvis impersonator, and I think he really did channel Elvis. Ronnie had a great voice and amazing stage presence, and in true form he was absolutely eccentric. From 1972 through 1977 we played some crazy joints as well as big clubs around Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Neither Baird nor I were big fans of Elvis, but we were young and happy, the money was good and the gigs were plentiful. Several nights a week, we would hop into his bright red Oldsmobile 442 convertible, he would quip “we’re off like a herd of turtles” and we would be on our merry way to another gig. Never a dull moment! If we ended up in a country joint where the clientele was rough and maybe a little racist about having a black man on stage, Baird would speak French into the mic, until his warm sense of humor would defuse the situation. He was so funny, and often had the band in stitches with jokes and witticisms about music and life in general. Often, at 3 am we would end up at Doylestown’s now-defunct Ed’s Diner (known by the regulars as “Dead’s Diner”) where we would enjoy the company of other late-night denizens and slam down a breakfast (or two sometimes)  before slipping around the corner to North Clinton St.

During that time, we also formed a group to play and record Baird’s original compositions. Unfortunately, all those recordings have disappeared. A great personal loss to me as the music was unique and now lost to the universe forever. In 1978, I took a gig touring with a band after which I returned to CT to start a family and lost touch with Baird.  Then around 2010 I went to Bucks County to ride the Delaware Canal bike trail. While there I looked him up and found him in Lansdale, Pa. where he had opened a music store, I believe it was called Birdland Music. He was doing quite well, owned a home and was living happily with a beautiful young woman and enjoying his life. Also playing with local musicians, many of whom had no idea of his lineage. I visited every summer for the next couple of years. Eventually, he closed the store and wanted to try something different. So he took a job as a baker at a grocery store. He enjoyed cooking and he wanted to learn about baking. We visited a few times after that until that day in 2014 when I received the devastating call from his girlfriend with the news of his passing. I was crushed. We had plans of the two of them coming to CT for an extended visit in the summer that year.

Baird was a joyful, humble, hardworking, extremely intelligent, talented and kind man. He was the son of a great innovator, and he had the same creative pulse running in his blood. He had been born into jazz royalty, and he accepted that and was proud of it. We talked about it a few times and you could hear the pride he had about his dad and his stepfather Phil Woods as well. Many famous jazz players knew him from his childhood, and he kept up with some of them. We once attended a Chick Corea concert where we were invited backstage and he was greeted warmly by Chick. He often spoke of his childhood relationship with Dave Lambert of the jazz vocal trio, Lambert, Hendricks and Ross. Dave was killed in an automobile accident in 1966.  Jon Hendricks’ telling of the story says that Lambert was a compulsive do-gooder and that he had stopped to assist another motorist in changing a flat tire. I can imagine Baird doing the same thing, he was just that kind of man.

Play on Baird, miss you brother!!

Paul Bozzi

Tags: baird-parker, jazz, music, saxophone