Stan Levey. Frank R. Hayde

head-spinning technique and avalanche of improvisational ideas, Tatum’s early recordings made young pianists like Hank Jones and Oscar Peterson think two or even three people were playing. Even to this day, Tatum remains in a class by himself, separate from the continuum of jazz pianists whose innovations were absorbed by younger generations. “First you speak of Art Tatum,” explained Dizzy Gillespie, “then take a long, deep breath . . . and then you speak of the other pianists.”

      I did a one-eighty and started walking out. Leonard Feather said, “Where are you going?” I said, “I cannot play with Art Tatum. I wouldn’t even think of it. He’s way above my ability.” He says, “Get back in there. You can do it.”

      I went back in and I set up. It was kind of a mish-mash of a band, Georgie Auld, Joe Thomas, the guitar player was Chuck Wayne. I played very softly and tried to just fit in. Art came over—he was blind—and he put his arm around me. He said, “You did real, real good.” Boy did that help me in this career that I had . . . I’ll never forget him for that.

      Stan’s next gig was with the most exciting pianist since Art Tatum himself. Erroll Garner couldn’t read music and had to sit on a telephone book to reach the keys, but his enchanting and highly individualistic playing made him one of the top-selling jazz artists ever. Fresh from Pittsburgh, Garner mesmerized many a musician in his first performances on The Street—including Stan, who approached Garner after a set and landed a job with him that same night.

      Between his work with Dizzy Gillespie, Oscar Pettiford, Art Tatum, and Erroll Garner, the self-taught kid from Philly was quickly establishing a quality résumé. Work became plentiful, with Stan drumming for a variety of ensembles, including the George Shearing Trio. After his stint with Shearing, Stan joined Henry Jerome’s band, notable for its oddball but auspicious personnel.

      “It was by far the best band I ever played in,” remembered tenor saxophonist Alan Greenspan. “A surprising number of my fellow musicians and our successors went on to memorable careers. Johnny Mandel, one of our trombonists, went to Hollywood and wrote ‘The Shadow of Your Smile’ and the theme music for M*A*S*H and won an Academy Award and four Grammys . . . Stan Levey later played with Charlie Parker. Larry Rivers became a major pop artist. And my fellow sax player, Lenny Garment, became President Nixon’s lawyer.”

      In his book Crazy Rhythm, Garment took credit for bringing Stan Levey to New York after meeting him at a jam session at the Downbeat Club in Philly. Stan remembered Garment as a very good tenor player and Larry Rivers as “completely crazy . . . he was cuckoo then, and he’s nuts now. The guy’s wacko, but a great artist.” Alan Greenspan, of course, went on to become chairman of the Federal Reserve, and was widely labeled as one of the most powerful men in the world during his tenure. Not surprisingly, he doubled as the band’s treasurer and paymaster.

      Stan was also doing double duty. When the opportunity arose, he would take a fight at Sunnyside Gardens in Queens or back home in Philadelphia. Like many other journeyman fighters of the preliminary ranks, Stan sometimes fought under different names—such as the alias Joe Levy, with a record of three wins and four losses in fights held in New Jersey, Brooklyn, Hartford, and at the Valley Arena in Holyoke, Massachusetts. For boxers who threw the occasional fight, pseudonyms helped avoid the scrutiny of regulators. For Stan, they also served to keep his two careers separate from each other.

      I’m doing both the fighting and the music but I never let one know what I do on the other end of it, because the musicians say, “Hey, this guy’s a fighter,” and I don’t want that. I’m a drummer. And the boxers will say, “Hey, a musician—put your dress on!” To the musicians, this guy’s scary. He’s a fighter. They don’t want to have him in the band. “Might get strange. Who knows, if he gets mad he might dump someone.”

      I have to eliminate that, which I do. Not their business, it’s my business. It’s how I make some money. I think Dizzy knows. I’m not a full-time fighter. They get me a match, the money’s kinda right. I’d have a couple of weeks to get in shape and do the best I can.

      On October 18, 1944, opening for a main event featuring his hometown hero, Ike Williams, Stan fought under the name “Sam Levey” in front of six thousand people at Memorial Auditorium in Buffalo, New York. Stan and Ike were both victorious, with Williams knocking out Johnny Green and Stan dropping Ben Tyler in the second round of a four-round fight.