It was my on my birthday during my sophomore year in high school that my mom and my aunt either coincidentally or in concert, decided that the most effective and insidious way to derail my love of country music and rock-and-roll would be to each give me a Thelonious Monk LP.

The gifts were effective in their overt objectives; indeed I was surprised in not just receiving one record by somebody whose music I hadn't a clue about, but two! But their apparent scheme was equally effective in achieving its deeper, darker goals, as I soon began to listen to almost nothing but jazz! Monk's funky thang hit an off-minor chord somewhere in my teen spirit and I tuned in every night to Northwestern University's WNUR nightly jazz show. Their hosts–in particular, one named James Kanthansen (sp?)–played the stuff that even public radio couldn't get a way with; from the Art Ensemble of Chicago to straight-ahead standards by the greats. I was hooked.

Fast-forward two years...
1984, My Senior Year at Evanston Township High School.

It’s the hourly mad dash of students going from third to fourth period classes. I'm standing at my locker at the busiest intersection of hallways in the entire school–where  H-Hall Ts into the library–when my friend Mike Shawver, fresh out of Bob Knox's graphic arts class, walks up to me with a stack of 200 or so freshly-printed, note-pad-sized sheets of paper, each emblazoned with the grinning mug of a young be-pop-era Theloniuos Monk. Ah! Sometimes the universe just seems to make so much sense! Here Mike just completed his assignment to successfully offset-print  a stack of , well, pretty much anything,  and as result,  I end up with a free load of images of my man, Thelonious Monk! Perfect!

In the following moments that ensued, as fellow students flowed around me, I  wondered what in the world my mission would now be, given the sudden endowment of Mike’s fantastic “Gift of Monk.”

It was in that thirty and some odd second period of  bewildered reflection that Marilyn Veasley, an acquaintance and classmate going all the way back to second grade, approached me completely out of the blue (I rarely, if ever, interacted with her, except to say hello if we passed each other in the hall). Why she approached me, I still do not understand, but my best guess would be that it had to do with the lost look on my face and the crisp stack of freshly printed material in my hand.  “What’s that?”, Marilyn sort of barked at me.  “It’s  Monk,” I replied. “Oh", she said, as if it were all very reasonable. “What are you going to do with him?” This question, I told her, was just the issue; I did not know what in the hell I was going to do with him. Marilyn must have known from my tone or some other primal signal that I wasn't joking. I was a guy with a treasure but no plan. “Here.” She said. “Give them to me.”

Sowing The Seeds...
Monk begins to take hold
Marilyn was fairly big (not fat–big) and had quite a commanding presence about her. When she asked for the stack, it was with both intimidation and a sense of not knowing what the hell else to do that I promptly handed her the entire  pile of Monk and expected that this was the last I would see of him. Then, to my sort of horrified astonishment, she simply turned away from me, took a few steps into the swirling rush of students, and began to hand them out left and right as if they were coupons to a new midtown chicken shack! When someone would ask her “What’s this?” or “Who’s that?” Marilyn quickly came back, with a reply and a tone that assumed the questioner’s total comprehension. She would just say “That’s MONK.”

Later that day Monk’s mug appeared here and there throughout ETHS–which, I should note here, is a good-sized school of some 3500 students. He was by no means all over the place, but he was making some appearances on bulletin boards as well is in the eddies of hallway flotsam that accumulate by the drinking fountains and such places. 

It was probably at this point that Mike felt what I’m guessing was a little rush of power. The very next day he delivered to me more of the same head shot, but on different colors of paper.  With the power of Monk already in taking hold, even those of us without the will of a Marilyn Veasley could feel confident about spreading the Good News of the be-bopper with funky glasses and snug beret. Increasingly, there was no need of explanation. Most recipients either extended their hands and responded “Monk!” or they would reject the offer, confirming that they’d already received theirs.

The Sprout
Monk begins to take hold
As so many things like this go, once Theloinious' mug began to gain acceptance and recognition as MONK ( and not just some funky-lookiong cat from a long time ago) other people became interested in distributing whatever propaganda we could come up with. I can remember students–mostly friends–approaching Mike and me at our locker asking if we had any new material that they could hand out. What did they want to do with it? I don't know! What was clear, however, was that Monk's face was appearing on enough bulletin boards, lockers and lapels (see the Monk pin, above) that if you we an outsider you probably would have figured he was a kid running for class president.

To be continued.....

If you went  to ETHS and have any Monk memories, I'd love to post them here. Drop me a line!