1988_05 The Daily Collegian May 1988

              ■
The Bluestein Rag
From Fulbrdghts to jazz giants, Gene Blue¬
stein has found the world to be his stage
■ Gene Bluestein could easily Till the
walls of his office with the numerous a-
wards and degrees be has amassed in more
than 30 years as a scholar and teacher.
From Fulbright professor to Carnegie
Foundation fellowships to a Ph.D., the
CSUF English professor's resume now
stands at five pages.
Bui awards are conspicuously missing
from the walls of Bluestein's office in
San Ramon 4. Instead, they are covered
with a collage of photographs and concert
fliers that stand as a Who's Who in Amer¬
ican folk music. And for Bluestein—who
has spent the majority of his life study¬
ing, playing and preserving folk music—
each photo, each flier, carries with it a
special memory.
A black-and-white photo of Woody
Guthrie with guitar and cigarette takes the
60-year-old Bluestein back to his teenage
years in New York in the early 40s.
"One of the neighbors I had while 1
was living in Brighton Beach was Woody
Guthrie," said Bluestein, his modestly ris¬
ing eyebrows adding a subtle punctuation
to his words.
Guthrie performed in a Jewish commun¬
ity center near Coney Island, which is
next to Brighton Beach.
Why a Jewish community center?
"He didn't have many jobs and the only
places he could get to sing were where
there were progressive or liberal people,"
said Bluestein, "and the center happened
to be one of those places."
Seeing Guthrie perform was Bluestein's
first exposure to traditional folk music.
But Bluestein's exposure eventually went
beyond just watching Guthrie.
"I used to jam with him. I was just
learning how to play guitar... and he
loved playing with people.
That was an amazing experience to
find yourself playing with Woody
Guthrie..in Coney Island of all places!"
Prior to his exposure to folk music.
Bluestein did not demonstrate an interest
in music.
"My father and mother would bring
home a new instrument for me which I
would promptly break or give away," said
Bluestein.
Once his interest in folk music took
hold, Bluestein soon started following
jazz as well.
He could not have picked a better time
nor city to learn about jazz. New York
afforded Bluestein the opportunity to
frequent West 52nd Street, which in the
1940s, was the great jazz center.
"It was probably the most fortunate
thing in my education," he said.
The small clubs featured the greats of
jazz. There was no charge to get in, so
the clubs charged high prices for drinks.
"You would go in and buy a beer for
75 cents—that was a lot to pay for a beer
in 1945," said Bluestein. "You would
nurse that beer all night."
The musicians used to visit each other
at different clubs and jam. Bluestein said
that such jam sessions frequently resulted
in variations of jazz developing and
provided West 52nd with a wide variety of
talent
"I was in that place when bop was in¬
vented," he said. "Dizzy Gillespie, Char¬
lie Parker and many others were experi¬
menting with what we finally called bop.
And next door was Louis Armstrong—
and next door was Billie Holliday.
"You'd sit there in the club and Benny
Goodman would come by, Artie Shaw
would stop by, and even the big band
guys would stop by. It was an experience
you couldn't repeat."
Bluestein recalled a time when Ann
strong dropped in to jam with Gillespie
and Parker, who had just started bebop.
"They [Parker and Gillespie! were very
respectful to Armstrong. He tried to sit in
and he had no idea what they were doing.
It was terribly embarrassing to watch.
Louis would suddenly stop and look
around and say to them, 'Hey, what key is
this in?"
But Bluestein's desire to see musicians
perform sometimes got him into trouble,
as was the time Bluestein, clad in a zoot
suit, ditched high school for a day in order
to  go  to  the   Paramount  Theater   in
One more than one occasion, Bluestein
and his fellow journalists were suspended.
Bluestein graduated from Brooklyn
College in 1950 with a degree in English
and Comparative Literature. He then en¬
tered the University of Minnesota for his
master's, and eventually, his PhD.
He suffered a bit of culture shock when
he first arrived in Minnesota.
"It was so white," said Bluestein refer¬
ring to the contrast of Minnesota to the
ethnic melting pot he left in New York.
The shock soon wore off.
One of the fliers on Bluestein's office
wall bears the word "Hootenanny" in bold
letters. Below it is a photo of Bluestein
with a banjo in tow. It was for a show
Bluestein did in Minneapolis in the
1950s.
"Hootenanny" was a term popularized
in   the   1940s,   meaning   a   folk   jam
"I performed at the Walker Art
Museum. They had never had any folk
music there. I sort of introduced Minne¬
apolis to folk music.''
While performing shows in Minne¬
apolis, Bluestein met some interesting
people.
"One of the guys that used to come and
hang around was this tall, gangly, funny
looking guy who looked like a sick boxer
Although Bluestein never met him, he knew a
kid named Zimmerman hung around. Zimmerman
later changed his name to Bob Dylan.
Manhattan to see Lionel Hampton play
with the Benny Goodman Band.
"I was standing in line with a friend of
mine and a girl I had picked up. They
were both over 18 and I was about 15.
The truant officers came down the line,
picking people off. They pulled me out of
the line and put me in this terrible
detention center, and finally sent me back
to school. They asked my mother to
come in the next day."
Bluestein and his mother met with the
school's dean in his office. Bluestein was
dressed in a pair of maroon pants and a
salad-green jacket.
"The dean says to my mother "Look at
him, be is a zoot suit killer!' And my
mother, who was a wonderful woman,
said: 1 think he looks nice."'
Despite his run-ins with the law,
Bluestein did graduate from high school
and attended Brooklyn College.
Since no schools in the country offered
undVy graduate programs in American!Stud¬
ies, Bluestein opted to major in English.
But be admits tie spent most of his time
with the campus newspaper, where he
managed to keep himself in trouble.
"We had an outstanding paper," said
Bluestein. "We were always writing some¬
thing about the president, who was
really a rat. We were very professional
and wrote the truth, which, of course, is
very embarrassing to an administration."
dog. He always used to come up and talk
to me. His name was Garrison Keillor,
who became the host of [the radio show]
Prairie Home Companion."
Although Bluestein n ver met him, he
knew a kid named -immerman hung
around. Zimmerman later changed his
name to Bob Dylan.
To the left of the black-and-white
photos of Lightning Hopkins, Guthrie,
Bessie Jones on the wall of Bluestein's
office is a white photocopy of a Japanese
newspaper. The paper contains an
interview of Bluestein. Near the bottom
of the article is a small oval-shaped photo
of Bluestein.
"If you look at it closely you will see
something interesting," said Bluestein
pointing to the photo. "When they print
your picture in a Japanese newspaper you
look Japanese."
Bluestein spent 1983-84 teaching in
Japan at the Hiroshima Shudo University.
He was also a visiting lecturer at the Ky¬
oto American Studies Seminar.
"It was fascinating experience. I was
teaching American Studies at a university
in Japan that offers a four-year undergrad¬
uate degree in American Studies. No
schools in America offer that"
Bluestein, who will spend the up¬
coming fall and spring semesters teaching
American Studies in China, looks forward
to teaching abroad.
"One of the great things about being in
a country different from your own is that
it really helps you clarify understanding
of what your culture is. More importantly
is thai it prevents you from being
chauvinistic."
Bluestein's leaving for a year will add
extra emphasis to his family's annual
Farewell-Reunion Concert this Friday at
the Wesley Methodist Church.
The concert unites Bluestein's four
children: Joel, Evo, Jemmy and Frayda.
The five perform a wide range of music.
Including folk, Cajun and Reggae.
Unlike his parents, Bluestein did not
let bis children break or give away the in¬
struments he gave them when they were
young. He wanted to be sure they had the
solid background in classical music that
he later regretted not having.
Not that the lack of formal musicial
knowledge really hurt Bluestein.
He is not sure of the exact number of
instruments he can play, but a quick
listing soon exceeded 10. Bluestein is cur¬
rently experimenting with a Lao-style
mouth harp.
Bluestein believes the importance of
preserving and studying American music¬
al forms is that the music tells us who
we are. The music reflects the mixing of
cultures that has been exclusive to Amer¬
ica, said Bluestein.
The most important influence on
America is music. And by and large it has
been a positive influence."
Which is why Bluestein incorporates
music in the English and Capstone
courses he teaches at CSUF.
When watching Bluestein tap his foot
while playing the banjo, or seeing him
gently bounce behind a set of drums, it is
hard to remember he is a published
scholar and English teacher.
Without a banjo or guitar in tow, Blue¬
stein could easily fall into any number of
stereotypes. His silver-grey hair and beard
streaked with youthful remnants of black,
combined with the stem, studied lines
around his eyes and forehead give
Bluestein a resemblance to a stuffy, dig¬
nified corporatemogul.
Clothe him in a dark three-piece suit
and his image would lend itself well to a
painting of a company's founding father.
But talking with Bluestein instantly
ends any fears or intimidation generated
by the stereotypes of scholars and busi¬
nessmen.
.He has never forgotten all thai he has
experienc *.' from Brighton Beach to West
52nd Street, from snow-covered Minne¬
sota, to the traditions of the Appala¬
chians, his travels abroad and finally to
Fresno. Through it all, he has kept a low-
key attitude that keeps him on level with
bis students.
"You have to start with respect for
your students. The only difference
between you and them is that you have
been around a little longer. Thai doesn't
mean you're smarter, that doesn't mean
they lack intelligence, that doesn't mean
they are not capable of learning
everything you know—that is why I
enjoy leaching."