A kid's love affair with baseball

Torrance American Little League All Stars sporting brand new uniforms in 1961. Ken Palke at rear center.

The sun's been out  around here for the last few days and it's got me thinking about baseball. The major leaguers are playing and in a couple of months our local minor league team -- the Salem-Keizer Volcanoes -- will begin its season.

Baseball was a big thing in southern California when I was about 11 to 14 years old. Most of the neighborhood boys loved to play catch or get up a ball game in the street. Often we'd go to the schoolyard to play over-the-line, a hitting game designed for just a handful of players.

A lot of the guys played Little League ball. I was a first baseman and pitcher on the Red Sox and my brother John played for the Padres and Pirates. The Torrance American Little League marked the beginning of each new season with a parade near city hall and opening day ceremonies at the ball fields a few blocks from our house. I loved the pageantry and the multi-colored rainbow of uniforms as each team gathered on the field.

As I am to this day, I was drawn to the warm sunshine and smell of freshly-cut grass and the cultivated infield dirt of  those magical diamonds. According to my scrapbook, the Red Sox won 12 games and lost seven during my 11-year-old season in 1960.

We practiced once or twice a week and our manager Leonard Fink hauled us kids to and from the field in the bed of his battered red '52 Chevy pickup truck. He was a patient guy, good with kids (including his sons), and obviously dedicated to the team. He taught my teammates and me a lot about playing the game.

Mom worked in the snack shop during a few games. Kids who chased down a foul ball and returned it there were given a free piece of bubblegum -- a nice treat in those days. Dad told me recently that he'd been roped into umpiring a couple of times. "They weren't too happy with me, because I didn't know too much about umpiring," he said.

The Red Sox won a few more games during my 12-year-old season in 1961 and I became a better hitter and pitcher. I was selected to the All-Star team and remember the nervous butterflies flittering in my stomach before the first game.

The all-stars played well and won the first two games on 8-0 and 9-5 scores. I hit homers in both games and was a happy camper because the folks were in the stands watching. Our dreams of advancing to Williamsport, Pa., were dashed, though, when we lost the next game. And sadly, a few years later I learned that one of my teammates -- Tommy Haslet -- was killed in Vietnam.

The next season I moved to Pony League where the fields were bigger, the fences were farther away and we wore metal-spiked shoes just like the big leaguers. I loved the sound of those spikes on the pavement as we walked from the stands onto the field. About that time I also started noticing pretty girls in the stands.

I played outfield for the Braves (I still have my cap) at Ryan Field, which was adjacent to the Torrance Airport. I still hear the sound of those private planes puttering overhead as I played my position in right field.

Though I loved playing the game, Pony League was where the serious ballplayers were separated from the rest of us. Other things came up in life and I wasn't the best curveball hitter anyway, so I didn't follow my friends into high school ball.

I've played softball over the years and still enjoy attending baseball games, but somehow those youthful days of playing ball hold a special place in my heart.

Days and nights of fun playing surf music

Craig Shumaker and Ken Palke belt out a tune during a Band X concert
at the Grand Theater in Torrance, Calif., in the mid-'60s.

I love to hear the great surf music of the 1960s. Dick Dale and His Del-Tones, the Chantays, the Belairs,  the Surfaris, the Challengers . . . and their great Fender guitar-driven instrumentals "Miserlou," "Pipeline," "Mr. Moto," "Wipe-Out" and more.

Some folks may not recognize surf music when they hear it, but if you recall the movie "Pulp Fiction," much of the soundtrack is surf music. The Beach Boys are celebrating their 50th anniversary this year, and they started out playing surf music.

Recently Kent Crowley's terrific book "Surf Beat . . . Rock 'n' Roll's Forgotten Revolution" carried me on a nostalgic wave back to surf music's heyday of 1963-64. Growing up in southern California then, I was both a surfer and budding guitar player. The book explores the musicians and their instruments, the small recording companies that put out the records, and the West Coast venues where the kids flocked to hear this new kind of music.

At age 15, I played some piano in a surf band called the Vibrasonics, mostly at middle school and church youth dances. For instance, we played a Teenage Dance at the Torrance, Calif., YWCA on April 25,1964. We earned $35 . . . split among the five band members. Mom and Dad were probably wondering if they'd frittered away their money on my classical piano lessons.

Kids didn't have to be great musicians to play surf music on their guitars, just exuberant and loud . . . with plenty of echo (called reverberation). Our band must have gotten better though, because a few gigs later, we changed our name to The Coastmen and received a whopping $65 to play the Hideout Youth Canteen at Redondo High School.

We were young and having a great time playing music for other teens. It was a red-letter day when I got my first electric guitar and amplifier.

The band spent a lot of time setting up amplifiers and microphones and rehearsing. Sometimes we'd practice in my Dad's garage and draw lots of neighborhood kids to watch us. Of course, we just as quickly drew my parents' admonishment to "turn it down" if the music got too loud.

Later as vocal music by the Association, Beatles, Beach Boys, Lovin' Spoonful and others supplanted surf music in popularity, we added some new personnel and changed the name of our now six-piece group to "Band X" (a takeoff on Brand X). I was one of the lead singers and our instruments included three guitars (one a bass) and drums.

We played lots of high schools, dances and clubs. We won a Battle of the Bands contest in March 1966 and were awarded a two-foot tall trophy (pictured above) and a headlining gig as top winners.

It was a great night when the group played for a dance at our high school (South Torrance). Lots of kids were dancing and applauding our music . . . even the teachers were tapping their toes. The best part: we made a lot of people happy that night, including ourselves.

Here's to my fellow band mates: Joe, Bob, Craig, Gordon and Ronny . . . wherever you may be!


Band X performing at the Grand Theater in the mid-'60s. From left, Joe Sarazen,
 Craig Shumaker, Ron Stone, Ken Palke, Gordon Sims and Bob Shank.



Thanks to the WWII generation . . . and Dad

Dad carrying mortar tube in jungle during WWII.

The last of America's World War II veterans are fading into history and it's sad. These men and women gave so much of themselves seven decades ago when called into battle by our government. They are in their 80s and 90s now and death is thinning their ranks daily.

I'm a product of the WWII generation, a so-called "Baby Boomer," and I've felt its influence all my life. During my formative years our country's leaders were WWII veterans -- Ike, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon  and others. For 50+ years world events were shaped by that war.

My parents laid the foundation in my life and they both came of age during WWII.

Mom is gone now and Dad (Byron Palke) turns 88 in July. During WWII he served in combat as a mortar sergeant with the Army's 33rd Infantry Division in the Philippine Islands in 1944-45. He was wounded twice . . . the second time by bullets from a Japanese machine gun, which led to a dramatic around-the-globe journey home and a three-year stay in Army hospitals.

For many years, Dad didn't talk much about his days in the infantry, which included duty in Hawaii, the Dutch East Indies, and New Guinea before landing on Philippine soil on the island of Luzon. Dad and his fellow soldiers fought in mountainous terrain on a push toward Baguio City. His war ended when enemy fire ripped through his leg. Then stretcher bearers labored for hours to carry him uphill to a battle first aid station.

These actions are both remarkable and courageous and they took place day in and day out in every theater of the war.

As Dad grew older he began to tell us more about his days in the Army. He gets together periodically with his old first sergeant (in his 90s now) and I've been there when they talk about the war. They grow somber when describing the fierce fighting and the loss of buddies, but moments later they're laughing at something privately funny about Army life.

I know that Dad, Uncle Ed (Army Air Corps) and other veterans are proud of their WWII service.They remember the good things and the friends they made during wartime, but deep inside there must be scars too.

No matter how noble the cause, war is a dangerous and ugly business. Just ask those who fought in Korea and Vietnam and those who are fighting today in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Everything passes, but before the remaining members of the WWII generation slip away, I say thanks to Dad and his fellow veterans for their sacrifices so many years ago. I hope that their great-grandchildren and following generations remember what they did.

Pizza anyone? Try Angelo's neighborhood bakery

Angelo Revels was my first boss. Back in 1965-66, I was a cleanup kid and pizza cook at his neighborhood bakery on Palos Verdes Blvd. in Torrance, Calif.  It was a great experience.

I really started working several years earlier, though, with a neighborhood lawn-mowing route. But Angelo Revels Bakery was the first place I drew a paycheck.

Angelo, now in his early 80s and living in the Palos Verdes area, has always been proud of his Greek heritage. He closed the bakery just recently, but for many years Angelo carried a variety of Greek specialties among the breads, rolls, cakes and pastries in his display cases.

The bakery was divided into three sections. The showroom with cash register, glass display cases and a few tables faced the street. In the evening, this was the strict domain of the high-school girls who worked with the customers. Directly behind was the baking area with a big gas-fired brick oven, the bakers' work tables, rotating pie oven, flour bins, mixers, refrigerators and cooling racks -- plus my work station . . . a double deep sink for washing every instrument, tray, pot and pan the bakers used during the day.

In a smaller room in the back, Angelo created his masterpieces -- frosted cakes of various shapes and sizes, including double and triple-decker wedding cakes.

Mornings, the bakers turned out dozens of loaves of bread, baguettes (for the local restaurant trade), dinner roles, muffins, cupcakes, doughnuts, pastries, éclairs, pies, cakes and other desserts. I came on after school at 3:30 -- tied on my white baker's apron -- and did my cleanup and mopping chores, while getting ready to make pizzas later in the evening.

Angelo was a good businessman who got in on the take-out pizza trend early. Since the big brick oven wasn't being used in the afternoon, why not turn it into a profit center by cooking pizzas? This was years before pizza restaurants were commonplace.

My pizza prep included grinding blocks of mozzarella cheese by hand, turning whole cooked tomatoes into sauce with the huge copper colander, thin slicing two-foot-long pepperoni sticks and rolling out dough to have enough pizza crusts handy when the rush started. And I almost forgot . . . folding together cardboard pizza boxes and stacking them near the oven.

On Fridays the rush started at 5 p.m. and lasted until we closed at 8 p.m. Wives ordered pizzas by phone for their husbands to pick up on the way home from work. Nothing better than a hot pizza for the family during evening television. A typical extra large pizza with the works included  a hefty helping of cheese, sausage, pepperoni, onions, mushrooms, black olives and sometimes anchovies. We didn't have fancy names for the pizzas yet and a loaded pizza was way less than $5.

During busy times, we often baked 15 large pizzas in the oven at once. Sometimes it was like leading an orchestra with pizzas going in and coming out of the oven at different times. And retrieving hot pizza pans with those 5-foot-handled wooden paddles was no easy task either.

But it was all fun and part of growing up. Angelo Revels has left a lasting impression on me . . . as have those sounds and smells of that wonderful bakery.

Where were you when JFK died?

Students honor JFK on Nov. 22, 1963 on campus of South High School,
Torrance, California

It's been 48 years today since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas. I was a 15-year-old sophomore in Tallmadge Wilson's English class when I heard the news. Here are my recollections:

The commotion in the hallway was the first indication that something was wrong that November 22nd morning in 1963. Students and teachers seemed to appear in the hallway all at once -- girls were crying and some were screaming  "the President's been shot." It was chaotic.

What a rude awakening from the pronouns and adverbs of my sleepy third-period class at South High School in Torrance, Calif. And what an introduction to the harsh and cruel side of life. Until then, my small world as a 15 year old had been surfing, playing music and having fun with friends and family.

After those initial moments of confusion and uncertainty on campus, we began to learn more details of events as they unfolded in Texas. Things on campus calmed down, but it all seemed so unbelievable . . . surrealistic. There were no televisions or radios in classrooms then, so details were passed by word of mouth and loudspeaker. We soon learned the president had died.

Not long after the classrooms were emptied. Students, teachers and staff gathered around the flagpole on the campus lawn. In the hush, the flag was lowered slowly to half staff in honor of President Kennedy. We stood in silence for many minutes, and then students were dismissed to go home.

Note: The photo above was taken during the flag ceremony . . . students circling the flagpole, many deep in thought with heads bowed. A colleague on the student newspaper "Sword and Shield" captured the historic event with his camera. (A flag ceremony on the OLCC campus on Sept. 11, 2001 was eerily similar to that day in 1963).

Schools were closed for three days while the nation was in mourning . Except for one or two religious movies, our black and white televisions showed non-stop assassination news, JFK’s funeral and then, the horrible on-camera murder of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Innocence lost, I guess. Just three years earlier, I’d pedaled my bicycle to the local Kennedy for President election office and picked up some campaign bumper stickers and buttons for my room.

I was really too young then to understand the meaning of it all, but I was aware that this was an important event in U.S. history.
 
I’ve been interested in the JFK assassination ever since and have read many books (and DVDs) on the subject.

Remembering Mom on her birthday

Shirley Palke with husband Byron, center, and on fishing trip.
Photos taken in 1940s and early '50s.

Today is Mom's Birthday. She would have been 86. I miss her.

Shirley Mae (Allen) Palke was born on Nov. 7, 1925, in Los Angeles, California. She died in July 2003 in Salem, Oregon. But these statistics only mark a beginning and an end. In between she lived life, and along the way had a profound influence on my brother John and me.

She and her brothers Ed and Paul grew up in L.A. during the Depression years of the 1930s when money and sometimes food were scarce. Her parents Gladys and Ed died young, so she was raised first by her grandparents, and then a loving aunt and uncle. The three Allen kids did odd jobs and the small change they earned went into the family coffers for necessities.

Mom was athletic and excelled at academics at Washington High School. A couple of photos of her at school show her hamming it up with classmates on the campus lawn. She met Dad (Byron Palke) at church during the early years of World War II.

It was quite a pairing. Mom was a city girl and Dad (nicknamed Bud) was fresh off a Nebraska farm. Their courtship was interrupted by a draft notice from the U.S. Army. Dad was sent overseas pretty quickly, serving in the infantry in the Dutch East Indies, New Guinea and the Philippines. He was severely wounded in action and they were married not long after he arrived home.

I was born in 1948 and John in 1951. Mom stayed at home until us boys were through school and on our own. In those early days, Dad took the family station wagon to work at the cabinet shop. It didn't matter anyway because Mom didn't drive. So when we went someplace with her, we walked, took the bus, or rode with Grandpa and Grandma.

Some of those walks were special. Like the time she clutched my hand walking those few blocks to Woodcrest Elementary School on my first day of kindergarten. Or the first time she waited at the curb with me to meet the Sunday school bus. Other times, Mom, John and I would walk to the nearby Daylight Market or dime store on shopping trips.

In 1958 she took us on the streetcar to see a Dodgers game at the Coliseum. Another time, we rode the bus to see Elvis Presley in the movie "Jailhouse Rock."

Mom was a great cook and loved to have the extended family over for birthday or holiday meals. Her specialties: roast beef and mashed potatoes, fried chicken, ham or fish, macaroni and cheese, barbecue, and a Mexican casserole. If we liked it, Mom would cook it.

She also loved gardening, reading, travel, camping and family. She was great at Scrabble. Mom could be feisty, but she was a kind and gentle person with a big heart.

Over the years, she influenced me in many ways. She shared her love of music and the big bands and offered encouragement during my piano lessons. Her enjoyment of baseball rubbed off on me; over the years I've loved playing and watching the game. And it was her suggestion that led me to a career in writing and journalism. I was on the high school and college newspapers and became a professional journalist. After she died, Dad gave me a scrapbook that she had filled with clippings of my early newspaper stories.

I remember and honor Mom for these things and for the thousands of little things she did over the years to make our lives more enjoyable. And I know Dad, her brother Ed and John feel the same way.

Seascape ever changing along Oregon Coast



California gray whale resurfaces in Pacific Ocean off Lincoln City in Oregon. Brown pelicans in flight, below.  (Ken Palke photos)

I love the ocean. The way it is constant, but constantly changing, especially at the Oregon Coast. On a recent week-long visit to Lincoln City, the mighty Pacific put on a new face every day -- calm and bright green one day, white-capped and slate gray the next, and then sparkling blue with white foamy breakers. Big and little waves affected by the incoming and outgoing tides. Rumbling surf and the smell of salt water.

I've been drawn to the ocean since I was a kid -- to surf, sunbathe, fish or bicycle along the shore. Now it's mostly for sightseeing and relaxation. The most important thing about the ocean, though, is that it's home to thousands of mammals, fish, birds and plants.

To me, that's the best part of visiting the coast. I often spend hours with binoculars scanning the ocean and shoreline for wildlife. This trip, I enjoyed watching several California gray whales (including a mother and calf) submerging and resurfacing with telltale blows -- feeding as they headed north. And each day, long skeins of Brown pelicans skimmed above the wave tops, wings outstretched, on patrol for silvery fish to eat.

These two ocean inhabitants have made a remarkable comeback along the Pacific Coast and elsewhere in the U.S. Thirty-some years ago I was writing news stories about their endangered status for the Palos Verdes Peninsula News in Southern California.(Note: Palos Verdes stretches along the coastline in southwest Los Angeles County)

Brown pelicans were considered endangered because DDT and hunting had seriously decimated the population. A federal ban on DDT in the early 1970s jump-started the Brown pelican recovery. California grays were in decline because of commercial whaling, but international protections have helped the species come back.

Steller sea lions are common along the Oregon Coast. Often you can hear them barking before you see them. They can be seen lolling on the sand at the mouth of Siletz Bay south of Lincoln City or crowding for space atop the boat docks in Newport harbor. Some sea lions, though, have become pests by swimming up the Columbia and other rivers to gorge themselves on salmon as they come off fish ladders at locks and dams.

First day in the Navy has its ups and downs

The damp Oregon chill had little trouble penetrating my jacket at sunrise on Jan. 30, 1967. It turned out to be one of the longest days of my life, which I began by waiting on the folks' front porch in West Salem. With a small duffel bag in hand, I was nervous and filled with anticipation . . . waiting to begin a four-year journey that would take me around the world -- and to war.

In minutes a gray government sedan pulled into the gravel driveway. Out stepped a burly veteran chief petty officer with gold hash marks down his sleeve (the recruiter). He greeted my folks and asked, "You ready to go, son? We've got a lot to do today." I was 19 years old.

That recruiter -- a submarine sailor -- may have embellished things before I signed the enlistment papers, but this time he was right. My first day in the U.S. Navy would be a busy one.

By the time that chief got to me at the recruiting office, he'd spent more than 30 years in the Navy, including service in World War II. That morning we drove north on Interstate 5 to the Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station (AFEES) in downtown Portland. Since I was a captive audience in that car, the chief was happy to relate a few more sea stories until we arrived. (Note: a sea story is something like a fish story, in which the fish gets bigger every time the story is told.)

During the Vietnam War, the AFEES was a bustling hub of activity for newly enlisted -- or drafted -- soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen from the Pacific Northwest. At the loud behest of a non-commissioned officer, I was ordered to go mingle with a bunch of other recruits in the Navy processing section.

After a long and tedious wait, a couple dozen of us were told to assemble behind a row of white screens, strip to our undershorts, and wait for the doctor to administer our physical exams. I was seventh or eighth in line, and when I heard that doctor tell the guy beside me to "turn your head and cough," I knew I was next.

When done with more tests, paperwork and recovering our clothes, we assembled in rows to be sworn in. An officer in a crisp white uniform -- properly somber for the occasion -- asked us to raise our right hands. After vowing to defend our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic, we were sailors.

Five or six hours later, we were bused to Portland International Airport. My first airplane flight was on that 707 jet bound for Lindbergh Field in San Diego, Calif.

I discovered that flying is wonderful. But that night when we arrived at the naval training center, I was in trouble. The training petty officers were shouting out directions and telling us where to get what -- but I couldn't hear a thing. My ears were still plugged from the flight.

But it all turned out OK. We got to bed about 2:30 a.m. Plus we got a bonus . . . they let us sleep about three hours before waking us up for our first day at Navy boot camp.

Favorite songs conjure up memorable moments

Heard Linda Ronstadt singing "Long, Long Time" on the radio recently and that song carried me back 40 years -- to the Port of Call tavern near the ocean in south Redondo Beach, Calif. I was just out of the Navy and for a time that little tavern with the nautical decorations was a gathering spot for a bunch of friends. Our Cheers, you might say.

I pumped a lot of quarters into the Port's jukebox, mostly playing Ronstadt's lonesome lament and Joan Baez's lilting version of Dylan's "Love is Just a Four Letter Word." The whole world was ahead of me then.

It's amazing how songs on the radio can transport you back to a time in your life --sometimes an exact moment. For me these time-traveling songs are tied to moments of discovery, immense joy, a woman, sometimes sadness and loss . . . and summertime.

There's a Sara Vaughn song, "Broken Hearted Melody," that transports me to the summer of 1959. I'm smiling as I hear Vin Scully's mellifluous voice calling L.A. Dodgers games on my little transistor radio. Vaughn's  song was big then and so were the Dodgers who went on to beat the White Sox in the World Series.

When the radio plays Del Shannon's haunting "Runaway" or  the Four Seasons' "Sherry," I see classmates and remember the fun and personal discoveries of eighth grade at Seaside School. Nothing like Frankie Valle's falsetto lead to get my toes tapping. I love the Tokens' "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."  When it's on, I'm carried back to my first dance party at Jane Haney's. The lights are dim, the girls are pretty and the music is so fine. Ahhh.

The Beach Boys' "Surfer Girl" was popular when I was learning to drive and Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" makes me think of meeting at Nollenberger's house after class. Sometimes when I hear the first notes of Ray Manzarek's organ on "Light My Fire", I'll remember driving from Oakland across the Bay Bridge to San Francisco with that long Doors' tune blasting from the radio, a musical jambalaya of organ, guitars and Jim Morrison's raging voice.

I was in the Navy in the South China Sea when I first heard Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" coming though a tiny speaker in a compartment aboard the USS America. I'd been overseas for months and loved hearing fresh music from home.

Toots and the Maytals' joyful "Reggae Got Soul" was played over and over during some wild dancing with Cedars of Lebanon nurses at one of Glen Coburn's famous parties in Hermosa Beach. What a song. What a night!

And years later on a family vacation, we were headed south from Oregon to sunny California when Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine's catchy ballad "Words Get in the Way" came on the radio. It was a big hit. And before that 2,000-mile round trip was over, we heard that song a couple of dozen times more. I call it the Summer of Gloria.

I can think of other tunes that are tickets to the wayback machine. Maybe you can too. That's the magic of music.

These 1950s jazz albums tops in my book

When a new jazz CD arrives at the house, I usually pop it into the computer to create an mp3 version. Several versions, really. One in Windows media format (computer, portable mp3 player and cell phone) and another in I-Tunes QuickTime for the I-Pad.

Portability is the key in today's music world. We can have 1,000 or 2,000, or even 5,000 or more tunes at our fingertips. A whole jazz universe for the choosing in our earpieces.

Things were a lot different, though, when musicians were recording some of the greatest jazz ever for long-playing records. In the 1950s, the LP format allowed jazz artists to stretch their music beyond the three-minute limitations of the shellac records of the 1930s and '40s.

Here are a few of the best jazz recordings of the 1950s and several are standouts in any era.

1. Kind  of Blue (1959) - Miles Davis - One of the best jazz albums ever. It all comes together for legendary trumpeter Davis and company in this brooding yet mellow classic with Bill Evans, piano; Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane, saxophones; Paul Chambers, bass; Jimmy Cobb, drums; and Wynton Kelly on piano for one number. A five-star gem.

2. Time Out (1959) - Dave Brubeck - Well into his 80s, pianist Brubeck is still playing concert dates. This album was a cool jazz trend setter and made stars out of Brubeck, saxophonist Paul Desmond and drummer Joe Morello. The classic tune "Take Five" was a chart topper and is still heard on radio today.

3. Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section (1957) - Art Pepper - Great cool sounds emanate when alto saxophonist Pepper is joined by regular Miles Davis sidemen Red Garland, piano; Paul Chambers, bass; and Philly Joe Jones, drums. "You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To" and "Birks Works" are standouts.

4. Somethin' Else (1958) - Cannonball Adderley - Alto saxophonist Adderley and trumpeter Miles Davis trade solos, featuring Art Blakey on drums and others. This classic bop recording features delicious treatments of "Love for Sale," April in Paris" and others.

5. Giant Steps (1959-60) - John Coltrane - Saxophonist Trane hits his stride as a front man with some great playing on the title tune, "Naima" and others. Trane's musicianship is solid here and builds a foundation for his innovative work of the 1960s.

6. Chet (1959) - Chet Baker - Trumpeter Baker is smooth as silk playing standards in the laid back West Coast style. His session men include piano great Bill Evans, Herbie Mann on flute, and Kenny Burrell on guitar.

7. Sketches of Spain (1959-60)- Miles Davis - This is a stellar Latin-tinged big band excursion by trumpeter Davis and conductor Gill Evans. The album is moody and atmospheric and is a good companion piece to Kind of Blue.

8. Jazz Giants of 1958 (1958) - Stan Getz - Saxophonist Getz swings from start to finish with these West Coast "cool school" jazz standards. Sidemen include Louie Bellson, drums; Oscar Peterson, piano; Ray Brown, bass; and Gerry Mulligan, sax.

9. April in Paris (1955) - Count Basie - The swinging Basie big band is in full stride with upbeat versions of the title tune, "Didn't You" and others. Thundering arrangements and top-flight brass section. Holds up well after 56 years.

10. Lester Young with the Oscar Peterson Trio (1952) - Lester Young - Superb classic jazz with Peterson's melodic piano and Young's rich sax. Standards "On the Sunny Side of the Street" and "Back Home Again in Indiana" really swing.

11. Lionel Hampton Quintet (1954) - Lionel Hampton - Legendary vibraphonist Hampton developed his musical chops with swing great Bennie Goodman. This album is ear-pleasing classic jazz, with a wonderful 17-minute version of "Flyin' Home."

Of course, there are many great jazz recordings from all decades -- including more to come -- but these discs are cornerstones in my collection. Let me hear some of your favorites.