Category: Brian Kirk

Playing the first gig on vibraphone at Boxleys with some of my friends.

https://youtu.be/rbi8bu5rK8I

Dear Brian,
Thank you for the positive feedback on Captain Nemo. It really means so much to me!
I wanted to write you my heartfelt thank you message for everything you’ve done for me over the few years I’ve been lucky enough to learn from you. I’ve waited until tonight because I didn’t want you to think that I was buttering you up for a better grade.
I can’t put into words how much I appreciate you believing in me after I initially failed your class the first few times I took it. You never sweated me about it, you were always friendly, beyond helpful, and willing to give me all of the chances that I needed to give it a fair shake. Getting the chance to redeem myself and receive a 4.0 grade in the production and theory classes gives me so much hope, in both myself and the world around me.
Your wisdom sticks with me every time I go to write a song: “One foot in the conservatory, one foot in the streets!”, To be honest, not a bad metaphor for living life either.
The world may be in a scary, unstable place right now but I hope that we all can rise to the occasion and change for the better. Also, I hope to god that I’ll find the opportunities to pursue a career in the music world, however that may be. Thanks to you, the time I spent at Jazz Alley has prepared me better than I could have hoped for how to make that happen.
Whatever the future may hold, you’ve made a difference in my life, and I thank you for that. It’s true what they always say at KEXP: “You are not alone.”
I hope that these hard times have not been too unkind to you. I also hope that we can continue to keep in touch!
All the best, Aidan Carey

Thoughts about my Father (Dr. Willis F. Kirk Jr)
By Brian Kirk

My Dad, Willis F Kirk Jr. was a very special Man. He had an ability to always make me feel good about me, always positive and always looking on the bright side of things. He was my Father, friend, my hero, my teacher, my buddy, and confidant. No matter the situation, be it difficult or easy, he had one catch phrase that made it very clear to me that he was a strong Man.
Brian, “it’s hard but it’s fair, you had a good home but you left there.”

We would both smile and then laugh. Dad was so witty, clever, and humorous. I could always count on him to make the most out of a bad situation.

Some of the situations that happened over the course of our lifetime – the time when I came home from a rafting trip, with a classmate at West Portal elementary school, in the American River, where the raft exploded on a level 5 rapids, leaving the occupants dangling in the water, clinging to the side of the crippled, bottomless floating aft for five hours, as completed our journey safely to the second vehicle they left at the end of the trip, the night before.

I remember him saying “thanks for bringing him home” (trying not to make a bad situation worse) and then turning to me, after the family left and saying “you’ve had quite a day.”

Dad came to my defense and aid when I and the entire basketball team at Washington High School were called a “racial slur” by the basketball coach at a Menlo Park gas station. Dad and I made the decision to go the Principal, to discuss the matter.

The secretary ignored us at first, and then told us, that she would call Mr. Vidal, the assistant principal. Dad said, “NO, we want to talk to the Principal, and I am not leaving until I see him.”



I relaxed and told Principal Madres about the incident. After that meeting, with the support of my Dad, I quit the basketball team. Dad showed me how to deal with people that don’t like you, and to stand up to what you believe. He was a real strong Man. His strength was evident in his words, deeds and actions.

My high School years were also met with challenges that Dad handled with calm and a firm presence. I was caught smoking weed in the practice room by the band director. Dad came to school to speak with Mr. Takemoto, and gave me a heart to heart talk at home. He did not yell, but he was emphatic that he did not want to see me in trouble at school again. Mr. Takemoto used to laugh and tell me that it only took one phone call to your Father to get you on the right track.

There were so many situations that came up during his lifetime that he handled with style, dignity, courage, respect and grace. From the indignities shown to Dad by a racist society, who forced him to deal with some incredible episodes of racial injustice, in his home life, in the pursuit of education, in his workplace, in his personal and professional relationships, to the triumphs of rising above it all and soaring to the greatest heights above it all. Dad made it all happen with his charm, and friendly personality. Dad would say “Brian, its’ tough sailing but the Captain said sail on!

That’s how he lived his life. Dad never let anyone or anything stand in his way accomplishing his goals. If his intention to help someone with anything, he would take the time to make it the most important thing in his life, and get it done. If you had a problem, he would sit and listen to you, give you words of wisdom, numerous stories, and then leave you with something funny, to lighten your load. He made you feel as if you were the most important person in his life, with each conversation. 

Speaking of time…

Dad was always either on time or early, for everything, such as gigs, meetings at work, with friends, appointments, and all events. The Man was deliberately in place when it was time to “hit” as would say. “What time is the downbeat?” 

 He was also patient with others, when things did not happen on time.

There were so many things that Dad and Mom did for me, and my sister, financially, spirituality, in presence, in spirit, in deeds and in actions. Once we told them our plans, and they agreed that it would be beneficial to our present and future circumstances, they never hesitated to help us.

I will never forget when I wanted a set of vibes and my English teacher at City College, said he was selling a brand instrument for 600.00 dollars, I came home and told him, and was like Say what? 600 dollars for a brand new set of vibes.

Man that’s cheap! “Are you going to play them he asked?” I said yes, and he said “okay, because if you don’t”, I have a brand new set of vibes for 600 dollars!”

Brian – My Father gave me a ring. The only given to him by his Father. He said “Brian, this is the only thing my Father ever gave me.”  I have that ring because Dad gave it to me.

I think the fact that he and his father never had a real strong relationship drove Dad to always be there for my mom, my sister and me. He had a strong love of his family, good friends, and acquaintances. Dad could talk to and make friends with anybody.

He would say hello to everyone he saw. Most responded and a conversation would insure, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for an hour. I often asked Dad, Do you know that person?

He would say, Uh – Uh, “I don’t know that man from ADAMS HOUSE Cat. I just said hello and we started talking” That was Dad, when you talked to him; you were an important person in his life.

I can count the number of times I heard him curse, get angry, or say a bad word about anybody. Dad was one cool Cat under pressure. His favorite slogan, “its tough sailing but the Captain said SAIL ON!

I watched him play the drums in awe every time he played. He would pick up a pair brushes and “wear out a snare drum.” Once day I asked him how you get such a great sound out of a drum using the brushes. He shrugged his shoulders and said “I don’t know” I just sit down and play what I feel, I guess”

I used to do my homework and listen to him practice the drums, and get lost in the sound, the rhythm and music. I remember when the rock and roll, rhythm and blues, funk music became prominent he would come to me and say, “I can’t rock beats very well. I want you to show me how to play rock.” He was always into learning new things, always wanting to grow and improve his musical skills.

Oh, and his piano playing! He had an ability to play the piano like no other. Dad was beautiful pianist. The touch, his feel, the rhythm, his sense of swing, note choices, and his vast knowledge of chords, and how they fit together.

Dad loved chords and melodies, and would sit at the piano for hours. We used to love to listen to him play. I was extremely proud of his accomplishments as a musician, especially proud of his ability to play drums, vibes, timpani and piano.

Dad was a gifted composer, arranger, conductor and not a bad singer to boot. His music has so much soul, feeling and passion. Dad could write a beautiful melody and then address with lyrics, or color it with the right instruments. His rejoice, rejoice is an incredible testament to his commitment to his spirituality, his passion for artistic creativity and love of life.

Dad lived a lot of life, every minute to the fullest. His love of history, music, art, philosophy, politics and people, was evident in the numerous books that he read. He loved to relax and look at the water, trees, mountains, valleys, and all of the planets natural beauty. He really appreciated being with others, and being in the moment.

He wrote books in music education that will be encyclopedias for knowledge for drummers, musicians and all music educators for many years to come. I told him he should write some philosophy books on life. He had so much wisdom about life. Dad’s stories were fascinating because he was there to either to witness or have knowledge of so many events that occurred in music and American history.

Dad and I used to sit and listen to music on the record player for hours, and talk about the music, the musicians. He would interject his personal stories about the jazz musicians, and I would listen to him intently, knowing I was in the presence of music royalty. These are the times I will miss the most. You could count on Dad to call me every day and ask me how the gig went.

I remember the time that Dad and I were talking about the Blues, and the local blues singers in town that I had begun to perform with. My sister Cynthia was getting a little tired of the conversation at the dinner table being about music all the time. Cynthia suddenly exclaimed “NO-BODY wants to hear that CRY IN YOUR BEER MUSIC!”

First we were in shock over her statement. Then Dad start laughing and laughing, and soon we all joined in for a good laugh. Cynthia’s statement became a running joke for many years to come. Dad could find the humor in every situation. 

When Jazz Saxophonist Joe Henderson told me that my high school graduation day was a real sad day, “because now you are out here with us” Dad turned that statement into a joke, laughed about it, made me laugh as well, and to this day, that is one of our running joke slogans for many tough situations that happen in life, that we laugh about. His sense of humor was infectious. He could always turn a negative into a positive with a smile, quick wit and acute wisdom.
When Joe became ill, Dad would go visit him and take him his favorite McDonald’s hamburgers.

Dad loved his hats and bags, and jackets. I counted over thirty different caps, hats, along with bags, jackets, galore. He was so unselfish with them, as he would give them to me or others if they were too big, too small or just because he wanted you to have them.

My Father was a kind and generous Man. He worked really hard, day and night to provide for our family. For years he worked as an educator by day and musician by night. I greatly admired his discipline, work ethic and the many things that he accomplished. He and my mother
were terrific parents, and I could not be more proud of their deeds and accomplishments. My sister and I are very proud of both parents, as they spent 61 years together, as a couple who shared so much of their lives with us.

As Dad says, it not about how long you have been here. It’s about who you have helped along the way.
Dad, thanks for being as wonderful to me as a Father and a great Man. You will always live in my heart, mind and spirit.

I played basketball for Washington HS in San Francisco Ca, mid 1970’s.

Varsity team 10 Black players, 2 white players. We had a player on the team whose grandmother loaned him a car. (red mercury cougar convertible white top) The varsity Coach allowed the black player to pull up behind the gym and wash the car. Coach (who is white) sees us washing/drying the car, gives a look of disdain, gathers saliva in his throat, and then SPITS on the car. We were all in shock! Somebody yelled, coach why did you spit on the car? Coach gave a smirk, put up the middle finger and flipped us off! Needless to say, I skipped practice that day. Pissed off! Should have quit the team.

Fast forward to a game in Menlo Park. The varsity coach had a car full of Black players, and one White player (other white player injured) evening game. Pulls into a gas station, whose owner is a long time friend. Our coach yells out the window (to his friend) Hey – Do you serve Niggas Here?! Dead silence in the van. Once again – Shocked! We lost the game. We got stomped on. Total silence on the ride back to SF. We could not believe that our coach felt that way about us. I quit the team. My Father, was mad and determined to defend me and the other Black players on my team came to the school two days later. We met with the Principal. My Dad asked the principal to fire the coach. Didn’t happen. No apology from the coach. Coach wouldn’t meet with Dad, me and the Principal.

For One year I passed that coach in the hallways and the coach glared at me, a stare of utter contempt. Years later I saw the coach in a restaurant in the Bay Area, sitting across from me with his family, grandkids, etc. Same glare. Coach recognized me and I certainly recognized Him. I smiled and conversed with my date the whole time. Victory was mine. I made my point and by quitting the team. Years later, I heard Coach was dismissed from Washington after some other school ethical violations. I saw Him flirting with the female students in High School, especially the Black females.

Elementary School – West Portal
Once I got used to everyone around me was mostly white, teachers, musician friends of my Dads, my friends, I settled into the fact that racial incidents of prejudice and bigotry would be almost a daily occurrence. We lived right across the street from the fire station in a nice rental home, off of Portola drive. Portola was a main thoroughfare that ran east to west connecting to upper Market street and then into market street, which lead straight into downtown. Nice tree lined street with houses bordering on the side.

What I really enjoyed about San Francisco was the diversity of some of the neighborhoods. Asian, Mexican, Puerto Ricans, Germans, Spanish, French, Italian, Moroccan, Arabic speaking people, Japanese and so many others. My Parents learned how to use a wok and stir fried vegetables with meat, and fish. Our dinners were really tasty. The wok cooking put an end to the mixed vegetables and other foods, boiled until all the flavor was gone.

Then there was West Portal delicatessen and Shaw’s Ice Cream, side by side in the middle of the block. Being a sixth grader, and Captain of the safety patrol at West Portal school lent itself to some autonomy that most students at the time. I left the classroom to prepare for the crosswalk duty, along with the autonomy of having a later lunch, after the lunch recess bell had rung. I could be late for class. However, the rule was no students (including safety patrol officers) could leave the school grounds for any reason during the school day. 

West Portal shopping area had the most delicious foods. Everything! Pizza, deli sandwiches, Italian food, asian food, candy stores, ice cream, and more. The school cafeteria food – one word – Nasty! Everything was baked and boiled, overcooked with very little flavor.

So I took liberties with my autonomy and headed down to Shaw’s Ice Cream as soon as my shift was just about over. Most of the kids were in the school yard for lunch recess so I did not think I would be missed. Imagine that. A Black kid in a school of mostly white kids, not being seen amongst students who are playing at recess. What was I thinking. I would run down to Shaws, and get a ham on a hard roll mustard and pickle only.

After school I would get a hot fudge sundae. Didn’t have time to slam that sandwich down and a sundae, as I walked up the hill back to the school. West Portal school had three levels of playground, all built on a steep hill. One could pretend to be the working the crosswalk at the public library, (west portal shopping area) and then making their way back to school grounds via the lowest level playground area. Kick ball, dodge ball, tether ball were the games being played at recess. 

So I pretended to work the lower crosswalk and then ran as fast I could to get my lunch from Shaws ice cream (deli sandwich) The German woman who worked there, knew me well. I went there everyday. She like me. A very nice woman who when I was in line and some older white people (male and female) cut in front of me when she asked who’s next, would said, NO – I believe He (me) is next! What would you like today Son? Those white people were so mad to see a Black boy being given service before them (even though I was next) that on occasion, a few turned away, cursed under their breath and left the store. I was enveloped with a feeling of self pride by the German store owners actions. She had a special empathy for me (plus I was regular customer) and the racism that occurred in front of her very eyes.

The big market and delicatessen (West Portal Deli) next door to Shaw’s was a completely different story. They made me wait and wait until all the white customers, even those behind me, were served. After the white customers were served, the Butcher would like over the counter and at me and me emphatic – YES?!
No comforting or inviting offer to assist me, but a plain – YES?!
After awhile, I began to by pass up that deli, unless one of my West Portal white friends was with me and wanted to go there for a sandwich or a large pickle. When my friends were with me, the Butcher served them with no problem. My friends having observed the racist Butcher’s dislike of me, would order for me. I would tell them ahead of time. We just wanted our food. We meant no harm to anyone.

In later years a few of the stores claimed that teens and other youths traveling the street car through the west portal tunnel would pull a massive   smash – grab thefts in groups of four or more, which started a policy of West Portal merchants allowing one student at a time into their shops. The merchants claimed it was only Black youths stealing from and running down the street, while the merchant gave chase to the thieves. I did see some youths stealing from the stores, both White, Black, Chinese and others. However, the store owners singled out the African American kids. White privilege was in full effect. If you were a white kid, or a group of kids, entering the store, you were never asked to line up at the door for a single kid entry. Only students of color. Imagine being in line and seeing other white kids entering the store happy go lucky and care free, while you waited outside to be let in to purchase candy, chips, or a soda. I took note of that and decided, I would not give those stores my business. I have never been back to the those particular stores

Ms Barrett – Principal of West Portal Busted Me
One day after coming back with my sandwich from Shaw’s (it was illegal for students to be off campus at lunch time) Ms Barrett  was waiting on me as I walked up the hill returning to school, having both a sandwich and box drink in my hand, and wearing my safety patrol shoulder belt, and Captains badge pinned to it. The look on her face cut right through me like a knife cuts through butter. Ms Barrett  with her hand outstretched, said “Give it to me”!
I sheepishly dropped my head, and gave her the sandwich. Ms Barrett said, “Brian I am deeply disappointed in you. You are one of our star students. I trusted YOU! And with that, she reached out and asked me to remove my belt, badge and sent me to her office. My parents were called later that afternoon, and I was given two weeks of school community service. I had to clean the school yard (second level) with a broom and shovel. The whole yard, along with other students who were in trouble for various reasons. I was removed from my duties on the safety patrol for the rest of the school year.

To this day, I regret violating the trust of Ms Barrett who did so much to help me to adjust to my new life in San Francisco.
There were never anymore disciplinary actions taken by Ms Barrett against me for any sort of behavior issues after I performed the school community service punishment.

Fortunately – after the school year ended, the last day and graduation Ms Barrett said “Brian, I forgive you. I can see you learned a valuable .” Once again, Ms Barrett was right.

Growing Up in San Francisco – Mt Davidson (50 foot cross on top of the mountain)

My Father — Dr. Willis Kirk — was a Jazz musician, educator, administrator and for many years a Dean of the Placement Office at City College San Francisco. We lived in a lovely home on Mt Davidson.

I delivered the SF Progress to Willie Mays, and the San Francisco Chronicle to Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor/Mayor/Senator Diane Feinstein. Worked the morning shift at 5 am, 83 customers.

In 1970 a former member of Hitler’s Youth Corps moved right next door to me. He was groomed to be a member of Third Reich since age 12. The stereotypical words about Jews, Blacks and other Non-Whites flowed out of his mouth like water. They made me cringe at times. As a teenager, my neighbor told the racial jokes, uttered racial slurs, nazi propaganda statements and a bigoted historical perspective, so much so that everytime I saw Him, I would try to quickly put my key in the door and rush into the house.

The Nazi propaganda clearly took over his mind and being. The only saving grace of growing up next door to a Hitler Youth Corps member – He and his middle eastern (Iranian) wife played the piano – Beautifully!

MY neighbor loved Beethoven and his Wife loved Schumann. They did not own a television and both husband and wife played the piano every night for enjoyment and entertainment. The couple could read fly specks on the page (excellent music readers) and their reperotire of Beethoven and Schumann was vast. I heard some of the most beautiful piano music coming from next door for years. I fell in love with Beethoven and Robert and Clara Schmann’s music because of them. So much so that in 1977 I recorded a Robert Schumann piece as an audition song on the Vibraphone, for entrance into Indiana University school of music.

My neighbor’s Wife came and listened and gave me a critique on the performance before I submitted the tape. We  got into long discussions about classical music, (Beethoven and Schumann) and Jazz music. I educated them on Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, and Sly Stone. My neighbor wished He was able to improvise, and expressed his admiration for Jazz musicians.

Once when I led my own band in a club in San Francisco the two of them came to hear me play drums. Surprised the stew out of me!

My Dad had no tolerance for my next door neighbor. He and Dad talked a few times, when they first moved next door, and everything turned into a racial conversation, Willis was done with Him! They said hello and that was it. The conversations between my Dad and my neighbor were nothing but pleasantries.

Across the street from us lived a wonderful German friend and neighbor. I grew up with her children, One of the kids committed suicide after being caught up in the SF drug scene in Junior High School! (Vietnam war era) Could not believe it! She was my classmate, neighbor, friend. A straight “A” student and a sweetheart. Very painful to this day.

Both neighbors (next door and across the street) had philosophical heated arguments all the time, in German. He was stuck in the brainwashed philosophy of Adolf Hitler, ala  Nazi Germany – While She lived in America now.  A beautiful and proud German woman (made a great apple pie and strudel)  loved America, Black people, my family and all colors, races, soul food, German food, Italian food, Asian food, and in her heart had adopted America’s creed – All Men are created equal! During my teenage years, She and I had deep conversations about her past and my future, accompanied by a good German Stoudt. Yep,  I was underage! 

When Willis Kirk (Dad) became the President of City College of San Francisco many things changed in my world. I wasn’t Black enough to my so -called Black friends and to my so-called White friends, there goes that “Uppity N…..”  Man – What a dichotomy….

No one is born a Racist.

We moved to SF in 1968. All white neighborhood. We are the first Black family on the street. I left all family and friends behind in Indianapolis. I was 9 years old. A redhead freckled white guy saw us moving into a house across the street from a fire station. He spoke to me and said “Hi, my name is Reily, whats your name?”

We struck up a friendship. He came to my house everyday for about two weeks. Mom fed him lunch, we played in my house, and in the back yard; our house had no furniture (moving van was 30 days late)

My parents friends were white Indianapolis musicians, who relocated to San Fran, and encouraged my Parents to do the same. They found the house for us and never told the landlord that their friend was Black.

One day Reily didn’t come to my house. Then another two days went by, no Reily.

He lived on my street, about 10 houses away, so I went to see what happened to my friend. As soon as I turned to walk up the driveway, his Father stretched out arm, making a stop sign with his hand and said “STOP!” I stopped and stood on the sidewalk, which was not his property. He then called Reily to come to him from inside the house.

Reily walked to the edge of the garage door, and said the following: “I can’t play with you anymore because your a nigger.”

I was dumbfounded. I said nothing and walked home. I never played with Reily again. I told my parents. I was sad for a long time. I got over it, because kids are resilient.

Forward 5 years. We moved about 8 blocks away. I became a paperboy for the San Francisco Progress. Age 14.

I had 44 customers, and Reily parent’s were one of my customers! Reilys’ Father discovered that I was their paperboy and promptly cancelled his subscription.

Hate is taught by adults and learned by their children.