The Complete Jazz Collector Red Carraro Collection

I did the Irving Kalus Complete Collection yesterday and, in doing so I mentioned my old friend Red Carraro and remembered the articles I wrote about him after he died. Again, there was no link where I told the whole story. So here it is, with some of the comments from friends and fans of Red from 2010. One of these days I am going to compile all of my stories, and more, in a “Best of Jazz Collector” book, so think of these random updates as a bit of a teaser.

July 12, 2010

There was a time, before the Internet and eBay, when jazz record dealers would amass hundreds of collectible records and compile them in lists and send those lists all over the world so that collectors could bid on them, blindly, hoping they would make the top bid and receive a shipment of rare jazz vinyl several weeks later. One of the leading and last practitioners of this fading art was a gentleman, and I use that word purposefully, by the name of William Carraro, known to all as “Red.” I am sad to report that Red passed away in his sleep yesterday morning.

I will tell you more about Red in a subsequent post, but first let me tell you the story of the first time I met Red. It was back in the early 1970s and I had just started collecting jazz records. I was 19 years old. My good friend from childhood Dan Axelrod had also begun collecting jazz records at the same time and Dan was far more obsessive about it than I was, so he was always finding scores before me. He’d call from Philadelphia or Miami, out of breath, describing beautiful Blue Notes and yellow-label Prestiges and yellow Norgrans that he had just bought for a dollar apiece. I was always in awe. Then one day Dan called and said he had just found this guy who lived nearby and claimed to have hundreds of rare Verve records in his basement.  We were both into Charlie Parker and Stan Getz and Sonny Stitt and Lester Young and Billie Holliday and, for Dan especially, Tal Farlow, and the idea of hundreds of out-of-print Verves all in one place was, to say the least, quite intriguing and exciting.

Dan said he was going to drive out to this guy’s house and asked if I would like to come along. Sure, I said. There was only one condition: Dan would get to look at all of the records first and he would choose what he wanted and then I would get to choose whatever was left after that. Fine, I said. I was in no position to negotiate. Not only had Dan discovered this guy, but I had no way of getting to his house since I had a broken leg and a full cast and couldn’t drive.

So Dan picked me up and we drove out to Malverne on Long Island, Aberdeen Street, from our garden apartments in Bayside, and soon there was Red Carraro warmly welcoming us at the door with a big smile and a raspy voice, showing us his own jazz collection in the living room, pointing to a few original David Stone Martin drawings on his walls and eventually escorting us downstairs to his basement. I struggled down the steps with my crutches and cast, but, hey, there were hundreds of Verve records down there, all new, many still sealed. Red put a record on the turntable, probably Zoot Sims, and we settled in to look at the records.

It was quite incredible: Boxes of records, mostly Verves, mostly single copies. Dan started attacking the boxes and basically just kept pulling record after record: Stan Getz, Art Tatum, Charlie Parker, Tal Farlow, Sonny Stitt, Lester Young, Flip Phillips, Ben Webster, Johnny Hodges: On and on and on. He must have had a pile of 100 or even 150 records. Then the boxes would come to me and they were nearly empty: Perhaps a couple of Charlie Barnet LPs that didn’t interest Dan, or a Count Basie double, or an Ella that was still available at Sam Goody’s. I remember pulling about 10 or 15 records or so, and I was quite pleased to find those. The price: $5 each. Rare records, many original pressings, most out of print, quite a fair price, even in those days.

I put the pile in front of Red and pulled out my wallet to pay.

“What’s that?” It was Dan, observing my pile.

“These are the records I’m buying.”

“But what’s that?”

Dan was pointing to the record on the top. A Billie Holiday record:  Music For Torching. It had a beautiful yellow and orange cover, with an illustration by David Stone Martin. It was the best record in my pile.

“That’s a Billie Holiday record,” I said.

“You can’t have it,” Dan said.

“What do you mean I can’t have it? You passed on it, and the deal was anything you passed on I could have.”

“But I didn’t mean to pass on it,” Dan said. “I must have missed it.”

“Well,” I said, “sorry, but you’ve got all of those amazing records and I’ve got this little pile and we made a deal and I’m buying this Billie Holiday record.”

“No you’re not,” Dan said.

“Yes I am,” I replied.

It went on like this for a good half hour, best friends arguing futilely over an out-of-print Billie Holiday record with a Stone Martin cover, Red standing there in the middle, smiling but befuddled, not at all knowing what to do as Dan and I eventually began screaming at each other. I was holding the record all this time and I finally pushed the money at Red and paid for the record and put it under my arm, along with the rest of the pile. Dan said something quite obscene to me, grabbed his pile, went up the stairs, got into his car and drove off.  I was still in the basement, with my leg in a cast, 20 miles from home, just me and Red and a bunch of empty boxes that formerly contained most of the Verve jazz catalogue. I looked at Red and smiled. “Oh well,” I said. “I wonder how I’m going to get home.” I then looked at my records, with Music for Torching on the top. I smiled again. I may never make it home, but at least the record was mine.

Part Two: Posted July 13, 2010

I can’t tell you all how much pleasure it gives me to see the many wonderful comments about Red Carraro from his family and friends, as well as from the many jazz collectors whose lives he touched. This was why I started the Jazz Collector site in the first place, to build this kind of community. That it has actually happened is intensely gratifying, as you can imagine.

But I also left you all in the middle of a story, with me in a cast clutching a batch of records, sitting with Red in his basement, with no way of getting home. So there were Red and I sitting there, no idea what to do, when the door flung open and Dan came charging down the stairs again.

“Are you giving me the record?” he said.

“No,” I replied.

He looked at Red, as if Red should fix this with a Solomon-like gesture of perhaps breaking the record in half. But Red was not interceding in this internecine battle between a couple of half-crazed teenage jazz fans he had pretty much just met. He smiled wanly and said something like, “Dan, you’re not going to leave your friend down here, are you?”

So Dan and I left together, and I clutched my pile of records, including Music For Torching.  We didn’t talk all the way home and we didn’t talk for the next couple of months, if I recall properly. In fact, when my mother would see Dan’s mother in the Associated Supermarket, she would shun her. Thanks, mom.

But eventually Dan and I made up and remain best friends. And I still have my copy of Music For Torching. And Red stayed in our lives for the better part of the next three decades and I will tell more about that in the next post, but I did want to complete the story and also acknowledge all of the many nice comments about Red in the earlier post. I would also encourage anyone else who knew Red to please step forward with a story or two.

Part 3 – July 16, 2010

Back to my Red Carraro stories. If Red were alive today and reading this he’d look at the name on the Web site and swear he never knew me. That’s because when I first met Red I was still going by my childhood nickname, which was “Lit.” This came from being somewhat short in height and someone once started calling me little and it became Lit and it really stuck. Kids in school called me “Lit Perlman” but Red never knew my last name, or my first name, and always just called me Lit. “Lit, hey how ya doin,” Red would always say when he’d see me, with a smile and a warm pat on the pack. “I see you’re still hustlin’ for records.”

When I started my journalism career my first paying job was as the jazz critic for the New Times in Syracuse, an alternative weekly paper. I’ve repurposed at least one of my articles here at Jazz Collector in Memories of Mingus. Anyway, I had spent the first half of 1973 at home in Bayside mending my broken leg and spending a lot of time at Red’s house, in the basement, poring through records and listening to music. It was definitely good times. When I got back to Syracuse, I wanted to do Red a favor so I wrote a review of a record I purchased from him, Eddie Jefferson’s Letter From Home on Riverside, and I talked about how everyone should contact The Jazz Hunter, which was the name Red used for his record business. I sent a copy of the article to Red and asked him about it next time I saw him. “You wrote that?” he said, incredulously. “There was some other name on it. I thought your name was ‘Lit.’”

And he never called me by any other name.

When I first started going to Red’s house there were, literally, a few boxes of records in the basement, mostly the Verve’s that he had just acquired. Within a couple of years the basement was completely saturated with records and eventually they took over his entire garage as well. At one time Red told me he figured he had more than 100,000 records. He had that same symptom of Jazz Collecting that we all seem to have: It’s a lot more fun to find the records than it is to get rid of them.

One time I got a call from Red and he said he had a bunch of Blue Notes. I already had a bunch of Blue Notes, a lot from my dad who was into Horace Silver and Art Blakey. But these were Blue Notes I had never seen before, long out of print even back then in the late 1970s or early 1980s: Blue Notes by Thad Jones, Cliff Jordan, Freddie Redd, Lee Morgan, Hank Mobley. Red was selling them new and sealed for $10 each. I wish I could tell you they were original pressings, but they weren’t. These were the first of the United Artists pressings and we couldn’t figure out how they wound up in Red’s basement. Nevertheless, he had hundreds of them and I bought many to fill out my Blue Note collection. I still have a lot of those records today.

Over the years I’d see Red occasionally at record shows and he came over to my house a couple of times to pore through records. Whenever I’d see Red it was always a warm and friendly reunion because Red was a genuinely warm guy. He was always happy to see me and I was happy to see him and we’d chat and swap stories. Whenever I would drive on Ocean Avenue, exit 17 off the Southern State Parkway, and I’d pass Aberdeen Street I’d be tempted to turn right and pull up to Red’s house and see if he had any records for sale in the basement. I probably haven’t been there in 20 years, but it was always a thought. In fact, I drove by just a few weeks ago and almost made the turn. Now I wish that I had.

And here’s the coda: The other day Dan called Amy, Red’s wife, the console her and to get information about the wake and funeral arrangements. Dan and I would have gone for sure, but it turns out we are both out of town. Anyway, Dan mentioned Jazz Collector and Amy said she had seen the articles on the site but had no idea who was this guy “Al Perlman.” Danny said it was “Lit.” And Amy said, “Oh Lit! I remember that time you left Lit in the basement. That was one of Red’s favorite stories. He used to tell it all the time.”

Coda — Random comments to these articles:

From Bill Carraro Jr.: Thanks so much for placing this story on your site. Red Carraro was “Dad” to me. “Red” to his friends, he was born in Harlem New York, where he met the two loves of his life: Amelia (known as Amy) his wife of 59 years, and the world of Jazz. Dad grew up in the rough-and-tumble streets of Harlem during the depression, and learned the craft of Tile and Marble masonry from his father (who had learned from his father). And it was this heavy lifting work that he did for the majority of his adulthood. However, music was his passion, and it should be noted that Dad and Mom met in a record shop in Harlem – where he was working as a teen.
Eventually his love for music led him to study sax and bass, and his real talents were in playing the stand-up bass, which allowed him to earn extra “bread,” playing weekend gigs throughout the NY and Tri-State area almost every weekend and holiday. One of our favorite photos is with Dad playing the bass, backing up the legendary Gene Krupa. Music (JAZZ) was in Dad’s bones, and it was always in the house – either on the radio, the record player, or a live jam session set up in the living room and foyer.
Amy and Red married, moved to Brooklyn, Queens, and then Long Island, and along the way had two boys. His work ethic was tremendous, often working two jobs, plus the Weekend Jazz Gigs. He also turned his energy towards what became his “obsession:” Record Collecting. And not just a “large collection,” but an obscenely massive collection that overwhelmed the house: records loaded from basement to attic, filling linen closets, and eventually spilling out of a two-car garage and a shed! I know I am blessed to have met all the unique folks in his life, include some greats – Duke Ellington, Joe Venuti, Al & Zoot, and so on…Heaven just gained a great side-man. Thanks, Bill

From Jason: I love stories like these. They remind of the time I used to go to a flea market when I first started collecting. The booth owner had acquired  thousands of jazz lps and let me look through them. I passed on 99% of it because at the time I knew very little about jazz other than “Blue Note” or “Prestige”. Now I kick myself whenever I see a “Mode” or “Debut” etc.

From Giovanni: Hi. Since I live in Italy I didn’t meet Mr.Carraro in person but bought many records from his auction. The prices weren’t high and the description of the records very accurate. Sometimes he included a bonus surprise: One time it was a Herman Chittison record, or a Zoot Sims one. He was a nice person.

From CeeDee: Great story,Al (did you leave out the part where you saw your buddy later and beat the crap out of him?) I had the pleasure of meeting Red about the same time (mid-70’s). I was taking some undergraduate classes at CCNY in Harlem and met him through some casual conversation-it turned out his maintenance crew gig at City College may have put food on the table, but talking about jazz was his real passion. We swapped some stories, some records – he was a major Zoot Sims fan – but the main memory that sticks with me was his fairness. I never had the sense that he was trying to rip me off or make a ‘score’ like several other well-known dealers I could mention. He loved jazz and if you did, too…you were ok in his book. A great guy.

From Dan: Red called me 3 weeks ago out of the blue, we spoke of old times, and only yesterday did his wife Amy tell me he was obsessively calling old friends lately. He had a premonition. And though I could share countless stories, here are two.

Red was responsible for me getting to play with my first real “jazz” musician – Al Cohn. It was at a Long Island jazz fixture called “Sonny’s Place”, I was all of 18 and Red told Al that a young friend of his wanted to sit in. And one word from Red, was all it took. Al called “All the Things You Are” and I got thru it without incident, but when he followed with “In a Mellow Tone” I said “I don’t know it, Al” who replied: “If you can play “All the things you Are”, you can play “In a Mellow tone!” and he promptly counted it off. Luckily I heard the “Rose Room” chords immediately and got thru it.

Red was always extending himself like that to me, and to everyone else – it was just his nature. It was just Red.  He once bailed bassist Arvell Shaw out of jail and helped him financially as well. For payback, Arvell eventually gave Red a cello but it wasn’t just a cello…it was OSCAR PETTIFORD’s cello! When Red called in November ’02 telling me this, I immediately told him with some urgency… that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some documentation about this important fact from Arvell, and he replied “You’re probably right, Danny”.

When fate stepped in 2 weeks later and Arvell died, I called Red, chastising him in mock fashion for not acting on my advice sooner, and he replied: “Danny- I can’t tell you how many times in my life, things like that had happened to me”, with a tone of voice straight of out the song “Everything Happens to Me”  — the anthem of the perennial loser who’s Dear John letter even has postage due, and is often the case…

Red’s slight and tender admission of regret came from the lips of a man who gave and gave ’cause it was the right thing to do, without ever having expectation of payback. That was Red Carraro, and I miss him already.

From Rudolf: The last time I met up with Red was in 1997. We had a terrific lunch in a Chinese fish restaurant in lower Manhattan. My wife was with us and my old friend George Ziskind. I think I got to know Red through George in the seventies. For many years I bought records over the mail, starting with these vintage Verves. He was a very fair dealer, who became a friend. I am saddened to hear that he is gone.

From George Ziskind: Here it is a week since Red passed, and I just found out about this site an hour ago – by way of a phone call from France from my friend Ruud Fliterman (that’s the “Rudolph” you see several emails above).Everyone who knew Red was aware what a rare bird he was – a friend in need, with a heart of gold. In the early 70’s I got a phone call one day and the voice at the other end said “This is Lamont Cranston!” It was Red of course introducing himself to me in his own unique way. (Anyone old enough will know Lamont Cranston was the every-day name of the radio hero “The Shadow” from the 1940s.) My love goes out to Amy and Billy at this difficult time.

From Ron: What can I say? A close and dear friend for over 30 years is gone. We did the Jazz Bash side by side, sharing tables for many of those years. We ate, drank (plenty) and laughed together lots and lots of times. There was no one who was fairer and kinder than Red.

Red loved his grandchildren. One time when his oldest had a trumpet recital and Red put it on video I took the audio off the video and made a CD complete with cover and liner notes proclaiming Nicholas as the new jazz sensation. Red loved that CD and presented it Nicholas as if he bought it.

Red’s record business was augmented by his wonderful wife Amy who specialized in Vocals and Show albums which offset Red’s jazz to perfection. She was as knowledgeable as he was in her field. Red was very proud of his son Billy. One time I thought I would surprise Red with an old album I found where Billy had done the photography for the album and his picture was on it. No surprise. Red had it. Red had it all. When Verve started putting out CDs from old Master tapes they found they had the tapes but not the covers. They would come to Red to borrow the covers as he had every Verve LP there was.

Red loved Augie, his dog. One time (I just was reliving this with Red last week) my wife and I were driving on the parkway and on our left was Red driving along with his passenger (sitting upright in the passenger’s seat), Augie. I honked and Red and Augie both turned to look at us. Red had a big smile (I think Augie did too).

Red ate too much fried calamari, one of his favorites. Many times we ate and drank too much calamari and vino. Man, he could consume calamari.  No one (except maybe for Louise) loved Zoot Sims more than Red. He had everything, and I mean everything that Zoot recorded. One time he paid $60.00 for a Japanese LP that had one track with Zoot that had never ever been released anywhere else.

One time when Red came and visited me after we moved to North Carolina, he ate and drank too much and fell asleep on the couch. I had brought all my children and grandchildren to see him. While he was sleeping (and snoring) the grandchildren were making a lot of noise and one of them (Jordan) said to everyone: Shhhhh-Red’s sleeping.” Afterwards Red laughed at the recounting of that.

One time at a jazz record show I had my oldest grandson with me and Red got him a balloon.  At another show, one at the Jazz Bash, there was this guy (a strange cat) who sold records out of the trunk of his car. He asked Red how much for every record he had on the table. Red gave him a number and he bought everything. What did Red do then? He took the money and bought records. I love you Red.

From Jack: I also went to Red’s house many times. His prices were quite high (but fair) by the time I caught up with him but it sure beat buying on EBAY. He once had Zoot over with a few other guys who were preparing for a local gig sans drummer. He kinda hinted I should come over and maybe sit in but I didn’t have the nerve. pretty dumb huh. anyway I could tell he was a caring person, a man like my Dad who worked his tail off for his family. whatever it took! which in his case involved dealing in records besides his regular job. Red, thanks for the sounds.
Miss you!

From Jim: Red was my neighbor, Bill a childhood friend. Red was as decent a man as any I have ever known. He was like a second dad to me. Red and my father had many common interests, especially music, and they always spoke so highly of each other. I had recently moved back after living away for 28 years, and moved away again 2 months ago.

Red made a hard time in my life bearable. Despite the recent loss of his oldest son, he told me he “was keeping an eye on me” for the sake of my own departed dad. It mattered to him how I was doing. Whenever I spoke to him, he listened, and when he spoke I was enthralled. He would spin wonderful yarns, often about his hardscrabble childhood, yet he never complained. He spoke like a man that felt blessed, and I am blessed to number him amongst my friends. The only man I will miss more than he is my father. And it helps knowing they are reunited now and talking about “real” music.

From Cathy Carraro:  While I did not get to spend much time with Uncle Willie, I will always remember him fondly. As his niece-in-law he always made me feel welcome in the Carraro Family. He had a smooth, easy-going personality. I will never forget the first time I saw his basement and his massive record collection. I hope they like Jazz in heaven! But hey, if they don’t, Uncle Willie will convert them all into Jazz fans. I will always be grateful for the affection and attention he and his son Bill’s family showed my daughter, Elizabeth, when she was living in NYC several years ago. He made her feel like his own daughter. His reputation spread far and wide and I can remember the first time someone here in Kentucky asked me if I was related to “Red” Carraro – the Jazz Collector and I proudly said, “Yes – he’s my Uncle”. I will miss him. Love, Cathy

From Sgcim: I never hoid of this site before, but I googled Red’s name, and this page came up.Sorry to hear so late of Red’s passing. RIP. I first met Red back in the early 70s, when we used to get our parents to drive us to Red’s house to buy jazz LPs. We became regular customers of his, and he used to say that he had to put sheets on the basement floor before we came, because he was tired of wiping up all the cum when we looked through his record collection ; – )
He sold me my first (and still favorite) Tal Farlow LP for $40. That was a lot of money back then for a high school kid, but I had to have it. After that, I was too broke to afford anymore Tal, so Red got his son to tape a few of Tal’s LPs on his reel-to-reel deck for about $10. One time I met Red at Eisenhower Park on LI, where I was playing a concert with a kid jazz band. I was using my Dad’s D’Angelico guitar, and when I turned up the volume for a solo, it would feedback like mad, much to my disgust.
When I asked Red what he thought of my playing, he said,”I didn’t like it. I don’t go in for that rock crap.” I tried to tell him I had a major feedback problem that day, but he wouldn’t have it.;’). The last time I saw Red back then, I was broke, and tried to sell him a bunch of my jazz records, which were in terrible condition.
He looked at them and said “Nah, I can’t use any of them, they’re in lousy shape.” I got so mad, I ran out of his house and left my maroon windbreaker at his house. He called me up and told me I forgot my windbreaker at his house. I was still mad, so I told him he could keep it. I didn’t see him for another 30 years, till I bumped into him at Infinity Records. The first thing he said to me was, “You know, I still got your maroon windbreaker that you left at my house.” RIP, Red.

From Erich: Al, what a terrific story! I love stories of getting records from a basement where a collector has stored them carefully. I am just finishing up a great book called “Record Store Days” that has a lot of stories about big record scores. There was one store in LA called Aron’s who sold used jazz records by the pound on Saturday mornings until they ran out during the 1970’s…..I got my own score at the KKSF Music Swap Day at the University of San Francisco yesterday. How about a mint 1957 Miles Davis Prestige 45 for only 25 cents?

From Jack: Al, that picture kills me! I would have stopped by Red’s more often but I knew it would surely cost me a weeks pay! It was impossible to leave that basement without at least a small stack. Remember how Red would stamp his covers on the inside? and his penciled codes on back covers? still have a closet full of em. including some new U.A. Blue Notes. thanks for sharing.

From Bill Carraro Jr.: Follow up on “Red” Carraro: Dad’s wake was today, and he looked really sharp in his Brown Suede Cardigan. You “Jazz Guys” might get a kick out of the fact that it was Zoot Sims favorite piece, and when Zoot passed, his wife Louise gave it to dad (Zoot and dad had become close in Zoot’s later years).If you knew dad, you knew he cherished everything “ZOOT” and never wore it until today. It was his wish to be laid to rest wearing the Cardigan; in addition to having his original Bunny Berigan EP of “I Can’t Get Started (dad’s favorite song). Sorry Folks, that one is not for sale. Thanks for all the great thoughts on “Red” a/k/a, “The Jazz Hunter.”

From Peter: I was just putting a record away and noticed a stamp on the inside – William Carraro with a Malverne, NY address. Whenever I find an address in a record I look it up online – that is what brought me here. I bought the record in St. Louis in 1998 and never noticed the address until just tonight. Glad to know it came from such a legendary fellow. I listened to ‘I Can’t Get Started’ in his honor after I read about him. In case anyone is curious, the record is a UA issue of Donald Byrd At The Half Note Vol. 2.