By Kim Rich, Anchorage Daily
News, Sunday,
July
3,
1988
The
best moments
always
came
late
in
Wendy
Williamson's
piano
classes.
That's
when
one
of
his
students
would
invariably
ask,
"Wendy,
can
you
play
some
'Martini
Music?'"
"Martini
Music"
was
what
the
students
called
the
jazz
standards
that
Williamson
loved -- songs
like
"Satin
Doll,"
"Autumn
Leaves,"
and
"The
Lady
is
a
Tramp."
These
were
some
of
his
favorites -- the
kind
of
songs he
used
to
play
40
years
ago
in
Anchorage
night
spots
with
such
names
as
"The
Last
Chance," "
The
Green
Lantern
," or
"The
Silver
Slipper.
"
Then,
as
in
his
classroom,
Williamson's
body
would
gently
sway
as
his
fingers
roamed
the
keyboard, instilling
new
life
in
the
oft-played
melodies,
recalling
the
era
when
Jazz
was
King.
Moments
such
as
this
were
recalled
earlier
this
week
when
dozens
of
Williamson's
friends
gathered
in
a
local
home
to
remember
him.
On
June
25,
John
Wendell
"Wendy"
Williamson,
one
of
Anchorage's
finest
jazz
pianists
and
best-loved
music
teachers,
died
of
cancer
at
the
age
of
65.
When
people
aren't
talking
about
Williamson's
free and easy
style
of
piano
playing,
his
perfect
pitch,
or the
way
he
could
make
any
song
swing,
they
talk
about
how
this
"musician's
musician
" was
one
of
the
most
adored
people
in
Anchorage.
"He
was
the
kindest
man,"
says
Mickey
Belden,
an
adjunct
faculty
member
of
the
University
of
Alaska
Anchorage
music
department.
"I
never
ever
did
hear
him
say
a
mean
word,
just
never
did, "
says
Elvera
Voth,
a
longtime
member
of
Anchorage's
classical
music
scene
who
gave
Williamson
his
job
at
the
college.
"He
was the
kind
of
guy
you'd
like
to
have
for
a
friend -- a
buddy -- and
he
was
extremely
talented -- on
the
verge
of
being
a
genius,"
says
Jack
O'Toole,
a
local
drummer
who
used
to
gig
with
Williamson.
For
17
years,
Williamson's
large,
rounded,
silhouette
was
a
common
sight
at
the
Music
Department
at
Anchorage
Community
College,
where
he
taught
music
theory,
private
piano
lessons,
and
piano
classes.
Most people
remember
his
eyes --
eyes
that
appeared -- as
one
former
student
put
it -- as
if
they
were
"full
of
the
Dickens."
His
broad
cheeks
made
him
look
rather like
an
unshaven
Santa
Claus.
Unlike
most
of
his
casual
colleagues
at
the
College,
Williamson
always
arrived
at
work
in
a
suit
, something
almost
unheard
of
in
the
low-key
Community
College
setting.
But
after
all,
Williamson
was
a
jazz
man -- and
jazz
players
almost
always
wear
suits.
"You
have
to
dress
for teaching,"
he
would
tell
his
wife,
Marjorie
Williamson.
"You
have
to
look
like
you're a Somebody."
Despite
a
quiet, unassuming
nature,
Williamson
had
a
keen
sense
of
humor.
Many
still
recall
the
daily
"piano
wars"
Williamson
used
to
wage
with
former
University
of
Alaska
Anchorage
piano
professor
Jean
-Paul Billoud.
The
two
had
adjoining
studios.
Whenever
Williamson
would
hear
Billoud
coming
down
the
hall,
he'd
run
to
his
piano
and
begin
playing
a
piece
of
classical
or
jazz
music.
Within
seconds,
Billoud
would
finish
the
music
from
his
own
studio.
Elvera
Voth
says
Williamson
was
also
always
full
of
one-liners.
Once,
she
asked
him
if
he
sang.
His
joking
reply -- "Only
at
the
police
station -- and
then
I
'll
sing
plenty."
Even
near
the
end
of
a lengthy
illness,
he
kept
his
sense
of
humor.
While
he
was
hospitalized,
a
nurse
came
in
to
ask
for
the
umpteenth
time
what
allergies
he
had.
Williamson
responded,
"Penicillin
and
Rock
'n' Roll."
Born
in
Chehalis,
Washington,
Williamson
received
his
earliest
musical
inspiration
from
his
father,
who was a
trombone
player.
Marjorie
Williamson
says
the
father
got
Williamson
and
his
two
brothers,
Vernell
("Tex")
and
Euell,
interested
in
music
by
offering
them
the
choice
of
"either
hoeing
the
garden
or
practicing."
They
always chose
the
latter.
After
earning
his
Bachelor
of
Music
degree
from
Washington
State
College,
where
he
also
played
trombone,
Williamson
received
a
Master's
Degree
in
Music
from
the
Cincinnati
Conservatory
of
Music.
While
he
was
schooled
in
both
classical
and
jazz,
his
heart
really belonged
to
jazz.
Williamson
first
visited
Anchorage
in
1947,
after
being
discharged
from
the
Army.
Prior
to
settling
in
Alaska,
he
played
with
some
of
the
Big
Band
Era's
greatest
musicians --
including
a tour with
famed
band
leader/trombone
player,
Jack
Teagarden.
"When
I
first
met
him
(Williamson)
I
thought
he
was
rich
because
he
owned 51
white
shirts,"
says
Marjorie,
adding
that
the
shirts
were
in reality a result of the
51
weeks
Williamson
once
spent
on
the
road
with
Teagarden -- he
really hated
to
do
laundry.
Marjorie
was
working
as
a
stewardess
for
United
Airlines,
and
living
in
Seattle
, when
they
met.
The
couple
married
in
1956,
then moved
to
Anchorage.
They
have
three
boys --
Jim
, who is
now
age 31,
Scott,
30, and John,
28.
All
three
play
instruments --
Jim
carries on the
trombone tradition,
Scott
plays the
drums
, and
John triples on bass
guitar,
piano,
and
French
Horn.
Like
his
father
before
him,
Williamson
encouraged
his
sons
to
learn
the
foundation
of
music
al training.
"One
thing
dad
pounded
into
us
was
that we
had
to
know
how
to
read
music,"
says
Scott. "He'd
say,
'There'll
always
be
a
lot
of
good
players,
but
the
people
who
know
how
to
read
are
the
ones
who land
the
jobs."'
Reading music worked
for
Williamson,
who
for
years
found
steady
work
in
Anchorage -- playing
gigs
in
bands
named The
Rhythm
Kings,
Wendy's
Wiggers,
The
Wendy
Williamson
Trio,
and
The
Auke
Bay
Conservatory
of
Dixieland
Jazz.
But
Williamson's
favorite
and
most reliable
gig
was
his
teaching
job
at
the
Community
College.
He
was
one
of
the
first
people
Voth
hired
when
she
was
assembling
the
Music
Program
there
in
the
early
sixties.
She
says
no
one
was
more
pleased
to
be
on
a
college
faculty
than
Williamson.
"He
just loved it,"
she
says.
"He
used
to
say
funny things
like,
'Call
me
Professor.'
"
Voth,
who
left
the
college
in
the
mid-seventies,
says
Williamson's
jazz
courses
were
among the
school's
most
popular
classes.
Part
of
their
success
was
due
to
his
teaching
style.
He
avoided
any
situation
that
would
make
his
students
nervous
and
keep
them
from
playing
at their
best.
He
abhorred
recitals.
In
his
piano
lab
classes,
where
students
played electric
pianos
while
wearing
earphones,
Williamson
never
told
the
musicians
on what
day
he
was
going to grade
them.
That
way,
they
felt more
at
ease.
"He was
very
affable,
easygoing
, and
helpful,"
says
his former
student
, Karen
Strid.
"He
'd
never
'put
anyone
down'
in
a
class,
and
he'd
share
musical examples.
He'd
play
for you.
He
not
only
talked
about the theory of music --
he
could
also
put it into practice.
He
was
marvelous.
I
think he
must
have memorized
2,000
tunes or more."
Williamson's
illness
finally
forced
him
to
retire
from
the
College
in
December.
Just before
his
death,
he
recommended
that
Strid -- who
studied
with him
for
18
years -- be appointed
to
fill
his
position.
"He
hung
on
just
long
enough
to
hear
she
got
the
job,"
says
Kay
McInnes,
secretary
to
the
Music
and
Dance
Departments.
In
Williamson's
honor,
the
Music department and
his
family have
established
a
memorial
scholarship
in
his
name.
Additionally,
a
program
of
Traditional
jazz, is
to
be
performed
this July
22
at
the
International
Inn
, and it too will
be
dedicated
to
Williamson's memory.
"I
owe
Wendy
a
great
deal," says
Strid,
who
in addition to
taking
over
Williamson's
post,
was
also
bequeathed
his
voluminous teaching
notes
and
materials.
"If you
talk
to
anyone
who
knew
Wendy --
you'll soon hear about how much they loved
him -- he will
be greatly
missed."
