ellaine schultz threw herself in front of a train.
i also found myself out of sorts after waking up on the bad end of a twelve-year relationship.
seemed prudent to pick myself back up, but i guess i hadn’t gotten dumped by bill evans.
of course, bill evans wasn’t bill evans back then. sure he had warmed a bench alongside miles davis and won a couple of grammys, but the mount rushmore of jazz piano hadn’t yet been erected. he was just smoking cigarettes in black and white photographs, packing out carnegie hall.
but to ellaine, he was the man who had abandoned her.
twelve years in the peaks and valleys of addiction
just to clean up, meet a new woman
and go home to her instead.
having your wrongdoing overlooked to preserve a legacy of greatness is a privilege reserved for kings, presidents, prime ministers, and evidently, the father of introspective jazz piano.
alas, bill himself died a short seven years later. her tragedy became a footnote in his obituary.
we will remember bill for waltz for debby.
who remembers ellaine?
