Mike McCracken

Man, what hard news to hear that Floyd died. Even now, over a decade since he was my high school jazz band teacher, he frequently comes up in my mind so fondly: the essence of chill. His grace and calm in earnestly dealing with a bunch of goofy teenagers has emerged in my heart countless times as an inspiring model of good natured patience.

One student, a pianist, seemed to have some sort of defect that prevented him from exerting the necessary self-restraint to not snatch the sticks and play on the drums while Floyd was talking. It wouldn’t take long for this to interfere with class at which point Floyd would stop, look at the pianist (who would be now be looking up at Floyd, absently persisting with the drumming), shake his head and say, “be cool, man, be cool”. And this worked, the pianist, realizing that he was being uncool, would stop playing and listen. “This is a jazz class, not a social skills class, you’re supposed to have learned those somewhere else.” Funny, to the point, and good natured. I will miss you, Floyd Standifer.

Floyd Standifer: 1929-2007: ‘Personification of a jazz musician’ (Seattle P.I.)

(photo taken by cathycracks and used with permission)