Vigo County Historical Society

Great wartime music never dies

"There may be trouble ahead, but while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance." From "Follow the Fleet."

For many people, the world can blossom from a few bars of a big band serenade. Even those denied the rapture of experiencing these marvelous sounds as they first burst into creation can catch a glimpse of the way we were in the music that carried us through World War II.

As one listens, it is easy to conjure up images of the great wartime bands, immaculate in their uniforms and looking cheerful, absent the "my shorts are killing me" scowls that seem mandatory for musicians today.

At the beginning, resplendent dance pavilions provided stages for the Millers, Dorseys and Ellingtons and their confreres. Occasionally, the great ones might drop by Terre Haute to play a college prom or a bewitching ball in the Mayflower Room. The city, itself, contributed considerably by nurturing the mellifluous gifts of Garfield’s Claude Thornhill.

Inevitably, the prospect of parting generated romantic tunes. No movie depicting that period can possibly be complete without "I’ll Be Seeing You" sighing poignantly in the background. Sailors on destroyers hosed down Marines on the decks as Sinatra crooned "There Are Such Things" over the speaker system.

When the Japanese were surprised at Tulagi, Harry James’ "Sleepy Lagoon" was playing on their portable record player. Many songs like "I don’t Want to Walk Without You" promised love undying but "Dear John" frequently listened to "Somebody Else is Taking My Place."

In a livelier vein, Glenn Miller offered "Chattanooga Choo Choo" and "In the Mood" while Duke Ellington took the "A Train," perhaps in an indigo mood; Benny Goodman titillated toe tappers with "Why Don’t You Do Right" as interpreted by Peggy Lee, and Lionel Hampton came "Flying Home."

Even though, as the war progressed, most members traded their band suits for military uniforms, the music continued to be heard, on radio at home, perhaps live at a stateside camp or on some desolate south seas station.

Tragically, Glenn Miller faded into the mist over the English Channel. Still, the music lives on and with it warm memories of that ingenuous age when sentiment was king.