"Howard Waldrop - Ike At The Mike" - читать интересную книгу автора (Waldrop Howard)

"Gee, that's too bad. You know they worked together, Patton and Ike, for
thirty years or so-"

The toastmaster, one of those boisterous, baldheaded, abrasive California
types, rose. People began to stub out their cigarettes and applaud. Waiters
disappeared as if a magic wand had been waved.

Well, thought Presley, as he and Pratt applauded, an hour of pure boredom
coming up. Some jokes, the President, the awarding of the medals, the
obligatory standing ovation. Then the entertainment.

Ah, thought Presley. The thing everybody has come for.

After the ceremony, they were going to bring out the band, Armstrong's band.
Not just the one he toured with, but what was left of the old guys, the
Armstrong Band, and they were going to rip the joint.

But also, also . . .

For the first time in twenty years, since Presley had been a boy, a kid in his
teens . . . Eisenhower was going to break his vow. Eisenhower was going to
dust off that clarinet.

For two hours Ike was going to play with Armstrong, just like in the good old
days.

"Cheer up," said gravelly-voiced Pops while the President was making his way
to the rostrum. Armstrong smiled at Eisenhower. "You're gonna blow 'em right
outta the grooves."
"All reet," said Ike.

The thunderous applause was dying down. Backstage, Ike handed the box with the
Presidential Medal to his wife of twenty years, Helen Forrest, the singer.
"Here goes, honey," he said. "Come out when you feel like it."

They were in the outer hall, behind the head tables. Some group of young
folksingers, very nervous but very good, were out there killing time while
Armstrong's band set up.

"Hey, hey," said Pops. He'd pinned the Presidential Medal, ribbon and all, to
the front of his jacket through the boutonniere hole. "Wouldn't old Jelly Roll
like to have seen me now?"
"Hey, hey," yelled some of the band right back at him.

"Quiet, quiet!" yelled Pops. "Let them kids out there sing. They're good.
Listen to 'em. Reminds me of me when I was young."

Ike had been concentrating on licking his reed and doing tongue exercises.
"You never were young, Pops," he said. "You were born older than me."