December 22, 1935. "I am going up the Taku River by dogteam to Fairbanks." "But you can't do that; there are mountains or something you can't get over. Anyway, it's no place for a woman." Thus man disposes of woman. That settled I went quietly about my business of getting ready.
Thus begins the journal of Mary Joyce, a native of Wisconsin living near Juneau. Invited to the March 1936 Fairbanks Ice Carnival, she spent the winter months traveling the thousand-mile stretch with her dog team, sometimes guided by native Alaskans. That she was the first non-Alaskan to make the journey by dogsled is only one of her many distinctions. Motoring along Route 66 in the early 1920s, nursing degree in hand, she landed in Hollywood, where she worked in pictures as actor, as nurse, as medical consultant. She was the first ham radio operator in the Alaskan territories, and the only woman to run supplies by dogsled for the Allies during World War II. 1971, Westchester County, NY. A young girl who's been studying saxophone for three months attends a big band concert led by drummer Buddy Rich. After the concert, excited, inspired, she heads for the stage door in search of autographs. Spotting the band bus parked nearby, she tells her father, "I'd do anything to be on that bus."
And thus begins the jazz life of saxophonist Claire Daly, whose father was Mary Joyce's cousin. Perhaps an adventuresome spirit runs in the bloodline. Whereas Joyce was told that the Alaskan wilderness was "no place for a woman," but went ahead, anyway, Daly entered the exhilarating, if not always hospitable, world of professional jazz. As Daly puts it, "There have been challenges in jazz but, like Mary, I just forge on and do what I can."
Three things Daly can doand do very wellare play the saxophone (like most sax players, she doubles on other reed instruments, but her main axe is a bari), lead a band, and write music. Nothing To Lose: The Mary Joyce Project
(Daily Bread, 2011), was inspired by and pays homage to her trailblazing forebear.
The music, by Daly and pianist Steve Hudson
, has been described at All About Jazz
as "a tribute to the very idea of charting one's own path through life, regardless of conventions or expectations." All About Jazz:
You met Mary Joyce when you were a child and she visited your family. She showed you her scrapbook about her journey, but you've said you were too young to understand the enormity of what she'd done. When did you come to understand it more, to really connect with Mary and her story? Claire Daly:
I feel like I fully connected with the story when I read the journal just a few years ago. [Mary Joyce: Taku to Fairbanks 1000 Miles By Dogsled
(AuthorHouse) was published in 2007 by another cousin, Mary Ann Greiner.] Before then, she was a figure in my childhood; I could tell you that she did this trip but I didn't really have a concept of what that meant. It was after the journal was published. I put the book down and said, "I've got to write music for her." AAJ:
Once you'd decided you had to write music for Mary, how did you approach it? CD:
I knew I wanted to collaborate with someone, and I thought, I've got to be really careful who I pick to collaborate with because a lot of times I'm drawn to something I think is a good idea and then [imitates sound of explosion]. And Steve HudsonI did gigs with his Outer Bridge Ensemble. I loved his writing, and one of the things I loved about it was that I felt it was cinematic and really expressive in a way that appealed to me. So he and I started getting together. A lot of the beginning of working the project was talking about Mary.
When I went to Alaska the first time...you know when you know when you're onto something, you're on to the thing you should be doing? We went to Alaska, I'm spending all this money, and I don't know where it's going. I think I can get some grants for it, but I don't know how (and I wasn't actually able to), but when Mary died she left The Lucky Lady [the bar Mary opened in the early 1970s] to her friend Neil and my cousin Mary Ann Greiner. So I'm with Mary Ann, and Neil says, in his Irish brogue, "We're cleanin' out the apartment and there's four boxes of her stuff. You want it?"
I said, "Uh, that would be yes, please!" He gives me four boxes of photographs, family letters from the turn of the century, her affects. She was a stewardessyou had to be a nurse to be a stewardess in those days, and she was a nurseso there was all this wacky stuff. I mailed it all home, so Steve and I sat and were going through her stuff because we really wanted to get a sense of her, not in a removed, idolized way. We just really wanted to get a sense of her. Because all these great people, they're all just people. And they're really just doing what they feel like their calling is to do in life. She wasn't trying to be some big pioneer. She wasn't trying to be the first woman to do anything.