PUNCHMAGAZINE.COM 135 THE FINAL RECORDING SESSION February 6, 1976, unfolded much like any other. In the afternoon, Vince headed to Wally Heider Studios in San Francisco for a recording session. “The last one,” Vince’s drummer Jim Zimmerman marvels sadly—as if, all these decades later, he still finds it a little hard to believe. Jim had been playing with the famed pianist a few months, after Vince’s longtime bassist, Seward McCain, had introduced the two. That day, the three of them were scoring It's Arbor Day, Charlie Brown, Vince’s 15th Peanuts special. As always, Vince made a day out of it, insisting on good food and welcoming folks from the production team to come hang out. The week had been a full but fulfilling one for the musician. Just the evening before, Vince had enjoyed dinner at the home of Peanuts producer Lee Mendelson. Though he hadn’t been feeling well, Vince talked enthusiastically about his upcoming gig aboard the M.S. Golden Odyssey, a cruise through the Panama Canal. The future looked bright. Back at the studio, the Vince Guaraldi Trio quickly eased into the flow of music-making. The inspiration at the venue was palpable. It echoed with the legendary artists who had recorded here—and there were many, ranging from Creedence Clearwater Revival and Fleetwood Mac to Neil Young and Jefferson Airplane. Vince gravitated to sturdy swing and honest, straight-ahead jazz. During that day’s session, he played the lead melody with an electric keyboard, then layered in depth by switching over to acoustic piano for the harmony, throwing in some synthesizer for fun—a winning composition, equal parts upbeat and introspective. “Vince's music was genius in the way that he could satisfy the public with his accessibility and still be very satisfying to musicians who played with him,” Seward says. “Things would be complex and interesting—and at the same time, really accessible.” Though he wasn’t feeling his best, Vince knocked out song after song, from “Lucy's Home Run” to “Laughter in the Library.” Among them was a new and more subdued version of “Rain, Rain, Go Away,” a particularly soulful composition with light accompaniment on the bass and drums. Vince had been complaining more and more of stomach pain recently. But his doctor hadn’t seemed overly concerned and prescribed him an ulcer medication. Spent but satisfied, Vince wrapped up the session. Then he and the guys headed south to Menlo Park for a gig at Butterfield’s, an upscale supper club on El Camino Real where they had played regularly over the past two years. EVERYONE LOVES VINCE Vince smiled as he stepped into Butterfield’s, settling into the low lighting and sophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant. He took in the familiar smells and sounds—the tantalizing aroma of prime rib, the murmured conversations, the click-clack of busy silverware on dishes. Always a full house, the Butterfield’s crowd was a mix of academics and the affluent. Atherton and Menlo Park residents dined there, as would faculty from Menlo College located across the street. Many of the waitstaff were recent Stanford graduates, including Vince’s favorite waitress Suzanne MacKillop, an enterprising young lady who gave tennis and flute lessons when she wasn’t waiting on tables. Sometimes during breaks, Vince would find a seat at the bar, order a brandy and chat with Suzanne. “We’d talk about music. And we'd talk about my flute playing,” Suzanne recalls. “He would suggest things to learn or tell me to work harder on my improvisation—he was right,” she chuckles. Though Suzanne was still finding her musical voice, Vince had recognized potential and invited her to play with him and the guys at the restaurant on more than
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