Helvetia “Vet”Boswell was born on May 20, 1911. In honor of her birthday, I dedicate this month’s feature article to a brief remembrance of the #2 lady in my life (after my mother, Vet Boswell Jones Minnerly of course!)
 
I never knew my grandfather on my mother's side, but I knew my grandmother Vet—one of the three famous Boswell Sisters singing group of the Depression era—very well. We always called Vet Nana, and during my childhood I spent more time with her than anyone else except my parents and brothers. In later years I spent more time with her than anyone else except my husband. I loved my Nana, and she loved me!
 
In many ways, when I came to life, Nana came to life. I was her first born grandchild, and as it turned out, her only granddaughter. She had been out of the limelight for decades, so there were no complications of fame and fortune attached to my birth as there had been when my mother was born in 1936—the last year of the Boswell Sisters trio. Family letters and audio clips not only reveal to me years later just how difficult my mother’s arrival was for Nana to adjust to, but also just how wholeheartedly she embraced my arrival. She could now fully enjoy a baby girl without simultaneously mourning the loss of her beloved sisters and their career.
 
As a child, I remember anytime the family would visit Nana in her Peekskill, New York, home, or she would visit us in Brooklyn, she and I always bunked together, watching TV and/or laughing and giggling like sisters until we fell asleep. I remember Nana taking me shopping at Bloomingdale’s or Macy's when we would visit Aunt Connee’s apartment on Central Park West in New York City. I remember her showing me how to tap dance. I remember her favorite foods—gumbo and crawdads of course! And I remember how she would tell me stories of people she knew and places she had been—but I never realized just how amazing and special those stories were until much later in life. She was my beloved Nana, not a famous person whose stories of the past were precious and coveted.

I liked being with my Nana in her house in Peekskill. I liked the grass in the yard, and the tree we used to climb out front—being a Brooklyn girl I grew up with more cement than grass, so greenness was especially wonderful for me. This was a small house and a small yard, but as a child, things always seem larger in memories than in reality! There always seemed to be plenty of spaces to explore and lawn on which to sprawl. I always liked Nana’s trellis, with the many roses up and down it that would bloom. Nana took good care of her small yard. There were so many nice flourishes—flowers, plants, pots, and of course the black lamppost by the two concrete steps (or was it three?) where a small black metal ship with my grandfather’s name on it, John Paul Jones, hung.
 
There were also very nice things inside her house. Her living room was small but beautiful. I thought it so elegant and precious, with its long bay windows in front and two tiny alcoves, one of which contained a fireplace and both of which contained long built in benches. There was a beautiful, large white and blue Persian carpet covering the floor of the main section of the living room, and two cream-colored loveseats and two white, mirrored coffee tables upon it. I later learned that these were the furnishings that came from the sisters’ New York apartment they maintained in the 1930s. Nana and my mother always told us to be very careful of the furnishings in this room, and we were never allowed to eat or drink anything there. Other items I remember being in awe of were the painting of a pope done by my grandfather, and the many petit point and needlepoint items done by my Nana, such as a beautiful antique fireplace screen, a pretty little antique footrest, and several framed works.
 
Sitting in front of the window was my favorite item—a small little organ, made of plastic I think, with chord buttons on the left hand side and a perhaps three-octave keyboard. When I think of it now, it really was quite out of place in this room with all its treasures! Especially since there was a piano in another room and this item was the showpiece of living room—placed right in front of the bay windows. I used to spend hours playing it. Nana would bring out her sheet music, and I learned songs like I’ve Got The World On A String, Beautiful Dreamer, and Auld Lang Syne. Sometimes Nana would sing the songs with me. And it was so much fun! She would sometimes put an accent on a word or a strange rhythm that you wouldn’t expect, or intentionally mispronounce a woid or completely rewrite a phrase—little did I know at the time I was privy to a live Boswell-style arrangement in progress! In fact, one thing I remember as if it were yesterday was the way she sung her name to me—"Neeny Nanny Noony Ninny Nu Nu Nu"—so rapidly and perfectly, and in many variations, and etched forever in my brain!

As an adult, I chose to live near my Nana and my mother. The three of us formed our own trio in a way. Nana was a widow, my mother was divorced, and I did not marry until 1980 nor have children until 1985. We spent many evenings in Nana’s house—playing card games with her, listening to stories of the past, watching TV with her, taking her out places, and laughing, sometimes so hard tears would swell—she was so incredibly funny! The three of us would, “Get to laffin’,” as Nana would say. So I believe I have a sense of what the three Boswell Sisters’ fun times must have been like. Laughter was very important in Nana’s life—I remember she often quoted Lincoln, “If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.” Until long after her passing I did not know just how poignant those words were.

I grew up with my Nana as a major consistency and influence in my life. Still I have dreams of Nana and her house. In them, most often she was laughing and playing and filling them with loving memories, despite the pain in her heart that I was aware of but did not really understand until later in life. That deep pain that I sometimes witnessed came from losing what was most precious to her—laughing, playing, and making music with her sisters.

Today, I honor my Nana and everything she meant to me personally by working hard to bring her and her sisters’ story to the public. I am thrilled that we seem on the verge  of major recognition of the Boswell Sisters, and thank everyone involved in the various projects for their labors of love as well! I am happy to help give my Nana this gift, if I possibly can. 
 
Happy Birthday, Nana!
Love, Kyla

The story of these young girls is a multidimensional one, imperative from a musical  perspective, but from so many others as well. This is also a story of rugged  individualism and fierce adherence to a vision—despite their gender and the predetermined roles for white middle class females of the time. Consider their celebrity against the backdrop of the Great Depression, a  time when their youthfulness, energy, optimism, and fresh arrangements of old songs conveyed hope to their audiences. Their perfect harmony symbolized support and togetherness during hard  times, as their sisterhood helped them through family tragedy and loss. Finally, there is also the theme of great strength and determination conquering disability. All of these themes echo down through generations of their ancestors. Yet through all their trials and tribulations, the sisters forged ahead  for the love of their music—and established an enormously successful career in a very short time, as well as a well-deserved place in music history.

As  their ancestors before them, the Boswell Sisters were true pioneers. Young, brave, and strong, they came upon the new world of music in the early 1900s just as their families came upon the new world of America three-hundred years before. This new world of music was uniquely American, a melting pot of influences from all over the world—it was called jazz. And the Boswell Sisters’ important contribution to it and to virtually all other varieties of American popular music to follow needs to be noticed, understood, and honored at the highest levels of the music and entertainment cultures. This recognition is long overdue.

Just as his beloved Boswell Sisters, David McCain is originally from New Orleans. His research (much of which has been donated to several New Orleans institutions) into the history of harmony singing quickly led him to the Boswell Sisters’ musical genius. David was captivated by their sound, but needed more. He found himself full of questions that he determined only Vet Boswell could answer. After their meeting, a close friendship ensued until her death in 1988. His closeness with Vet’s family continues, and he is currently working with Kyla on the book, as well as other projects, to perpetuate and credit the highly influential Boswell Sound.

Vet "Chica" Boswell Jones Minnerly was musically gifted and a trained classical pianist, but she nevertheless chose a career in special education. Upon retiring, she, like her aunt Martha Boswell, moved to a farm in the New York countryside. She spent the rest of her life at her beloved farm, working to honor the music and lives of her famous mother and aunts. Chica passed away in 2010, leaving the Boswell family legacy to her only daughter, Kyla, to carry forward. Much of this legacy would have been lost had it not been for Chica's tireless efforts, and we are deeply grateful to her for her perseverance and preservation of this important history.

Vet Boswell's granddaughter, Chica's daughter, Boswell Sisters biographer and caretaker of the Boswell family archives, Kyla is currently working with the Historic New Orleans Collection on the Boswell Sisters exhibit as well as Joshua Tree Productions on their documentary, both slated for a 2014 release.