Most say it began in New Orleans, in the whorehouses of Storyville. Where the clientele seemed to like a raucous mixture of European melodies and African rhythms. But suddenly, America was in the Great War, and the raw recruits coming through New Orleans on their way to Europe made the fleshpots of Storyville into a pilgrimage.

Federal officials were astonished to find a legal red-light district in the midst of the morally pure United States. They ordered Storyville closed.

All the whores, the madams and pimps and even the musicians had to find new work.

Maybe they heard about opportunities in the north from their relatives, maybe it was just watching the Mississippi River, and wondering where it had come from. Maybe it was the rumor of a Midwestern City where you could do anything. Where, if the money was right, you could buy anything, be anybody. Some went up the Mississippi to Chicago, some went to Europe.

But some went to that rumored Missouri town, where the music they had played in New Orleans simmered and fermented and changed. It became bigger and grander and, soon, people in other parts of the country were sitting up and taking notice. Jazz wasn't New Orleans any more; it was Kansas City Jazz.

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