PBW: Columbus, Time, and Travel

We can make plans, but things seldom work out as we might expect. At the funeral this morning for my music teacher, his wife shared in her eulogy the last thing he said to her the night before he died: “I'll see you tomorrow.”

It's been an emotional couple of days. At the wake last night, friends, family and students alike gathered, and I met some people I hadn't seen in years. This morning at the funeral, a brass choir assembled by my former elementary school teacher played hymns throughout the service, honoring the legacy of Mr. Sange. Among the group of colleagues and former students were my middle school conductor, and the saxophone teacher I took my first lessons with, who in turn recommended Mr. Sange. It was an honor to play beside all the musicians who started this journey for me so many years ago, to mark the passing of the greatest of them all. At one point one of the trumpet players, now a professional jazz musician in his own right, spoke of his first lessons back in the 1970s. As I listened to him describe the patient steps, the books of handwritten music, I realized his was the same experience as mine, and wondered how many generations of students went through the same special training. Mr. Sange's eldest daughter spoke of his work with disabled children, and I realized how little I knew of his life. He had one student who, due to a hole in his heart at an early age, had lost blood flow to the brain. Mr. Sange spent years with the boy teaching him drums, first with one hand, then a foot, then another hand, until he could do it. It didn't matter how small the steps were or how long it took, he never gave up on ANY student and always got results.

I was also reminded that when he had his heart attack over 20 years ago and collapsed in the street, my elementary school teacher did more than pick Mr. Sange up: he gave him CPR and saved his life. 20 years later, it was only fitting that he lead our group in saying goodbye to someone who touched many lives, and touched many more because of him. I wish I'd had more time to talk to all of my former teachers before heading back to work, but I'd only taken the morning off. It was nice to thank them, and tell them that I'm still playing. I had a weird sensation of time travel by the afternoon in my office, as though I'd spanned 20 years of my own life in a single day. In the morning I was where I came from, but by the afternoon I was back in the present where I'd ended up.

Christopher Columbus didn't end up where he planned to either. And a few weeks ago, while I planned to head into Manhattan to take pictures, several factors worked against me. Rain began prior to that weekend that didn't let up until a nigh unprecedented eight days later. I'd also caught a bit of a cold, and playing in the rain that Saturday and Sunday didn't help. However, knowing that I'd likely be bedridden on my day off, I wisely brought my camera to the parade in the Bronx, for an insider's perspective. What tonight's Photo Blog Wednesday: ultimately conveys is one of life's unexpected journeys.

My dad drove since I wasn't feeling well that day, and I took a picture of some road work on the side of the Van Wyck:



The lesson of course is that you never know on a cloudy what reflections and obscurity you might capture. I can make out my mirror, the guard rail, and a construction vehicle, but ultimately this is a piece of abstract art. The next few shots taken of the highway and subsequent bridge, are more recognizable:





Here's our friend Bill, the trumpet player, and the society we were playing for that day:



The end was in sight, but we were stopped for a while there while groups ahead of us performed at the reviewing stand. It gave me time to take that picture though, as well as this one of my own father looking through his music:



The true genesis of my musical career comes from my parents. If my mom didn't see a yearbook photo of my dad in band, she wouldn't have bought him a horn on their first anniversary. If I didn't grow up hearing him practice, I never would have told my elementary school teacher and gotten one myself. The path led to one great instructor, and though he's in the ground today, the music lives on. It was around before I was here, and I hope it will be long after I join the big band in the sky myself.