A Jazz Baptism

by Smokey Thang

I was just a young punk kid. Lost, bored, curious, searching. It was years ago,

1961, in what they call the “near north side” of Chicago, just north of the loop.

Walking down a side street late at night…dead quiet…I’m loving the late night and

its magic. I turn a corner onto a busier street. There’s a few taxis cruising by, and

suddenly the jagged edge of a trumpet tears through the night and cuts me deep. It

called out to a part of me that I didn’t know. It was as if I had been shot. I was

hypnotized.

I wasn’t sure what was happening. I became instantly excited and followed the

sound to a small bar in the middle of the block. As I entered, the trumpet laid

out and a vibraphonist began soloing. I found the bar, ordered a beer, and perched

on a stool. The bubbly vibes echoed through the air and came down on me like

breaking glass in slow motion. Each note cleansed me, instantly cleaning out the

bile, the anger, all the fear and envy, until I was pure and breathing easy, and being

there so effortlessly. I sat there transfixed, but incredibly excited, as the buttery

creamy sound of a tenor saxophone eased in and covered me with a warm blanket.

It lit a candle inside of me that still burns today. That horn showed me where I lived.

Finally, I was home. I was overwhelmed with joy. I have never been the same since.

-end-