Getting there

Late afternoon, Boxing Day, in the rain…an oldish guy (in his fifties?), well-fed, not exactly poorly dressed, no dog at his feet,  playing his trombone in the shelter afforded by a city department store against the rain; playing ‘You are my sunshine….’ a few missed notes….

Okay but not enough happening.

I’ve come round to wanting a narrative content in the photographs I take/look at. Not that I’ve moved on from landscapes, portraits, but just that for the time being I like pictures that tell a story that 1000 words can’t.
So this is a beginning: a story: outside a Marks & Spencer store; an oldish guy, not a beggar, playing a trombone for passers-by; a youngish guy, tall, athletic, smart casual, with lights flashing on his footwear stopping just long enough to drop a coin into the old man’s yawning instrument case. The trombonist half turns to acknowledge the donation……

Getting there…The Kindness of Strangers…getting there.



One response to “Getting there

  1. Steve showed me how to put the horn together in the summer of 94, when I was 10 years old. Originally planing to hand me over to a great teacher after a few months, he decided to keep me as his student since he thought I showed some promise. He was wonderful. He taught me from the very beginning how to really enjoy playing the trombone. I learned so much just from listening to him play, week after week. When I reached high school he got much more serious with me and set very high goals for me, which I was able to reach. He was my motivator and inspiration. Most importantly, he taught me how to open up my heart to making beautiful music on the trombone. While I was in college we kept in close contact and I returned for lessons often. He was a second father to me. He called me his “trombone son”. He was and still is one of the most profound blessings in my life. The world really has lost one of the best trombonists out there. This man was special in many different was. To say he will be missed is not nearly enough.

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