It was a Wednesday evening when Mike called, he was starting a jam session at Big Joe’s on Sunday evenings and the first one, as he put it, was a “bit too bluesy” and he wanted to play more jazz. He asked if I could come and play next Sunday? I was a bit hesitant at first because there was a professional-am jam that recently ended at Joe’s which has been there for years. Mike, in his always positive, “it will be great” attitude, backed up with that smile which gushed his omnipresent reassurance convinced me and my hesitation dissolved into anticipation… and that began over a decade of Sunday evenings together. Sometimes, just the two of us, but gradually, with Mike’s charm working the phone and persistence attitude, Sunday evenings grew into a family of a wide cast of characters.
I had met Mike about 6 years earlier in an Old Town Jazz ensemble where we became friends and music buddies. Frequently, he would come over to my home and we would work through the song of the week of our ensemble and typically play other tunes he was working on. I recall that we struggled through the changes of I Remember Clifford for the longest time. A song we would revisit routinely through the years.
Over the years of playing together at Big Joe’s he and I would end the evening, after packing up our gear and loading it into our cars, with a quiet moment, enjoying a quiet moment together, enjoying the feeling of the evening of the music we shared and more, sharing his unquenchable enthusiasm for “la joie de vie”, the joy of life, he always shared with everyone. There is now an ache in my heart for my friend, that is eased when I think about him, often, when I remember Mike.
