The Sax Man

My Papa was a sax man for many years, playing everywhere from the Elks Lodge to the illustrious Grand Hotel up on Mackinac Island. He started young, maybe 4 or 5 years old under the guidance of his (strict wasn't the word for it) father and his love for music just kept on growing. He was the sort of person that made you feel completely at ease... like you'd known him for years and you could talk to him about anything. It wasn't any surprise to anyone that he became a traveling salesman... but more importantly, he was a good man with a good heart. He was, as the song says, "Easy to Love."

I can't honestly say he was my first musical influence but he surely was my most prominent one. I can remember when I was young and he wasn't sick yet... we'd go downstairs into the basement and he'd grab his sax (tenor, if you cared) and hand me his claves or his maracas and we'd have a jam session. He left that sax to me. It's in mint-condition. An old Selmer, straight from Paris... Ugh... even now as I'm thinking about this, I'm crying. God in heaven I miss him. He taught me everything I know about the soul of music, and more importantly, the soul of the human.

Why all this sappiness, you ask? Well, tonight I went to Jambalaya's with Rae and her mom and her mom's friend(s) for her birthday finally. They have live music nightly there and tonight it was a 30-40's night, so there were swing dancers and everything. The name on the playbill sounded so familiar I couldn't discount it. Somehow "Sherm" sounded so ... so much like Papa I couldn't stand it. After much deliberation, I decided to go accost the poor, old man who was at the bar hassleing the tender. Looked like a good time to sneak in.

I tapped his shoulder and started out on how this would sound strange, and he simply smiled and took a seat, with those dark brown, expectant eyes. He knew. Ugh. I'm crying more. At any rate, he knew. He kind of smiled and tipped his head to the side and tried not to smirk as I told him that I thought I recognized his name... and that I thought that my grandfather, Woodrow had played with him some years ago. He nodded a few times and sipped his red wine as those eyes bored into me. Needless to say I was a little nervous, accosting a stranger like this. At any rate, he told me that he'd been playing for nigh 60 years and though he couldn't quite place the name, it was indeed familiar. Then it hit him. A "twinkle, twinkle" in the old man's eye appeared... "Woody? Woody Scheidt?" That was it... on the nose. My papa...Woody had indeed played with him!

It's so great to have someone tell you that your relatives are amazing. He regaled me with a few short stories about their exploits...then leaned back almost like he was sizing me up.

"What sax do you play?" He said with a hidden smile there on his face. How could he have known? A little shocked, I confessed I play tenor. He merely nodded and smiled as if he'd expected that exact answer. I told him that I had Papa's sax and he blinked a few times, a little surprised.

"Don't ever get rid of that horn... it's got too many memories" was his only response. As if I'd ever think of giving away the only thing that I have to remind me of my beloved papa.

After another few short stories, he paused and half-laughed as he shook his head. He asked me if I was studying music at MSU and I unfortunately had to tell him no. He made mention of the saxophone professor here... and that he'd given him a near-priceless sax... and that I wasn't to tell anyone about it in detail. He laughed softly, then and nodded a few more times as I proclaimed the sax. prof's greatness. I've heard him many times in concert and each time he was simply flawless...

"Don't ever say that. You can travel the world and never find someone with the same fingerprint. Music is just the same. No one else plays like you, no one is better or worse. We're all works in progress." He smiled knowingly at that. Man that struck home. In high school I rarely if ever practiced. Seems I have a knack for music, I guess... but his little smile... it gave away that he knew I didn't practice and furthermore that he didn't care. He asked my name, then and I half-smiled through this religious experience and gave it along with my hand.

"Jessica," Sherm said with that same knowing smile "You've made Woody very proud. Don't forget it." I was astounded. I distinctly remember my Papa's last words... That I was his "best girlfriend" and that I'd made him "very proud....and don't you forget it." Needless to say I was speechless, there with my hand in his worn, arthretic one. What could I say? He seemed to know I was on the verge of tears because he stood with a bit of effort and grinned, those eyes twinkling

"I've got to get back to the stage." he murmured "Break's over. You'd think that with lung cancer and emphazima, I'd quit this gig." He paused and shook his head, laughing. "No chance, Doc... They're always trying to get me to quit. I say, what's there to live for if you can't do what you love?"

My answer, Sherm...

Not a damned thing.