There are at least two of my favorite stories to tell about growing up in the mid-west and being a sax player. One is when the Urbandale, IA middle school teacher picked a jazzy song for the eighth graders. The song was Henry Mancini’s “Mr Lucky”. There were two of us sitting in the first chair saxophone position. So without preparation, Mr. Phil Hartman had us play the solo all alone.

I couldn’t read very well and still struggle with sight-reading to this day. But fortunately the girl got to play first. She, like Barb who I play with now-a-days, (hey, I mean play sax with) was a pretty good sight reader. So she played the solo straight and did an… okay job. I was so nervous that when I played the same solo, I started shaking uncontrollably. I was mortified but I had been taught to always, always, play on. “If you quit…