I almost made it. But then my roommate Charlie came home. As did his dad, Charles, who was staying the night with us.
My night instantly turned around. And went on much longer--to my delight--than I had initially hoped.
You see, Charles Sr. (or Mr. P, as I'll call him from now on) is a newly-minted nanogenarian--he hit the big 9-0 last week (my roommate, his son, is 28---for those at home who want to do the math). And he is quite likely the most sprightly, engaged, and healthiest 90-year old I have ever met.
Mr. P's an absolute delight. He's warm and personable. And a fantastic storyteller to boot. Which he can do, nonstop, for hours.
(I'm assuming that's just something you start to do as an old man, right? Tell stories for hours and hours on end? I mean, I'm expecting to follow suit when I get to that point myself.)
The difference, though, between Mr. P's stories and those of many other old men who've gabbed my ear off? Mr. P's are absolutely fascinating. They mostly center around jazz music.
Born and raised in New York (Brooklyn, to be exact), he traveled around North America for much of his early years as a professional jazz guitarist; to hear him tell stories of his musical exploits is to be instantly transported to the golden-hued Jazz era in America; his descriptions of the New York City of the era are something straight out of Gatsby.
I would give nearly anything to be in that place and time for but a moment (y'know, once the flux capacitator finally becomes a reality). Listening to Mr. P weave his vivid tales, though, I must say, is a pretty good substitute.
(photo by Chad Sengtock - www.ishotphotography.com)
3 comments:
if only i could've been there!!
Where? In mid-20th century New York, or at our apartment to hear the stories? :)
both!
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