Anyone who has made or attempted to make a living pursuing their art knows it is far from the path of least resistence. At times, I have felt that musicians have a thankless task and wondered where exactly they fit into the society. Are we just entertainers or is something more? No doubt, there have been performances afterwhich I wondered if a single person had paid even the slighest, most tenuous shred of attention to the music performed for them.

On the contrary, there have been performances in which it the audience was just as much a part of the music as the musicians performing it. As much as it is a great feeling when this happens, it does not necessarily make for the most rewarding performances. Every once in a while, I am called to do a performance that affirms, in every way possible, my decision to do what I do for a living.

The single greatest of these performances occurred nearly three years ago. I was called to perform for a gentleman hospitalized at the City of Hope. His girlfriend hired me as a surprised Birthday present for her boyfriend, Turk. I suggested a duo to which she agreed. After haning up, I called the great bass player and dear friend Jiro to accompany me.

Beyond thinking how it was a creative present to give to someone who couldn't get out of bed, it would not be until Jiro and I arrived and began playing when the magnitidue of this performance would strike me. Turk's girlfriend never indicated to me just how sick her boyfriend was. She only mentioned how much he loved jazz music.

Upon our arrival, we were ushered into his room and at the first sight of him, I stopped cold. Hooked up to him was nearly every medical apparatuses imaginable. Clearly, Turk was in abysmal shape. This fact, however, seemed to have disappeared when he saw us enter the room with our instruments. It was as if his entire being lit up as we watched the nurse prop him up with some pillows. I though if nothing else, the surprise has certainly been achieved.

After we set out instruments up, I announced to him, "We have been asked to come here and perform for you on your birthday. We hope you enjoy what you hear." When we finished the first song, Turk was in tears and asked the nurse to hand him his diary that he had kept after being admitted into the hospital.

I found it extremely difficult to maintain my own composure but somehow I managed. Throughout the performance, Turk would write things in his diary, stopping on occasion to tell us about his illness, and how he had not felt anywhere close to as good as he did at that time since being hospitalized about four months prior.

Shortly after we began playing, other patients who were not bedridden gathered outside of the room to listen. It is absolutely impossible to describe the feeling I had. To know that the music we were playing had such a salubrious effect on someone is ineffible.

Before leaving Turk, we told him to come out to some gigs when he got out. He smiled and promised he would even though a large part of me felt as though this would be the first and last time I would ever see him again considering the deteriorated state he was in at the time.

Two months later, my phone rang.When I answered, my mouth went agape for a moment. It was Turk, and he was out of the hospital! He informed me that our performance was the turning point and that he was able to get well enough to be discharged and had been home for less than a week. Everyone, including myself, was astounded at his rapid recovery. In jest, I replied that Jiro and I start bottling ourselves and distributing it among the seriously ill. He chuckled at this remark even though I thought it was a idiotic joke after I said it.

 He asked when and where I was performing next. I told him, and he showed up, fulfilling the promise he had made to us. Sadly, Turk would pass away a half a year later. Although his girlfriend didn't inform me of his passing, a fellow teacher who had referred me to her told me that Jiro and I created a possible situation out of one that was thought to be impossible: Turk recovering to the point where he could leave the hospital and living many months longer than what doctors had earlier determined.

Whenever I have a poor gig and feel as though those in attendance could care less whether we were playing music or playing cards, I remember Turk's transformation and realize how absurd I am being for disempowering something that, by his own declaration, was the primary catalyst in prolonging his life.