Here's a bit of good luck, and one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me (at least in retrospect). Mr. Moore had hired a second band director, a young guy fresh out of the U. of O. named Tom Kranovich who played the trumpet. He ran the Brass Choir and the Jazz Band, was a positive influence on me musically, and was an OK guy. I was starting to improvise (although I had no idea what I was doing), and he showed me the "blues scale", that ubiquitous bit of semi-accurate information prevalent in jazz education at the time. He also tried to teach me to double-tongue, which I still can't do, but one day I showed him what I had been doing naturally, which is called doodle-tongueing. He didn't start lecturing me, he told me, "just do that, you sound good". By letting me do what came naturally, he set up my entire musical career and every success I had as a trombonist later on. He also did me a huge favor, although quite by accident. One day I asked him where I should go to school, because I wanted to play the trombone. I knew he went to the U of O, and I also knew the trombone teacher there was a little behind the times (no disrespect intended, he was an older guy). So this young turk from the U of O did the unthinkable, at least for a U of O grad. He said "You know, they are starting a jazz program at Southern Oregon, and I heard they hired David Baker". (David Baker is a very well known and well respected African American jazz educator, a real pioneer!). I was too dumb to check it out, I signed right up!

Now, this was slightly incorrect, they had hired a guy from The University of Texas named David Caffey, who is not African American. David ended up being my second great mentor, and someone I think the world of. A great teacher, and a great friend. He helped me more than anyone in my life. We have always laughed about our first meeting - I was one of his first college trombone students, he was my first college teacher. I walked in to the music building and went to his office to audition. I thought when the door opened, I would see David Baker, and I couldn't figure out why "Caffey" was on the door. Going to a college because David Baker was going to be teaching there, and end up with David Caffey, I would have to be REALLY stupid, right?

When that door opened, David visibly jumped. Standing before him was a disturbed, vile looking tree hippie (I was wearing a faded old flannel shirt and jeans for this important audition). He was expecting a fine young collegiate prospect, who had taken lessons, knew his scales and the basics, someone he could mold into a good young trombonist. This is kind of like ordering a bottle of Dom Perignon, and the waiter bringing you a bottle of Thunderbird. I was just kind of stunned. David was even more stunned when he heard me play. I couldn't play a damn thing by civilized standards. I'm lucky he didn't just send me packing. Thanks, David!