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Inspiration

I was burnt-out and hadn’t written any prose for quite awhile realizing I had “writers block,” as ideas just wouldn’t flow. After six different attempts at writing this story, I thought I ended up with a version I could use. After letting it sit a few months, I read it again and it was terrible. My wife, Shirley, suggested I write it with Slushy telling the story. It worked, but when I restarted the story, my mind took a different track. I began writing about experiences I had witnessed, including my own, where I had a devastating case of Bells Palsy that ended my professional playing career. A trombone friend of mine contracted M.S. (Multiple Sclerosis), which slowly decreased his ability to earn a living. Other talented musicians with whom I worked became addicted to drugs, such as marijuana, heroin, alcohol, and a few died at an incredibly young age. Slushy in the story is an integral part of this, but I still tried to keep it entertaining. It is written almost totally in narrative style. I take a more humorous tack in the next Slushy story where he’s involved in different escapades that are funny. When you finish this story you’ll have a better understanding of the problems that can seriously affect musicians and their careers.

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Slushy Beats the Odds

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Inspiration

I’ve always been fascinated with pawnshops, stopping and looking at all the instruments and other objects hanging in the display windows. I thought using this colorful scenario would be a good way to start my second Slushy story. Another thing I decided to bring in was my experience with a spit and polish air force band during the Korean War in 1951-1952. We worked on close order drills and marched for hours and weeks during the intense heat of the California desert. Our first parade was a spine tingling experience as the band stood tall, with shoulders back, walking with military precision. It was a proud and memorable moment.

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Slushy The Trombone

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Inspiration

This story is based on how I began my music career in 1944. Mr. Forsyth, principal of Port Chester Junior School, came into my 9th grade study hall and told me to step outside. Waiting in the hallway was Mr. Jacobs, our new band director, who remembered me from 5th grade as a singer with a “good ear” (I used to harmonize every song when he came into our class to teach music and singing). The story line is true up to the point where Mr. Jacobs teaches me the fingerings to the C scale. He loaned me a school baritone horn (not a trumpet as in the story), which I played the next two years. When I entered Port Chester High School, I bought my first used professional Olds trombone with the $.25 an hour earned from baby-sitting for Mr. Paul Weckesser, our band director.