One afternoon at the age of ten, lightning strikes.
Alone in our ramshackle wood-frame house in Hartford, I decide to listen to some of my parents’ 45 RPM records. I watch one slide down the fat spindle and plop onto the turntable to receive the tone arm and needle. The music starts and like a bolt captures not just my ears but my whole being. It’s a guy with a gravelly voice singing something about building a dream on a kiss. Then there’s this trumpet solo that’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It sounds like it could be God himself playing. That voice and trumpet just take my breath away. I play the record over and over until it becomes a part of me forever.
copyright 2018 Bob Hecht
Published November 7th, 2018 by Bob Hecht