Dizzy

In August 2013, I traveled with my uncle and aunt from Baltimore to Indianapolis for our 59th annual family reunion. My uncle was my father’s second cousin, while my aunt is a ‘Naptown’ native, as well as a graduate of its famous Crispus Attacks High School (and classmate of NBA Hall of Famer, Oscar “The Big O” Robertson, one year behind her). I shared the driving with my uncle on the way there (~570 miles). After arriving late afternoon, checking into the beautiful downtown Sheraton Hotel, walking around with my Detroit siblings and Lexington cousins, and eating a delicious and hearty steak dinner with my uncle, I found out about a great uptown Jazz club called the Jazz Kitchen. To my pleasant surprise, the Pat Martino Trio was in town that weekend, featuring Pat Bianchi on organ and Carmen Intorre on drums. Pat Martino was always one of my favorite bebop guitarists on the Jazz scene going back to the 1980s. The only problem was that I didn’t have a set of wheels at my disposal. Even though my uncle was a big Jazz fan, he was not interested in going. More importantly, he took great pride in his vehicles, always keeping them shiny, immaculate, detailed, and up-to-date with oil changes and other scheduled maintenance. Despite my begging, pleading, prodding, and promising, my uncle still wasn’t too keen on me borrowing his sporty burgundy 2005 Acura for the evening and driving only six (6) miles one way through the Indianapolis city streets at night. Truth be told, I was already resigned to either taking a city bus or a taxi. I was going to get there one way or another! Well, after my aunt eventually weighed in, spoke on my behalf, and persuaded my uncle, I finally got a hold of the car keys!!! After safely arriving at the Jazz Kitchen, I witnessed a great swinging and burning set by Mr. Martino & Company! On the way out, I spoke briefly to Pat (Bianchi) and Carmen, hanging out in front of the club. Ironically, I ended up taking the bus the next day to that same part of town to do some sight-seeing and hit a few record stores. On the return trip back to Baltimore, I again shared driving duties with my uncle. And I made no mention of the street racing, doing doughnuts, and the high-speed police chase that I partook in that fateful Jazz night… :v)