My Uncle

My uncle died in Chula Vista two weeks ago. Soon all his worldly goods, in three or four boxes, will arrive in the mail. Rather sad. He was an artist. He made jewelry and played baritone, French horn, and piano. His profession was teaching industrial arts. He had stubborn ideas about music and only liked jazz, and composers such as Shearing and Oscar Peterson. He didn’t like ordinary, predictable chords, which he called “churchy”. Once he took a correspondence course from some midwest Scandinavian college in theory or arranging or some such subject. He proceeded to make the chords interesting and received back his paper, from an instructor named Olafson, all marked up in red and the words NO! NO! NO! scrawled across the page.

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