I enjoy spontaneity. In fact, yesterday my brother, David, and I decided on an impulse to blow town and explore the Chicago jazz scene. We decided to visit our good friend Tom Vaitsas . Tom is an incredibly accomplished jazz pianist who has earned the respect of so many fellow jazz musicians working in Chicago.
(Tom Hilliker, Tom Vaitsas, David Hilliker)
Tom is a very busy musician, working roughly every night of the week--sometimes 2-3 times per day. Tom performs three nights a week with his trio (piano, bass, drums) at Bandera, an upscale restaurant on Michigan Avenue.
Since we arrive at the Windy City three hours early, we decide to swing by the home of a good friend of David's--Donald Meade. Donald lives in an apartment on the South side. I've heard so much about Donald over the years that I figured it was time to finally meet him. I knew it would mean a lot to David to see Donald again after a long silence.
Donald is one of the most interesting men I've ever met.
He seems to know every (and I mean every) major jazz personality ever to grace this planet. I'm not saying he's merely met them on one or two occasions. I'm saying he's an integral part of jazz history--a member of the family of American jazz musicians. At age 79, I marveled at his ability to recall names, dates, places, and conversations, not only from just a few weeks ago, but from years past!(Tom Hilliker & Donald Meade)
Donald entertained us for two hours with fascinating anecdotes involving many of our musical idols in jazz. The unique aspect to his stories is that he speaks in the first person. His accounts emerge from his own experiences. I don't know that Donald himself is a musician, but I can tell you that he has endeared himself to the major personalities in jazz---and this has nothing whatsoever to do with whether he can play an instrument. Donald is simply a very beautiful human being--one whom, as legendary song writer Cole Porter puts it, is easy to love. As we sat in his living room riveted by stories of Ray Brown, Art Blakey, Duke Ellington, and others we laughed till it hurt! That's the other thing about Donald. He loves to laugh and he enjoys making others laugh, too.
Our two hours with Donald whizzed by. We must now pry ourselves away because Tom's trio is about to begin their gig. First, however, we must stop for Mexican food. Some time ago, Tom introduced my brother, David, to a Taqueria on Chicago's South side. It was love at first sight. We had to stop in before the gig. We shared a super-sized beef burrito and some pickled carrots--apparently a Mexican specialty. David figured it would be wise to add two more tacos to his order. When we finished eating, twenty minutes later, the food parked itself like a sack of sand in my stomach. It sure went down easy enough, but the after effects were...well...unfortunate.
After a few passes up and down Michigan Avenue, we finally found Bandera's. The trio sounded absolutely beautiful--the product of working for years with one another. I met Dave, the drummer, the night we recently played our own gig at Martini Park in Chicago. My brother introduces me to Mark, the bass player. All three men--Tom, Mark, and Dave--are just beautiful people--cordial and warm. My brother and I were hoping to sit in before the night was through; but since we didn't come dressed wearing ties, we weren't permitted to play in the band--a Bandera policy. Oh well.
Following the gig, Tom, David and I pile into my car and head to Greek Town to grab a bite to eat (our after-gig routine whenever we hook up with Tom). Wow! Was that ever a treat. Tom is Greek and speaks the language. He's also very familiar with Greek Town. By this time, 11pm, we are getting hungry again (Mexican food not withstanding). Tom recommended a place called the Artopolis Bakery & Cafe. They specialize in authentic Greek cuisine in a casual dining atmosphere. Tom talks us through the menu, making recommendations on what to order. Everything he suggests is simply fantastic! David orders a Greek pizza and potato salad. I ordered a specialty spinach and feta pita that was to die for. It came with rosemary potatoes on the side. Tom orders a colorful plate of fresh chopped vegetables with four scoops of humus garnished with Greek olives.
Tom asks if I ever had Greek coffee. Since I never had, I knew I would enjoy the adventure and it sounded like something worth exploring. I also knew that it would be a rather late night for us, so I would probably need the stuff in my system if David and I are ever going to make it back to Indiana. The coffee is served in a clear glass mug. It's strong (the way I like it), with cream (the way I like it) and sweet (the way I like it). It was absolutely delicious! Oh, did I mention that it's on ice, too? I order a second mug, and would have ordered a third and possibly a fourth, but I figure it's best that get some sleep sometime before my Wednesday gig in Elkhart.
Finally, we drive Tom back to his condo and head home. Unfortunately, we miss the Indiana exit and wind up on Interstate 94 East--clearly not where we wanted to be. About a half hour later I decide to turn on to I-65 South, thinking this will get us back on the Indiana Toll Road (bad move). We end up in Valparaiso, IN, well off the beaten trail. So, I do what most desperate male drivers do under the circumstances--I stop for directions.
It is now about 2:30am. We stop at a convenience store and the lady suggests taking Truck Route 51 North to get us on to the Toll Road. I'm so relieved to know we really aren't that far from it now. We head north and discover the route is full of twists and turns. In the darkness of the unlit streets along the way, I manage to miss one of the turns and wind up driving west (bad move). After about five miles I realize we are again lost!
David say, "Oh, I saw a sign back there that read 'Truck Route 51 North'. We drove right past it. I probably should have mentioned that to you, huh?"
"Uh...yeah. That would have been great."
So, I spin the car around and head back in search of that elusive sign. By now David is understandably tired and can't recall exactly where that sign was. It just so happens that we pass a Sheriff car patrolling the area. I thought, "Wow! What luck! I'll stop and ask him how to get back onto 51 North.
I slow down enough for him to get curious enough about our car in this little town somewhere in the middle of North West Indiana. I pull my car over and he stopped several car lengths behind me. I think to myself, "Great! David--you stay here--I'll be right back. I'm going to ask this Sheriff for directions."
So, I open my door and lope along toward the patrol car with my hands behind my back (another bad move).
He immediately thrusts open his driver's door, shines his flashlight in my eyes and screams at the top of his lungs, "LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!"
I'm thinking to myself, "Holy Schnikees, Batman! A bit of an over-reaction?" Not only this, he's got his pistol drawn with his left hand. He now radios for backup. YIKES!!!
"Officer, I'm lost, I'm tired, and I just want to get home, Can you help me?"
The officer is visibly alarmed and prepped himself for a worst-case scenario.
"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME, YOU STOP A POLICE OFFICER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WALK UP TO MY PATROL CAR WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK---AND ALL YOU WANT IS DIRECTIONS?"
"That's all."
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!!!"
"I honestly don't know how else to ask for directions."
The sweaty officer is so honkin' mad at me, that he shakes his head, still standing behind the driver's door and says nothing for a few minutes. He radios the other squad car with the words, "Needs directions". At this juncture, I think he's feeling quite silly.
After a few moments, the officer finally relents. Reluctantly, he describes where I need to go to find Truck Route 51 North. I thank him and apologize for startling him and reassure him that this was never my intention. It's just not my world to even guess that a police officer would feel threatened by someone approaching him with one's hands behind his back. It all makes total sense to me now; but at the time, it simply never entered my mind.
I really didn't mean to freak him out. I think we freaked each other out---only I'm the one with a gun pointed in my direction. Hmmm.... The next time I'm in need of directions, I'll just stick with the convenience store clerk.
After what seems like an eternity (through blinding rain and driving winds all along the Toll Road), we FINALLY get home around 4am. Unfortunately, David has to get up in a couple of hours for work. I don't know how he does it, but it's not the first time he's made a Chicago run when he's schedule to work the next morning.
Oh, before I sign off, let me just say that Tom, David, and I will be performing at Lucchese's Italian Restaurant on the opening night of the Elkhart Jazz Festival, June 20th. We're scheduled to perform at their new location on CR 17. Tom will actually be driving in from Chicago and rearranging his playing schedule to work with us that night! I feel so honored. It's going to be a VERY fun night of music indeed, not to mention great food and lots of festival-goers. Mark your calendar for Friday, June 20th and come join us that night. Look for a big white tent. Even if you don't mark it down on your calendar, be spontaneous and just show up!
Even without guns, spontaneity can still be fun and full of adventure.
See you on the 20th,
Tom
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