The Saxophone Player

If the city has a sound, it’s the shrill of the saxophone.

The sax is a wailing cry amidst the cries, a screech of spirit amongst the dispirited.

That day, a familiar tune echoed within the concrete caverns two blocks off Atlantic City’s Boardwalk.  This wasn’t the carnival street of cotton candy and salt-water taffy immortalized in the postcards.  Nor was this a good day to be outside.  A feverish grey fog blanketed the city, shivering in a cold rain.

The moment of melancholy was made even more so by completely deserted streets, save for this lone visitor spending his final day in Atlantic City and the source of that marvelous pitch of the sax.  Someone was giving the gift of a song.  And my insatiable curiosity mixed with genuine conviction that any such a gift and personal sacrifice should be honored, motivated me to deviate from my path and discover who it was playing that saxophone.

Indeed, this would turn into my mission.

As I jogged through the falling raindrops and neared one of many cement alcoves fixed between two parking garages, the lost tune filling the air became more familiar.  Finally, the song found a home in my state of conscious.  It was Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

What an odd tune to hear on this dreariest of days.  This wasn’t a place of rainbows.  Nor was this a city of hope.  It’s a song that implies tomorrow can be better than today.  It’s a song which suggests the step ahead will be better than where we’re now standing.  It’s a song of eternal hope and optimism.

Perhaps the surrounding made this moment all the more surreal.

The cold and bare concrete walls amplified what’s a beautiful song and made it glorious.  The sound of a solitary soul blowing his heart into a musical instrument before no paying nor even listening audience was profoundly more powerful than the most celebrated symphony orchestra.  This was someone who was playing music purely for music’s sake.