We pick up our story with me being informed that my new music therapy contract (which came out of the blue, and for which I felt wholly unprepared) would involve Cab Calloway's (who was a resident at this facility, after having suffered a stroke) presence at the sessions. I gave much thought as to how I could prepare for this, and concluded that I really couldn't; I would just do what I do. About halfway through my inital session, Cab Calloway was wheeled in. Although he couldn't speak, it was obvious that he had not lost any mental sharpness, as I watched him study me (while I was playing). Before long, he sent his silent message, loud and clear: a big, wide tooth- filled smile! I recognized it's intent immediately, and was comforted. As a musician primarily playing music from eras before me, with (older) musicians who were there when it happened (I wasn't), I would often be looked on with suspicion, initially, form these more seasoned players, for whom I had to prove I was "one of them". I couldn't blame them for assuming that I was likely a product of my own (rock and roll) culture, therefore being unknowledgable, or at least, underdeveloped, regarding swinging and big band era music. Once I was "in" however, I was one of them, and welcomed into the club. Cab Calloway was not, as I see it, telling me neccesarily that I was any great player, but that I had passed the test ("Okay kid, you're in"). At that moment he also helped me understand that the same dymanic was at play with seniors in general, allowing me to understand better how preforming for them was such a natural "fit", and why I recieve such a welcome into their 'world" after first proving myself. I never saw Cab Calloway again; he passed away later that week (with, as the family and facility had purposed, the media not knowing his whereabouts while he was in nursing care). He left a lasting impression on me in that brief encounter in 1994. And the story isn't over...