The very second I laid eyes on him crossing the park and heading for the stage with those long, graceful strides and his shaggy hair blowing about his face - well before he'd played as much as a single note - I went dry throated and weak in the knees. I'd never seen as good looking a man in my whole life.
He was taller than I'd expected, solidly built, mustached and bearded with a shock of thick, long-ish silver hair and wire rimmed glasses. When I came to, I introduced myself and he gave me a grin - authentic, genuine, and over the top sexy - shook my hand and thanked me for coming. When he took his seat at the keyboard and started to play, I was lost in the first chords. I soon learned that he was a gracious and good man, a remarkably gifted and dedicated musician, an old soul, and an absolutely class act. But at the time, it was all chemistry, charisma and raw sex appeal.
I feel very fortunate that I got to hear him play a half dozen or so times, always with my camera close at hand.
Now that the cancer is stealing his life, I wish it had been more often. I wish I'd had the time to get to know him better or longer.
He's quoted as believing in an afterlife and being sure he has a place waiting in it. I have absolutely no doubt that he's right - it will be a better place for his presence - but I'd still rather he got a miracle. Because he's one of those rare people who deserve to stay a little longer.
I'll never forget my first sight of him and it's how I'll always remember him - a sexy, charming lion of a man full of life, love, laughter and music - he'll be leaving us far too soon but not even cancer will be able to take take his music, his spirit, or his legacy.
Peace and love, piano player. You done good.
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