We’re listening to local reggae band the Revealers play on the Jazz & Heritage stage when I spy Dr. John hobbling through the crowd, James Andrews guiding him as if Mac was blind. I reach out to shake his hand and he gives me the slip, raising his arm and silently snapping his fingers. I laugh. He continues his stiff-legged walk to the edge of the crowd, moving cautiously like the old junkies that used to ride the bus to Harlem with me every morning. An elderly black lady wraps her arms around his neck, tells him something, and kisses his ashen cheek. When he begins to cross back in front of the stage, a guy approaches and tries to converse, but they’re right by the PA and we can see Dr. John’s lips move, “I can’t hear what the fuck you’re saying.” As he begins to move on, Kim sidles up and asks for a photo. Again, I don’t think he can hear, so Kim points towards the camera and I catch them. James separates them and walks away with his hand on Mac’s back.
May 3, 2007
Sunday @ Jazzfest: Right Place, Right Time
We’re listening to local reggae band the Revealers play on the Jazz & Heritage stage when I spy Dr. John hobbling through the crowd, James Andrews guiding him as if Mac was blind. I reach out to shake his hand and he gives me the slip, raising his arm and silently snapping his fingers. I laugh. He continues his stiff-legged walk to the edge of the crowd, moving cautiously like the old junkies that used to ride the bus to Harlem with me every morning. An elderly black lady wraps her arms around his neck, tells him something, and kisses his ashen cheek. When he begins to cross back in front of the stage, a guy approaches and tries to converse, but they’re right by the PA and we can see Dr. John’s lips move, “I can’t hear what the fuck you’re saying.” As he begins to move on, Kim sidles up and asks for a photo. Again, I don’t think he can hear, so Kim points towards the camera and I catch them. James separates them and walks away with his hand on Mac’s back.
