The frail elderly man, probably in his late 70's or early 80's slowly sauntered over to the 4 Toulouse car stop near the French Quarter in New Orleans. My husband and I were seated on a bench waiting for the street car as the thin, feeble man wearily approached.
In one hand was an old black tattered carrying case, a small black plastic sack, a large bottle of Mt. Dew and in the other, a golf club (maybe a wedge) that he was using as a cane. His clothes were dirty and tattered, and as he came closer, showed us a toothless smile as big as the sun. He looked directly at my husband and said..."God sure made her extra purdy, doncha' think?" My husband nodded. Then the elderly man looked at me and smiled. I asked him his name and he said, very proudly, "My name is 'Jackson'."
Hello there Jackson! He then slowly leaned over and fiddled with the carrying case and ever so carefully, pulled out an old trumpet, turning to my husband, once again, "Ya' mind if I play her a song?" The musician man slowly, deliberately, and mightily played 'Ain't She Sweet' as we clapped our hands to the beat of the music.
The song was over and I stood up, thanking him for such a lovely rendition. "Jackson," I said, "Now, I would like to ask you something: do you mind if my husband would take a picture of you and me on his cell phone camera...I would be honored if you would do so?...
Jackson beamed and offered "sure would be mighty fine." He then reached for my hand, barely kissView the Original article
