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 ynton was unusually quiet during our ride to Fortier High. "Tough place," he said. In some schools where he conducted workshops, he would be warned to remove his watch and to make sure he wasn't wearing rival gangs' colors. As we walked in on that muggy April day, the students seated closest to the gymnasium door started chanting rap songs and waving their arms in unison, defiantly letting this famous, successful son of their city know what music they considered worth listening to. During the workshop, the mood stayed surly. Toward the end, one kid nervously risked an intelligent question. "Can you say on a trumpet," he asked, "how you feel about stuff coming down in this country, like the LA riots or FBI shootouts in Waco, Texas?" Wynton shrugged. "My commitment is really to the continuum of jazz and blues," he replied. " Pop music is probably better suited to reacting to events like that." This said, he then sat at the piano. Chording a rhythm with his left hand and playing trumpet with his right, he improvised something so deep and soulful I found myself crying, unable to focus my cameras. The students were stunned silent. Finally, Wynton stood up, wiped his own eyes, bowed, and left the stage. Later I asked him what happened out there. "I really don't know, man. I just got on a vibe. Something about the way that kid asked me that question."
 Wynton, late for sound check, was running through the hotel lobby to get his horn from his room when he spotted a family dressed in their Sunday best. Between the son's legs is a trumpet case.They didn't have an appointment; they were just hoping to catch him. How long were they standing there, quietly waiting? Wynton slowed down and approached. "You waitin' for me?" The young man's trumpet lesson ended in Wynton's hotel room an hour and a half later." He never made it to sound check. This would happen after every concert, in every city. As the audience moved out of the hall, you could hear the shuffling of young feet moving against the flow of traffic, making their way to the stage. Then you could see their trumpet cases as they stood to the side of the stage while Wynton signed autographs. At last he would turn to them. "Y'all having somethin' you want to deal with?" One by one, each would come forward. Wynton never left until the last kid got a lesson.
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