The Sax Man
Behind the Photograph
Sometimes the music stays with you long after the
photograph is made.
The first time I visited Savannah, Georgia, I had one full
day to explore.
I wandered through Bonaventure Cemetery, where history seems
to whisper beneath moss-covered oaks. I visited the Mercer House, made famous
by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I even stopped at Chippewa
Square, where Forrest Gump sat on a park bench telling the world that life is
like a box of chocolates.
By lunchtime, I'd worked up a hankering for a shrimp po'
boy.
As I made my way toward a little restaurant I'd spotted
earlier, I heard music before I saw where it was coming from.
There he was.
An older gentleman sitting in a chair, pouring his heart
into a saxophone while people wandered past.
It was one of those blistering Georgia afternoons when the
heat settles over everything.
If you look closely at the photograph, you'll notice the
white towel wrapped around his neck.
It wasn't there to make a fashion statement.
It was there to keep the sweat from running down his back
while he played.
He wasn't asking for sympathy.
He was working.
I've always loved jazz, and my daughter played the saxophone
in high school, so maybe I noticed him a little differently than most people
would.
I reached into my wallet, intending to drop a dollar into
his tip jar.
No one-dollar bills.
The smallest bill I had was a five.
So I dropped it into the jar, smiled, and continued on in
search of my shrimp po' boy.
Today, instead of telling you what I learned, I'd rather
leave you with a thought.
The next time you pass a street musician, consider dropping
something into the hat, the bucket, or the jar.
Most of us go home at the end of the day with a paycheck.
For many street performers, whatever ends up in that jar is
their paycheck.
I’m glad I was able to put some money in the jar that day
for The Sax Man’s gift of music.
Photographer's Notes
Savannah, Georgia
Afternoon · Sony DSC-F717
Hot summer afternoon in the historic district
Solo

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