I love collecting autographs.

For many years I traveled and went in search of people I admire in hopes of catching a moment and a scribble. I've had a few lucky encounters, like running into Max Roach at the State Theatre in Detroit, having dinner with Jimmy Cobb at the Top 'O the Senator in Toronto and coffee with Kenny Burrell at Baker's Keyboard Lounge.

Then, there's the missed opportunities; not going to see Art Blakey because I had a gig, and he passed not a week later. There's a handful of autographs I can't find, the occupational hazard of a nomadic existence I suppose. But these autographs bring back the memories, the moments, the smell of the bar, the feeling of spending a moment with greatness.