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xiii Foreword During my teen years in new orleans, my trumpet teacher was george Jansen. He had studied with William Vacchiano some twentyfive years earlier and recommended that i do the same in college. The first time i met Mr. Vacchiano was when i auditioned at Juilliard in 1979 (gerard schwarz and edward treutel were also there). i played Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Hummel’s Trumpet Concerto, and Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2. after the audition, as i walked out of the room,Vacchiano told me,“tell george Jansen he was right.”i had no idea what that meant. i later asked Mr. Jansen about Vacchiano’s cryptic comment. He said he’d told Vacchiano i was a genius. i had already enjoyed a lot of success as a high school trumpeter, but i had no idea Mr. Jansen thought that highly of me, so that was quite a compliment coming from both of them. i studied with Mr. Vacchiano at Juilliard from 1979 through 1980, and took a few lessons in 1981. He had retired from the new York philharmonic before i got to Juilliard. We went through the standard books and excerpts and studied double and triple tonguing, transposition, how to approach certain types of music, and all kinds of technical things. He liked to write the number of each exercise on the inside flap of the book you were to work from. i still have the saint-Jacome and sachse books from those lessons. it’s funny, but i hadn’t thought about that until the moment i started considering my contribution to this book—over twenty years ago. My lessons took on a new character once we got to know each other better. We had some differences of opinion, mainly about race and cul- xiv ForeWorD ture and america, i think he both enjoyed and didn’t enjoy discussing them.We were from completely different generations and concepts.We never did agree on those issues, but i certainly respected him and think he respected me. i had never visited his home in Flushing, new York, so a few years after i left Juilliard, i called him one day to see if i could go over for a lesson. He happily agreed and gave me directions to his house. i got there about 6:30 in the evening, and he invited me to sit down at the kitchen table. it had a lamp hanging over it; i can still remember it after all these years. We just sat at that table talking, but speaking in an intimate way, the way an older man talks to a younger one he loves. it was strange because we had never shared that type of feeling. He talked about the things that happened to him over the years—his life, his wife and her illness, and his son’s death. i can still see it—just him and me, alone under that light, the rest of the house dark. “Marsalis, (he always called me by my last name) my wife is in that room. she has been an invalid for years and when she dies, i will be alone.” He said, “You will be successful playing. You already are. But you live your life with the people around you. if your life with them is unhappy, you are unhappy. take care of the people in your immediate environment and take care of yourself.”Well, that advice affected me deeply. i didn’t leave until almost midnight and i never took out a trumpet. i had a lot of lessons with Bill Vacchiano,but that evening he taught me the things i have reflected on most as the years have passed. if your internal life is happy, you are happy. pay attention to the loved ones around you. i went over there for a one-hour lesson,but instead he gave me more than an hour could possibly hold. Thinking about that night, about me and him in his lonely house, still brings tears to my eyes. Wynton Marsalis august 2010 ...

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