Bill Evans (a great hero of mine) was appearing at a small club in San Francisco called the Both/And. I wangled a table up front for myself and my paramour, and at the approipriate moment, Mr Evans appeared with the other members of the trio, and made his way to the large grand piano thnat had been brought in escpsially for the occasion. Because the club was, indeed, very small, the piano was suspended between two raised platforms, leaving a gap between the front and rear legs. The sound was excellent, Mr. Evans in customary fine form, and the first set proceeded beautifully.
However, before the first set was done, and during a particularly thoughtful and gorgeous solo passage, I was horrified to see a large brown rat crawl out from under the wall near the piano and make its way -very, very slowly, as if it were sick– to a spot directly underneath the solunding board. There the animal sagged to the floor and remained, unmoving. I was appalled, but fascinated to see that during the remaining few numbers of the set, the rat did not move an inch. The set ended, Evans graciously acknowledged the applause, and during the break, made his way to the bar for refreshment. I noticed that John Handy, a well known saxophone artist and teacher of mine from then-called San FRancisco State College, had himself taken up a position at the bar. Because I knew him, I felt I could approach and point out the rat under the piano. Handy dissolved in laughter, and pointed it out to Evans. Evans seemed perplexed as to WHAT if anything to do about it, and inspiration came to me. I screwed up my courage and said "Well, Mr. Evans, it appears to me that the rat has come a VERY long distance to hear you play. Why not simply continue and give the poor beast what he came for?" At this my hero laughed heartily, and agreed that was exactly what he would do.
And he did. The next set went off without a hitch, Evans played like an angel, yet the rat still did not move....until after the last note had died away. Whereupon the animal stirred, seemed to shake itself, and –slowly!– crawled back under the wall from whence he had come!
Obviously, San Francisco can boast of the hippest rats in the world.
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