Friday afternoons in the mid-1960s had a special rhythm for me. While most of my high-school pals gathered in the corridors to plot their party plans for the weekend, I left class early to catch the Sheppard Avenue bus west from Agincourt. With my trumpet case in hand, about 5 o’clock I caught the southbound Yonge Street bus, then the subway from Eglinton to Bloor. And then I walked west on Yorkville Avenue into what everybody called “the Village.” There, just before Avenue Road, I climbed up a back-alley fire-scape staircase to a third-floor rehearsal studio.
“Hi, Donny,” I’d call out to my trumpet teacher Don Johnson.
“Come on in and warm up that horn,” he’d tell me.
It took me a few visits in 1965 to discover I had climbed to the top of a Yorkville landmark, and an even more important music mecca. (more…)
