tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241063190450464888.post3683646438291100459..comments2024-01-06T18:34:30.188-08:00Comments on I Witness: Blackened Fish... and Beaches, and BirdsIWitnessEdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18312808828448124509noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241063190450464888.post-32292540012923141752011-04-23T11:44:45.528-07:002011-04-23T11:44:45.528-07:00A private concert on Mr. Polite's front porch?...A private concert on Mr. Polite's front porch? Excellent story and a perfect serendipitous moment. They're the ones we live for but don't always recognize when so blessed. My last trip to JazzFest was 1999, and crowds be damned, a fine time was had by every one. Enjoy all the music, plus some high life beyond your present imagining.IWitnessEdhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18312808828448124509noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5241063190450464888.post-4367694255360633062011-04-23T08:16:00.983-07:002011-04-23T08:16:00.983-07:00A terrific take on the music...I'm going back ...A terrific take on the music...I'm going back to Jazzfest next week for the first time in 15 years (the size of the crowds got to me). <br /><br />The last time I went, I wrote a story for the C.S.Monitor about a guy named Walter Polite (Po-leet). Walter was a laborer who sometimes played in local joints. I sought him out and, with his grandkids running in and out of the house, he sat on the porch, played accordion and sang for me for a couple of hours-just cause he loved the music.Steve Provizerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09757505876939504133noreply@blogger.com