When I was very young at the age of ten, my brother and I went with my parents to a concert hall in the then, small town of Arlington, Texas to attend a solo guitar show of Andres Segovia , the Spanish guitarist from Spain.

My parents, who were involved in my cultural education, provided lessons in classical piano and guitar &  always seemed to make time to take us to musical events of that time in the early bustling 1960’s.

My mother always was thrilled to dress up and put on her best dresses and makeup while my father managed to be dapper in his wingtips smile and relax at the evenings offerings of music and the arts. We were a family tainted by the Muse.

For this small town of 25,000, at this time of my life… everything was for me, elementary…. such as the level of schooling, the arts, and my experience of music. Two years before, I remember hearing classical music of a string quartet through the speakers of a sound system in a building in the historic town  of Jamestown, Virginia. I thought, “my….” Now, that is very different music than the kind of music I heard from my parents. They listened to long playing recordings of Broadway shows and bands of the World War Two era like Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw and Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys. But, In this concert hall, at a local college, here was a Spaniard! Segovia, so full of history and eloquence, performed with such precision on the guitar. He made a fascinating presentation of simple folk tunes, of Bach & Mozart melodies with all the dynamics, and rhythm and harmonies that pierced my memory… Screaming at me, saying “can you understand me and play me?