The Jazz Teacher
The room above the bar on 135th Street smelled of cigarette smoke and floor wax. Twelve children—Black, Puerto Rican, a few white kids whose parents pretended not to know they were there—sat on folding chairs with instruments in their laps. And at the front of the room, sitting on a milk crate because the last remaining chair had broken, sat Ezekiel Washington, teaching them about the blues....
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