The Sound of Music

October 2025 | Vol. 69, No. 3
Written by Sam Garloff, DO

Earlier this week, I was happy*. Honestly, quite happy. It was a week of perfect beginnings. The Sun-Times reported that Chicago will be home to the Illinois College of Osteopathic Medicine, the first new Chicago medical school in over a century. Even better, the curriculum is reported to integrate mental and physical medicine throughout each year to deepen a physician’s holistic approach to not only patient care, but self-care. To an over-the-hill shrink, living in Chicago, what could sound better?

My friends, the happiness I felt didn’t stop there. Friday, my spouse and I were scheduled to attend the CSO, featuring Mahler. Two days later, dinner out to celebrate our 57th anniversary. Then, the vicissitudes and vulgarities of life arrived.

Thursday morning, I awoke to a text message from the wife of an old friend. I knew it could not be good news. Dave, aka Zoot, was now receiving home hospice care. Dx: Glioblastoma.

Zoot and I have been friends for 65 years. I gave him his nickname, which he accepted with pride. You see, Dave was a tenor sax/clarinet man. I tagged him after Zoot Sims, the famous tenor sax player for Benny Goodman, Kenny Baker, Stan Kenton, Artie Shaw, and Woody Herman’s “The Four.” You see, that was the level of Dave’s playing.

We met by chance. We were fill-ins one night for a big band playing at a formal dance held in Erie. We were kids compared to the other musicians that night, but we held our own. At break time, we talked about how it felt to be sized up by the old guard. It didn’t take us long to be accepted. Music doesn’t care about religion, gender, politics, race, or age. The only thing that matters is whether you can handle your axe (instrument) and help make your group sound good. Later, I became a front man, and all present that night, at different times, worked for me.

We did some combo work, but my passion was always the big band sound. Zoot led my reed section. He always had me hire Chooch, an incredible alto sax man. Another regular was Tommy, a piano player and arranger. At that time, dances had themes. If I booked a job for Saturday night, I could call Tommy on Monday or Tuesday, tell him the theme, lay out the instruments, and who was playing, and by start time Saturday, fresh arrangements appeared on the stands. Skitch was my trombonist. He was reliable and the consummate ensemble player. He also brought his valve trombone for me to play, and we would riff against each other for fun as the night went on. Of course, there were other fill-ins, but they were the core. Then, I walked away. The rest didn’t.

Zoot was special. He came from a family of musicians. His uncle played with Eugene Ormandy in Philadelphia. His cousin is now the concertmaster for the Boston Symphony. Zoot, like his namesake, was a jazz man but also conducted at The Kennedy Center, Radio City Music Hall, and even behind the old Iron Curtain. He and his wife, Sue, had a favorite cafe in Paris that they ate at when he conducted there. He had a heart of gold. Sue is his second wife. His first wife died of a neurological disease. Sue had a daughter who died of breast cancer, and her son-in-law died a year later. Sue’s daughter had 3 kids. Dave took them in and talked incessantly to me about them, taking pride in their accomplishments. As far as playing sax, he never stopped. Later in life, he played alto sax because it’s lighter and easier to hold than a tenor sax. In retirement, he played for his church and community. He established multiple music programs gratis. His contributions to music are literally too numerous to list.

We talked on the first of each month at noon. We talked about our kids, grandkids, wives, and prostates. Zoot’s father died of prostate cancer, so each month he would give me the news about his latest MRI or biopsy, or PSA. On occasion, we would talk about the old gang. Skitch is in a closed Alzheimer’s unit. Chooch died on the road in Arizona. Tommy played piano and keyboard on multiple commercials. Bless him, he also sang. His trio often headlined in the Pittsburgh area. He’s retired with hands too arthritic to play. He and his wife attend to their paraplegic son, a survivor of a motorcycle accident.

Until Zoot and I reunited about 10-12 years back, they thought I was dead. We traveled in non-concentric circles. Professionally, we never crossed paths. All that changed after I found him on Facebook. Decades disappeared, and for an instant, we were young again. Instants don’t last. In October, Ellen and I will become great-grandparents. I won’t be able to tell Zoot. Music mourns the loss of my old friend Dave. So do I.

Earlier this week, I was happy.

WGRP

*June