I had a surprise for Tuck, of course. There was an underground jazz club called Cheshire on Beachmont Street. Located in the rear of the jazz club was a back room where one could purchase rare CDs, vinyl, and an assortment of sheet music books. We walked through the empty club, down a short flight of four stairs, and entered a dark room with red lights. A bearded and husky man stood beside a register. I knew his name was Clyde, said hello, and showed Tuck around the small room: CDs to the far-left, vinyl to the right, sheet music, and music-related biographies near the back wall.
I was not surprised to learn that Tuck knew his music: composers, musicians, strings, and brass instruments. He rattled off facts that I couldn’t relate to, but found interesting, as we walked around the store, t
