Ken Rizzo (left) and Lincoln Goines

As a professional musician in New York City, you have the opportunity to meet your musical heroes. I have had many over the course of my career, and I saw most of them. But none is greater for me than Local 802 member Lincoln Goines.

For 30 years, Lincoln was the bassist for Dave Valentin, the Latin jazz flutist, who died in 2017. Back in the early 1990’s, I wanted to improve my own Latin jazz playing, so I just called Lincoln and asked if I could study with him. “Yeah, man,” he said. “Come on over.” A few days later I showed up at his apartment for my first lesson and he couldn’t have been more welcoming or a more enthusiastic teacher.

During the course of a few weeks, I took probably four or five lessons with him. At the start of that first lesson I showed him a solo of his that I had transcribed. He displayed a prideful smile as I proceeded to ask him about his harmonic choices, and I listened intently as he explained them. During another lesson, I happened to mention that I noticed some typos in his Latin jazz instruction book. “What!” he exclaimed, and I then showed him. He immediately got on the phone and called someone, I presume his publisher. He then turned to me and excitedly said, “O.K., now tell me again what those errors are.” As I did, he repeated them into the phone. “Thanks, man,” he said upon hanging up.

During that time, I would also attend the Dave Valentin shows downtown at the Blue Note. Upon leaving the stage, and seeing me in the audience, Lincoln would come over to me. He’d ask me this or that about what I had heard and I would offer my opinion. It was a short but sweet connection that nevertheless faded as life draws people in different directions.

Fast forward to Jan. 3, 2024, when I report for jury duty in lower Manhattan. It was the first court day of the new year, and 80 of us prospective jurors had been sitting quietly since 9 a.m. in the assembly room waiting for anything to happen. But nothing did. That is, not until around 4 p.m.

At that point, I felt exhausted and everyone around me looked spent just from sitting around doing nothing. But that’s when the clerk got on the microphone and said, “O.K., they are looking for jurors.” She had previously told everyone, “If none of you are called by 5 p.m. today, then you get to go home and you’re done.” So when this 4 p.m. request came in for jurors, everyone groaned .

“Most of you are going to be called,” she said. “When I call your name, please go out into the hallway where the court officer is waiting for you.”

Then she commenced with the reading of the names. At about 50 names in, I hear her say, “Lincoln Goines.”

“Huh? What?” I thought. Did she just say the name of my bass hero? A guy off to my right wearing a dark trench coat and a black mask began walking across the room. His posture was one of dejection and disbelief. Again I thought, is that him? I can’t tell with that mask. And as he passed directly in front of me trudging towards that hallway, I realized that it was him.

In the next few moments my mind raced: “Should I say hello? I studied with him years go; will he remember me? No, he doesn’t remember you. But I had told him about the typos in his book, for which he thanked me. Doesn’t matter, it was a long time ago. But it’s incredible that we are both here at this moment; I have to say something!”

Of course, by this point he was long gone from the assembly room in which we had both been sitting for the better part of the day. If only I had noticed him at 11 a.m. or 2 p.m. I had probably passed by him a half dozen times during the course of the day.

So now I’m hoping to be among the remaining few names selected for this jury pool just so I can say hello to him. But I didn’t get called. I was one of the “lucky ones” who were told, “You remaining folks can all go home; your jury duty service is complete.” Applause and cheers followed. Me? I sat even more deflated than before.

Later that night, back in my apartment, I thought, “I should just call him, get reacquainted, tell him we were both there for jury duty today, share a laugh.” But my more realistic mind informed me — “You are a stranger calling him, telling him that you got dismissed from jury duty today, while he has to go back tomorrow morning. Oh, he’ll love that.” My best move, I decided, do nothing. Just like the nothing I had done all day.

But, I did do one thing. I sat down and listened to one of my favorite recordings: Dave Valentin, “Live At The Blue Note,” with Lincoln playing bass. It’s a good record.

Ken Rizzo has been a member of Local 802 since 1975. If you have a personal story for publication in Allegro, send an e-mail of inquiry to allegro@local802afm.org.