George Gozzard

I was first exposed to jazz as a young child. My father, Harry Gozzard, was a very talented jazz musician for 50 years. He was able to play a few different instruments, but the trumpet was his bread and butter. (I remember going up in the attic when I was a kid and seeing an old violin and a big double bass.) I, too, played the trumpet for a while until friends persuaded me to play sports instead. Another reason why I quit was due to the fact that I could sense (in sixth grade) that I was a “natural” and it sort of concerned me at the time. You see, I was very shy as a child. The thought of going up on a stage before a large audience wasn’t very appealing to me at the time. The climatic moment occurred while I was practicing one day in my parent’s bedroom with one of my dad’s older silver trumpets. For some reason, I started making sounds with that trumpet that got the attention of my older brother Greg, who was also a fine trumpet player like my dad. Greg was in his bedroom, probably practicing, too, when he heard me. I remember that he walked into the room and looked at me funny. He said something like, “George, what are you doing? Do that again!” I was like, “Do what again?” He said, “What you were just playing!” Anyway, I started playing like I was playing. A few moments later, Greg opened the door and asked our dad to come in their bedroom. I played the same thing for him. While I was doing so, his eyes got real big and began to look at me in way that I had never seen him look at me before. Long story short, the way that he and my brother were now looking at me left a big impression on me that made rethink what I had gotten myself into. After that “gig” was over, I started making excuses to them as to why I wasn’t practicing as much as I used to. I often wonder what might have happened to me if I had stuck with it. Let this be a lesson to the young ones who want to throw in the trumpet towel like I did. Don’t give up...keep practicing, because practice does make perfect!