Sublime

Frank honored that story—those tragic deaths—with his silence.

nisei

I never did find out what happened to him the night before the morning he went out and blew his trumpet instead of his bugle, blew and blew a song that grew out of him in extended notes that called for the rising of us not out of our beds but out of our bodies. I can’t explain it well, you never can with music. I can say the notes were long and bui

him

He has a kind, round face and the relaxed, easygoing manner of someone who’s spent most of his life in California.