On my birthday my wife teased me about getting old. I said I didn’t mind… lots of people don’t get the chance to turn forty-three. Little did I know that on that very day Canadian Blues Great Jeff Healey would be one of them, passing away at the all-too-tender age of forty.

I was fortunate enough to meet the man twice, once way back in the spring of ninety-two, when I’d been working as a CBC Radio technician for all of four years. Here’s a piece I wrote in my journal at the time about meeting him:

Spring Nineteen ninety-two.

I was asked to work overtime and it turned out to be a two-hour booking packaging My Kinda Jazz, hosted by Jeff Healey.

Myself I’m not really into the kind of music he plays, although I do like the kind of music he apparently prefers, which is the sort he featured on his show. Antiquated jazz, dating back well into the Forties and beyond. Anyway, when he got to the studio booth he greeted me over the talkback, having been informed of my presence in the control room by the producer. I thought this was a friendly thing for him to do, as it’s not of unheard of for people to completely ignore us technical types until they just about trip over us.

I said hi back, and he commented that he couldn’t hear me very well over the talkback. This was unimportant, really, as in all likelihood I wouldn’t be talking to him during the show, but I decided to look into it anyway. I went to the booth and pointed out a certain knob that I suspected might have control over the volume of the talkback. He had his hand partially over the knob in question so I couldn’t turn it up myself, and as he is blind, I was pretty sure he didn’t know which knob I was talking about.

I did sort of a stupid thing, I said, “It’s the one just to the right of your hand”, and then reached out and touched the knob, also brushing his hand slightly. It let him know the position of the control I was talking about, but I think it annoyed him greatly. I guess I was acknowledging his handicap and underestimating him.

He said huffily, “No, that doesn’t have anything to do with it, that’s the monitor control.”

I suppose I had a thing or two to learn about dealing with blind people, not to mention studio booth controls. Finally I just adjusted Healey’s mic and with my tail between my legs returned to the control room. (Found out later you can’t adjust the level of the talkback, it’s pre-set.)

If Healey really was annoyed with me it didn’t last long; there was a bit of friendly banter before we started the show. The packaging went well, it was a straightforward sort of affair, chatter, song, chatter, song, with all the songs prerecorded by Healey one right after the other on a DAT. I guess he has a DAT machine home. Made my job easy.

Just so happened it was March 25th, 1992, his twenty-sixth birthday, I think, the producer (David, I don’t know his last name) told me.

Healey was quite knowledgeable about his subject matter. I couldn’t tell how much he was reeling off the top of his head or how much he derived from his notes (all in braille). All the tunes were from old 78’s, his own; apparently he has a collection of about 6000 or so (note: as of 2008 it numbered 30,000 plus).

We played a song from Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, one of four versions the Duke recorded of this particular song, called the Mooch. There was a muted trumpet solo in the song, and Jeff remarked in the intro that what the trumpet player used for a mute was a plunger. I asked David if Healey was joking and he assured me he wasn’t. Maybe they were having me on, I don’t know, but during the song David asked Jeff over the talkback if the plunger the guy used was a used plunger. Jeff laughed and remarked that if it was, it was probably a “shitty plunger”.

He sat with his eyes closed the entire booking, rocking a bit to the music, and when he left he didn’t say goodbye.