Mr.Briegel was my music teacher and gave me private lessons when I was in High School.  I started on clarinet, with the hopes of eventually playing Tenor Saxophone.  I think I was around 14 or 15 at the time.   Never made it to the Sax at that point in my life, and eventually the clarinet faded into the background also,because I kept getting distracted by guitar, feedback, fuzztone, Hendrix and Cream.  

He gave lessons in an upstairs study of his brownstone duplex.  His elderly Mom would sometimes greet me at the door, or she would be noodling on the piano downstairs; his pet dog could "sing" in accompaniement. 

She would say, "Jimmy is upstairs", and he would poke his head out of the room to usher me in. 

The stairs squeaked as I went up, and the study always smelled of stale air and man's breath.  He would say, "So what's new in your young life?", and then rip off a scale on his clarinet at breakneck speed.  I always marvelled at the sound of the pads slapping down, and his great tone.  Once in awhile he would pick up his Selmer Alto Sax, and play another flurry of notes.  He would tell of recent gigs he had with his group, and how one of his greatest joys was to get together with several other sax players to play Bach. 

He never married, and was quite contented.  The house was quite large, but he seemed to live in the study.  Dirty laundry was shoved into one closet, music manuscripts lay everywhere, and there was sheet music and text on every bookshelf. Two chairs sat before a music stand, and  a well-worn sofa was placed against one wall.   There was a large window behind us, as we played, that gave a nice view of the backyard and alleyway. 

He was very kind and encouraging; impossibly upbeat about life and the music.  He suggested I audition for the McGill junior orchestra, but one day I heard this screaming saxophone on the radio; John Coltrane.  

In my silly naivete I remember asking him to "teach me some Coltrane", before we began a lesson on one occasion.   He smiled and said, "Coltrane, Coltrane...so you wanna learn Coltrane?".   Well, all I knew is that I wanted to play that "kind" of music, and move away from Classical for a bit.

No sooner than the next week, he popped up this book of Swing tunes with titles like "Slip me some Oxygen", and "Bird gets the Worm".  I kept seeing this name Charlie Parker, and being this ignorant young punkass, I had no clue.  All I knew, is that the straight eighth notes I was used to playing in classical, were in no way working with this new stuff, my phrasing was way off, and the notes were "too complicated".  Too many sharps and flats.  He would listen to me struggle , then gently say, "well actually, it's more like this...it swings, that's why they call it swing", and then play the passage.  Oh, so that's what it's supposed to sound like!   Sheeeit !

One day my Dad went over to the lesson with me.  Why? because he didn't want to see his hard-earned dough go for lessons, when I wasn't practicing enough anymore (as far as he is concerned).  I was spending too much time on the guitar, and not enough on clarinet.  Briegel didn't  miss a beat though. 
"Well actually, Dr.Benjamin, I think Eugene's guitar playing might help with the clarinet".  Words wasted on a tight-sphinctered, overbearing, parent  who equated Classical music emanating from a clarinet with "class", and blues riffs coming from a guitar with "gutter".

So, sadly, that might have been the last lesson.  I remember Jim shaking my hand, wishing me good luck, and that if I ever wanted to study with him again, that I would be quite welcome.

Sometime in the early 1990's, when I did, in fact pick up a Tenor, I took a chance and sent him a Christmas card, telling him what an inspiration and guiding force he had been in my life, and with my music.   So many of his little sayings, I have kept in my head to this day.  Sure enough, he was living at the same address and sent a card back.  He remembered me and said that keeping in touch with former students was one of the most gratifying things for him as a teacher, over the years.

I go back to Montreal most summers for the Jazz festival, and about 5 summers ago, I contacted him .  He was 80 odd years old then, and the place looked and smelled  exactly the same.  I went back up to the study, and for that moment, time stood still.  Kinda like dying and being reborn;like this whole crazy life is just some dream.

He is 89 as of this writing, still playing with the odd combo, when he is able.  I have visited with him every summer for the past few years.  We talk about  life, music and the world.   He always asks about Maynard Ferguson, since he taught High School music where Maynard went to school;   "Well, nobody could really teach Maynard anything".   He always wants to know if Maynard played the Fest that particular year.

He broke his hip a few years ago, but fought the statistics like a soldier, and still gets around pretty well with a walker.  He  had to move his entire living space to the downstairs , so the study remains as still as the air enclosed by it's walls.  A nextdoor neighbour helps with meals and groceries. 

One of his favorite sayings is that musicians repeat themselves.    "Now, if you listen to him long enough, you'll see...he'll repeat himself", he would say.   True, when you get down to it.

I don't think there's a time when I pick up an instrument, that I do not think of him. 

Gene

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amo,amas, amant...and that's the end of my rant