George Wein Never Stopped Listening

There are innumerable photographs of George Wein at the Newport Jazz Festival, the groundbreaking event he co-founded in 1954 and kept producing, in hands-on or emeritus fashion, until his death last month at 95. One of my favorites, by David Redfern, shows only a sliver of his face. Taken on July 5, 1969, it finds Wein standing in the wings behind Miles Davis, who's sporting bug-eye sunglasses and a denim leisure suit with bell bottoms. Both men are watching the stage, where Sly & the Family Stone are throwing down outside the frame. A trumpet dangles from Davis' left hand; with his right, he's leaning against a stage divider. Wein, though mostly obscured by that outstretched arm, communicates plenty in the image. Hand on his hip, gaze fixed, he's taking in the set with a palpable, fretful alertness.

I know that look. I've seen it in many variations, from multiple angles, since I first met Wein more than 22 years ago. As co-author of his autobiography, I also know the tempest of concerns on his mind at this moment, as Sly is starting to urge the crowd into a hazardous frenzy. A producer's compulsion for keeping the show running smoothly, safely and on time. An impresario's dual obligation to his