Coincidence Corner

Not long after I arrived in Charlottesville in 1999, I encountered a bluegrass band that changed my life. Two members of this musical collective were performing at Michael's Bistro¹ on University Avenue, just a couple of doors up from where I was staying (at the Chancellor Apartments).

I was immediately struck with the sound of this group, and that the singer came from Lexington—where I spent my first year in college (and first encountered bluegrass music)—and the guitarist came from Richmond—where I'd attended high school.

After befriending the impresario of this act,² he started recommending I listen to Buena Vista Social Club. On the day I finally got around to buying the album, following repeated nudges from my new friend, I walked just up the street to Plan 9³ with yet another Michael in the story (who lived down the hall).

After making our purchase, I wondered about heading up 14th Street, crossing over the railroad tracks and parking lot behind the apartment building where we lived, and getting home that way.⁴ For no real reason, we decided to stroll directly a block or two up University toward home. Right in front of our apartment we run smack into said musician walking with his friends.⁵

I'd never encountered him on the street; certainly never seen him in front of where I lived. On the day I finally buy the CD he'd been pushing me to buy, that's right where I see him—immediately after making the purchase he'd recommended.

We chatted about the CD, how he listened to it more than bluegrass nowadays. He asked if I had a room upstairs, and we parted rather clumsily.

Needless to say I became infatuated with Buena Vista Social Club, listening to it for hours on end with tears streaming down my face. The Cuban music spoke directly to my heart and it was healing my soul.

In the months and years since, the strains of Buena Vista Social Club have wafted through my life like a fugue. It seemed that each time my head was in a fog of some sort or another, I'd walk into some café and music from that CD would be playing through the speakers.

Fast forward to yesterday⁶ . .

Down on the famous Charlottesville pedestrian mall, meeting with friends, etc., I'd decided to grab a bite to eat on The Corner (at the old entrance to UVa)—which I'd long since started calling 'Coincidence Corner' for all of those same articles I'd experienced there.

After an enjoyable sub at Little John's deli—which sits right below Michael's Bistro—upon exiting I spy my friend Michael, the very one who'd helped me purchase that 'Buena Vista Social Club' CD at Plan 9 all those years ago. Now indistinguishable from a bum, I couldn't tell if he recognized me or simply wished to avoid my recognizing him.

I stepped into the new location of Plan 9, immediately next door to Little John's, for a coffee. What should be playing for all the customers to hear?

And not just one song, but the whole damned thing.

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1. I always joke that they did me a real favor by naming this place (which quickly became my favorite) after me before I got to town.
2. Whose middle name was 'Michael' and whose father's middle name was 'Michael'.
3. Plan 9 was then located down the street a couple blocks, just past 14th Street (meaning it was actually on Main, 14th Street being where it changes names).
4. Thereby crossing the now-famous Parking Lot.
5. Will and Craig(?).
6. I should have know something was up: the live act I happened to catch the previous night in Harrisonburg was from Charlottesville and named Sons of Bill (way before they were big). My father's name is 'Bill', and the first three songs they did were among his favorites.

SEE ALSO: Coincidence Corner: Part II (Vermont extension)