As the band gathered on the stage for the festival finale, the piano bench remained conspicuously empty.
"Where's Pinetop?" echoed over the sound system.
And there, in front of the stage, standing next to me in his patented black flannel suit stood the 90 year-old virtuoso, slowly sipping the bottle of water I had just brought him.
"Pinetop," I said, "you're on."
"Really?" he said, surveying the stage.
"Let's go," I said and led him up onto the stage and the waiting keyboard.
Then...drowning out the hum of the cicadas and the applause of the audience, all-out blues nirvana broke out!