I was playing tenor sax in a jazz and blues pickup band at a party of mostly musicians, back in the early 80s, in the DC suburb. Dizzie Gillespie dropped by while I was up and we chatted a bit between sets. When I realized Dizzy was in the audience, I was too bashful to go back on stage. Too late. He had already heard me.
A couple of months later Dizzy was being interviewed on WHUR, the Howard University radio station. I called into the show and was connected to Dizzy. I gave him my name, not really thinking he would remember me. Dizzy gives me shout-out, Saying certainly he remembered. He then state to the audience, ladies and gentlemen this is Steve ____. He may just be worst white sax player I ever heard, followed by a hearty laugh. Now, you might think I was crushed. But he gave me a life long story that I love retelling. He may not have thought much of my horn chops but I wasn't fooling myself that I was particularly gifted. But Dizzy Fn Gillespie remembered who I was and new my name and used it on the radio. I'm still smiling.
Like tbradsim1, the blues found me when I was a country boy, about 6 years old. That's another story.
Pax