The melody of Dizzy Gillespie’s signature trumpet came from beyond the partially closed double doors as I came to a stop, and memories of his office in Ontario filled my mind. There was something about entering that accelerated my heartbeat, its pounding threatening to drown out the tune. No. I wasn’t overthinking this. I was simply getting my laptop.

Pushing one of the tall doors inward, I stepped inside Sterling’s personal space. Similar to the rest of his ...