A dear friend in the Bay Area had a cousin who was musically gifted – he grew up in the projects by Fisherman’s Wharf and Leonard Bernstein took him under his wing at a tender age. He would fly back and forth from NY and when he was in SF, the cousin, stayed with my friend. And “Lenny” would call often. W grew accustomed to Lenny and was endeared to him because he had taken such a keen interest in her cousin and because she liked him. And then, one day, W was watching a tribute to Leonard Bernstein, and she saw him for the first time on television, and much to her chagrin, he was white. Next time he phoned, she said, “Lenny, I thought you were black.” And they both had a good laugh – but for years, W thought her Lenny was an aged black musician in New York who had looked kindly on someone from his own tribe – and he had, only his tribe was that of the musician.