Nathaniel Anthony Ayers

He was so eager to make the trip, he called several times to make sure it hadn't been canceled. "Mr. Lopez, is the pickup still at 9 a.m?" "Yes, Mr. Ayers. I'll see you in the morning." When I pulled up, he was standing on the sidewalk playing a skid row reveille on his trumpet. He had a small overnight bag and five more instruments -- cello, violin, French horn, clarinet and flute, meaning he had made the difficult decision to leave several other instruments home.

He was so eager to make the trip, he called several times to make sure it hadn't been canceled. "Mr. Lopez, is the pickup still at 9 a.m?" "Yes, Mr. Ayers. I'll see you in the morning." When I pulled up, he was standing on the sidewalk playing a skid row reveille on his trumpet. He had a small overnight bag and five more instruments -- cello, violin, French horn, clarinet and flute, meaning he had made the difficult decision to leave several other instruments home.

Nathaniel was in a panic over what to wear. "I can't wear these grubby things," he said, taking stock of clothes that bore the stain of the streets. "I've washed them over and over, and that's the best I seem to be able to do." For months, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers had been excited about an invitation to see the Los Angeles Philharmonic in action at Disney Hall. "The anticipation is horrible," he told me a week before the designated day.

The unlikely friendship between Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez and skid row musician Nathaniel Anthony Ayers is set to become a motion picture at DreamWorks SKG starring Oscar-winner Jamie Foxx as the musician.

Nathaniel was shy in our first encounter a few months ago, if not a little wary. He took a step back when I approached to say I liked the way his violin music turned the clatter around downtown L.A.'s Pershing Square into an urban symphony. "Oh, thank you very much," he said politely, apologizing for his appearance. He had gone through a couple of recent setbacks, Nathaniel said, but he intended to be whole again soon and playing at a higher level.

Christmas came a couple of weeks early to the skid row apartment of a soulful gent who goes by the name of Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. Nathaniel got an L.A. Philharmonic T-shirt from Peter Snyder, a cellist in the orchestra, followed by a vigorous lesson focused on rhythm and pitch. He also got a package of clothes, toiletries and family photos from his sister, Jennifer, in Atlanta. Nathaniel dipped into the box and pulled out a Jazz Age black-and-white photo of a striking woman of about 40.

The quality of the instruments is improving these days for Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, the downtown Los Angeles street violinist who until recently was playing a beat-up fiddle with two strings missing. Several readers saw my column two Sundays ago and offered to donate instruments to the former Juilliard student, who did a double-take when I told him the news.

I know only part of his story. I know him playing the cello on a dairy crate in the morning sun, suspended somewhere between boy genius and lost traveler. But where does he go after dark? For answers, I've come to skid row in downtown Los Angeles to spend the evening with Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. The sun has dropped behind glittering skyscrapers, and hardened creatures roam the streets. Strung-out prostitutes strut their way down trashed streets.

"They give you sodium pentothal. I remember that they strap you down, so when you come to, you don't fall off the table." That's Nathaniel Anthony Ayers talking about shock therapy, which he had at the Woodruff Psychiatric Hospital in Cleveland some time after his first psychotic break several decades ago. We were talking in his new apartment on skid row in downtown Los Angeles, where he was supposed to be giving me a cello lesson.

First Suite: The Apartment He's a lucky man, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. At least in some ways. Despite the imagined voices and daily flutter of scattered thoughts, he has a burning passion. For him, the city is an orchestra, a labyrinth of musical references and inspiration. He sees a swaying palm and hears a violin. A bus roars by and gives him a bass line. He hears footsteps and imagines Bach and Brahms.

ALL last week, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers wore a T-shirt with Yo-Yo Ma's name scrawled on it, along with the date and location of the concert: October 27, Disney Hall. We had tickets for that concert, and he couldn't wait. Los Angeles Philharmonic publicist Adam Crane had put in a request for Ma, the world-renowned cellist, to meet with Ayers after the performance. No guarantees, but maybe. Either way, just watching Ma play would make for a special night for Ayers.

"They give you sodium pentothal. I remember that they strap you down, so when you come to, you don't fall off the table." That's Nathaniel Anthony Ayers talking about shock therapy, which he had at the Woodruff Psychiatric Hospital in Cleveland some time after his first psychotic break several decades ago. We were talking in his new apartment on skid row in downtown Los Angeles, where he was supposed to be giving me a cello lesson.

Christmas came a couple of weeks early to the skid row apartment of a soulful gent who goes by the name of Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. Nathaniel got an L.A. Philharmonic T-shirt from Peter Snyder, a cellist in the orchestra, followed by a vigorous lesson focused on rhythm and pitch. He also got a package of clothes, toiletries and family photos from his sister, Jennifer, in Atlanta. Nathaniel dipped into the box and pulled out a Jazz Age black-and-white photo of a striking woman of about 40.

First Suite: The Apartment He's a lucky man, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. At least in some ways. Despite the imagined voices and daily flutter of scattered thoughts, he has a burning passion. For him, the city is an orchestra, a labyrinth of musical references and inspiration. He sees a swaying palm and hears a violin. A bus roars by and gives him a bass line. He hears footsteps and imagines Bach and Brahms.

Nathaniel was in a panic over what to wear. "I can't wear these grubby things," he said, taking stock of clothes that bore the stain of the streets. "I've washed them over and over, and that's the best I seem to be able to do." For months, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers had been excited about an invitation to see the Los Angeles Philharmonic in action at Disney Hall. "The anticipation is horrible," he told me a week before the designated day.

I know only part of his story. I know him playing the cello on a dairy crate in the morning sun, suspended somewhere between boy genius and lost traveler. But where does he go after dark? For answers, I've come to skid row in downtown Los Angeles to spend the evening with Nathaniel Anthony Ayers. The sun has dropped behind glittering skyscrapers, and hardened creatures roam the streets. Strung-out prostitutes strut their way down trashed streets.

ALL last week, Nathaniel Anthony Ayers wore a T-shirt with Yo-Yo Ma's name scrawled on it, along with the date and location of the concert: October 27, Disney Hall. We had tickets for that concert, and he couldn't wait. Los Angeles Philharmonic publicist Adam Crane had put in a request for Ma, the world-renowned cellist, to meet with Ayers after the performance. No guarantees, but maybe. Either way, just watching Ma play would make for a special night for Ayers.

The unlikely friendship between Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez and skid row musician Nathaniel Anthony Ayers is set to become a motion picture at DreamWorks SKG starring Oscar-winner Jamie Foxx as the musician.

The quality of the instruments is improving these days for Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, the downtown Los Angeles street violinist who until recently was playing a beat-up fiddle with two strings missing. Several readers saw my column two Sundays ago and offered to donate instruments to the former Juilliard student, who did a double-take when I told him the news.

Nathaniel was shy in our first encounter a few months ago, if not a little wary. He took a step back when I approached to say I liked the way his violin music turned the clatter around downtown L.A.'s Pershing Square into an urban symphony. "Oh, thank you very much," he said politely, apologizing for his appearance. He had gone through a couple of recent setbacks, Nathaniel said, but he intended to be whole again soon and playing at a higher level.