It was 1972. I had just finished playing an eight-hour set at my new club, The Gallery, which had been open for only a week at that point. Robin, The Gallery’s door person and my business partner at the time, walked up to the booth with a large African-American man. “This is Frankie Knuckles,” she said. “He wants to work for us.” That began a forty-year friend-and-mentorship with one of the finest human beings I have ever known, my good friend, the Godfather of House Music, Frankie Knuckles.