If you played in a school band in the late 1970s or early 1980s, odds are you played Chuck Mangione. Maybe it was “Feels So Good,” maybe “Land of Make Believe,” maybe “Children of Sanchez.” But at some point, you put a horn to your lips, your fingers to the keys, or your sticks to the snare, and there he was — Chuck Mangione, waiting for you in the sheet music like an old friend with a mischievous grin.

There was something bouncy, ebullient, even effervescent in his music. Something unmistakably alive. And when he performed live, that same feeling surged through his flugelhorn and across the stage like lightning in a bottle. He did more than play the horn, he presented it, lifting it high in the air, like a priest raising the chalice. The notes that came out were more than jazz, they were joy, movement with sunshine and syncopation.

We remember the cool. The wide-brimmed hat. The sweeping mustache. The cover of Feels So Good itself became part of the cultural lexicon, a visual promise that what you were about to hear would make you smile. And it did.

But too many people forget the chops.

Before he ever became the smooth jazz superstar of suburban band rooms and easy listening charts, Mangione was a serious jazz man with a resume that would make purists pause. He took over the trumpet chair in Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers during the 1960s, a role once held by Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan and Freddie Hubbard. That’s not company you keep by being commercial. That’s company you earn through sweat and swing.

He came up in Rochester, New York, a product of a musical family. His brother, Gap Mangione, remains a legendary pianist and arranger. Chuck, in fact, started on piano himself before pivoting to trumpet and flugelhorn, often returning to the keys throughout his career. But it was that fat, warm tone on the flugelhorn that became his signature, a sound that felt like being wrapped in a blanket made of light.

When “Feels So Good” dropped in the spring of 1978, it hit No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 and topped the “Easy Listening” chart. For a horn-led instrumental to climb that high was nothing short of remarkable. And Mangione didn’t need vocals. That melody sang enough. It embedded itself in pop culture, used in movies, parodied on King of the Hill, and still spinning in elevators and grocery stores like it never left.

But for me, it was always “Give It All You Got.” That was my song.

Used as the official theme for the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, it embodied everything right about Mangione’s aesthetic — bright, hopeful, strutting with energy but never losing its soul. It did more than uplift spirits. It lifted expectations. It made you want to be better. Practice harder. Push further.

“Give It All You Got” was the sound of sunrise optimism. The track’s tempo alone made you want to lace up your sneakers and chase greatness. The way Mangione and saxophonist Chris Vadala volleyed the melody, in harmony one moment, in call-and-response the next, was jazz conversation at its most inviting. Underneath, Charles Meeks’ bassline skated effortlessly between funk and fusion while Grant Geissman’s guitar laid down a rhythm so clean, Nile Rodgers would’ve nodded in approval.

It was fusion at its most pristine. A slick, TV-ready, sonically bright version of jazz that could live in Olympic ceremonies and detective shows and still feel authentic. And while purists may have scoffed, the people listened. The people responded. The people remembered.

Even now, I can’t hear those opening bars without being transported, a trumpet case in one hand, sheet music in the other, walking into another early morning rehearsal, head bobbing before the first note hit.

Chuck Mangione made smooth jazz cool before it got syrupy. He made jazz accessible without making it less. And he left behind not just a catalog of hits, but a generation of players who believed their instrument could mean something, could say something.

He passed early Tuesday this week, and the world got a little quieter. But his music? It still floats. Still rises. Still plays like the soundtrack to a brighter day.

Because Chuck didn’t just make us feel good.

He reminded us to give it all we got.

And somewhere between the joy and the groove, he gave us something that still sings.