Kendall,

I'm the guy who - in tears - asked you to send "Phoebe Snow" to Utah when you and Jacqui did it at Indian Neck. I hope you did.

When Utah died, we at OS had a short time to decide what to do, and we had a one hour slot to put it in, without conflicting with everything else. Andy edited Utah's words into the shortest script possible, and I read it. We went with folks we had immediate contact with as singers, some stronger (and closer to Utah) than others. The point was him, not us, and we knew it wasn't perfect.

I had to turn down people who showed up at the last minute whom I'd known longer than you, and whom I regarded as mentors or a lot more. Me ? tell Caroline Paton it was scripted, not open. Jesus! Or you either, had I caught sight of you.

Utah (and Rosalie) were among the few westerners Vaughn knew and felt at home with when she married this damnyankee, and I didn't get to sing her favorite Phillips song either.

That's why I said what I did about all of us continuing to sing his songs and to tell our stories about him. I knew damn well (as did Andy) how inadequate we felt we had to be.

It isn't about us. It sure as hell isn't about one afternoon. We lost an irreplaceable friend when we lost Utah. Let's not, in our hurt and (yes) vanity, lose what he was and what he meant. Even if he was more than capable of vanity himself!

It isn't about us. it isn't even completely about him. I think he tried to tell us that, when his own mortality hit him.It's about passing it on. It's about giving thanks for what comes back to us when we do. It's about what we've lost and what we haven't. it's about laughing in and at our mortal frailty.

That "it" is not even political most of the time. It's about validation, belief in us,in community, in what we can do that we don't believe in most of the time, in what we can inspire in others. If there's one thing reading Utah's words in that script taught me, it is how hard that rascal. rake. vet, hobo, master bullshit artist and genius worked at making his truths powerful enough to outlive him. Try reading him aloud sometime. You'll see what I mean (and I know you've done it). It's a lesson to try to put the power into it that he did. Maybe I'll be up to it someday. Not yet.

I'm gonna tell you what I told myself, and hope you take it as one friend to another:

He was my friend too. Yeah, it hurts. Now get over it, dammit, and do something this hurting human race needs. We don't have much time.

- George