And about that chicken..

Back in the early 60's I was hopelessly confused about what to do with my life. (Weren't we all?) I had a summer back home with no idea what to do about continuing my education (I didn't) and an old buddy of mine had just come back from Korea and was equally befuddled. So, what's a fella to do? We decided to take an informal tour of every bar withing driving distance. It was an odd thing to do, because neither of us was much of a drinker. But, I guess when you're at odds with yourself, you do odd things. After about 20 bars, we ended up one night at a small bar out in the country where they kept an old Gibson electric hollow body guitar behind the bar. Anyone was welcome to play it, even though they didn't have an amplifier, and it was hard to hear over the bowling machine and the juke box. Back in those days, no one had a moustache (except me and Groucho Marx.) When my friend and I walked in the bar, we got some hostile looks. We weren't hippie looking types. It was just the moustache, we found out later.

After a couple of nights my friend Dick encouraged me to play the bar guitar as it was being passed around. I'd just started taking lessons from Dave Van Ronk and could do some Travis picking stuff, and so I asked for the guitar. I got plenty of threatening looks when I took it. But, when I hit into Freight Train, them boy's hearts just melted. They acted like I was Chet Atkins. From that point on, they bought more beers than my friend Dick and I could drink in one evening, and I had to start bringing along a friend or two to help keep up with them. There was one gawky, quiet guy who really loved my playing. When we were ready to leave, he insisted that I come over to his house to meet his wife and kids. I was kinda sceptical as it was close to midnight, but he kept asking until I finally agreed.

When we got back to his apartment, the wife and kids were asleep, and he woke them up. I felt real badly about that, having experienced too many unwelcome late night awakenings when my Father brought his loud friends home from the bar. Even more awkward, he asked his wife to make a meal for us. She was mighty agreeable for such a late hour, but I could see that she was concerned when he asked her to serve the chicken. They were a poor family, and I overheard comments that she was saving the chicken for their next meal. But, she prepared a nice meal for us and when we sat down to eat, even though the chicken was small and we had a table full, they insisted that I take a big piece of the breast. Somehow, I've never forgotten that. It was the kind of generosity that you rarely see. Like the Widow's mite. I don't know what they had for their next meal, and it's probably just as well that I don't.

I don't remember the guy's name, or much else about that night. But I remember the humility and generosity. I was very moved by it, and still am typing this.

Oh yeah... my experiences playing at the bar ended up in the song Evergreen Bar that I recorded on my first Folk Legacy album.

They was good folks.

Jerry