The Club 47 in Cambridge during the sixties was my favorite haunt. Sometimes I was lucky enough to sit up front. I remember one night Tom Rush was thumping out tunes from his "Blues, Songs, and Ballads" repertoire when all of a sudden one of his fingerpicks flew off and landed in my lap. I jumped up and gave him his fingerpick back, he nodded, and kept on playing without missing a beat. I'll never forget that night.

wdyat12