I remember Al well. I'm touched by this thread because I never hear anyone speak of him anymore and I miss him. Al Cromwell and I were friends when we were both young folk singers plying our trade on the early Toronto folk scene. Al's musical partner then was Doug Bush, who was also my accompanist at that time. The two of them made beautiful harmonies together, and it was from them that I learned Cotton Eyed Joe as a ballad (which I have just recorded a capella on my new CD.) Al had a droll sense of humour, and though conversationally a man of few words, he expressed himself with great depth and passion through his music. If memory serves, he and Doug were on the bill for the first Mariposa in Orillia. I remember them arriving at my gig at the Village Corner in Toronto, full of excitement and flush with their success at the festival.

Once upon a time, I was walking up Jarvis Street in the middle of the night. (Don't ask me why. We did things like that in those days.) As I passed a big old house (which I knew as a residence for young actors like Colin Fox) I heard red-hot music. Out of a basement door Al came flying. He grabbed me and dragged me into what had turned into the Interval Club while I wasn't looking. He was terrifically excited to introduce me to his new friends Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee. Several hours of them playing, Al playing, many of us taking a turn, ensued. Needless to say the fun lasted till way past dawn. After Josh White, Brownie became the greatest single influence on Al's work during that period of the Cromwellian evolution.

And out of that night, I got a steady gig singing folk songs one night a week in the nine-to-twelve spot at the Interval, warming up the house for the jazz guy who came on at midnight, until the room was sadly destroyed by fire some months later.

Footnote: I was playing the Interval while the house upstairs was in flames. None of us in the club, hidden away in the cellar, knew the building was falling down all around us. Finally, firemen came in and dragged us out. We continued to play on the front porch for a while. It seemed the romantic thing to do. I was probably nineteen at the time. Next day the Toronto Star had my photo on page one with the caption, "She fiddles while home burns." Just had to tell you that. One memory leads to another....

Does anyone know what became of Doug Bush?

The last time I saw Al, he had become quite respectable and was playing in the courtyard of the very upscale Lothian Mews. He had a good sound system and a rapt audience. I wasn't around for the window-washing phase.

Wherever you are, Al, God bless.

Balladeer