Well Bobert, I talked to them all and tried:

A. Not to act or sound like an asshole. (you would not BELIEVE how fucking patronizing some young white blues aficianados could be!)

B. Not to fall into the trap of providing acohol for acceptance.

But Son House? Nope, he scared the shit outta me. I'm sure he was a friendly man, and probably understood how the circumstances of the blues revival had changed his life.... but this guy was (to me) The REAL THING. Those "crossroads" legends kinda made sense, the few times I was around Son. I just kept my mouth shut, carried his case, and drove him to the Mariposa Festival in my Mom's car.

Rick