Here's Dick Lewis' reminiscence about Merritt from the Portland Folklore Society newsletter:

THE REAL McCOY
Merritt Y. Herring, December 17, 1932 – April 5, 2004
"I can't imagine a life without singing"

On Monday, April 5th, getting on toward 9:00 PM, Merritt Herring, this large and inspiring friend, came to that place by the silent sea he sometimes sang about. He was 71 years getting there, from December 17, 1932, to that quiet April evening.

We wouldn't have missed him for the world. He didn't arrive in Portland until 1997, but he was quick to find us. How easily he fit in--we know a special singer when we hear one—for he'd brought with him fifty years of singing British and American songs, performed at some of the biggest and best folk festivals and some of the smallest and best local gatherings. He was a mother lode of ballads, cowboy songs, gospel songs, old time songs, and songs of hard times, sometimes sung with his strong guitar backup, often just in that rich voice, singing from the heart.

Merritt was bound to sing this music. He'd first heard older ballads and songs from his grandparents. In his words, "My involvement in traditional music started at the age of 13 with singing grandmothers." In an interview with Jane Keefer, he said he'd first heard several songs from them, including "The Devil and the Farmer's Wife" and "The Fox," and he loved those kinds of songs because they weren't about how the singer felt but about how the larger world lived and felt. His mother also sang, although, according to Merritt's longtime friend, Barry Olivier, she was more of an art song singer. Maybe that's where he got that forthright singing style.

By high school he was ready for the folksong revival that would take off in the 1950's, fueled by Woodie Guthrie, The Weavers, Josh White, Pete Seeger, Richard Dyer-Bennett, Roscoe Holcomb, John Jacob Niles, and others. They would be his heroes. He already had his guitar and that strong beat and was known as a good singer when he met Barry at a high school dance. The two of them quickly became singing friends, performing on a radio program Barry hosted on KBFA in the early 1950's. They were listening to every singer they could find on records and scouring publications for songs, like Carl Sandburg's American Songbag and The Fireside Book of Folksongs.   Soon they were performing locally together. Barry began the Berkeley Folk Festival in 1958, and Merritt became a featured performer and workshop leader in 1959, '60, '62, and '65.

Barry says that when he first met Merritt he knew he was "in the presence of a special person and singer," and he tells this story. In the 1960's U Cal Berkeley hosted a large variety show, for which people auditioned and which presented performers who sang mostly songs of the day or show tunes. This was to an audience of 3,500. Merritt was accepted, which was impressive, but, says Barry, it was what he sang that was so arresting: "The Parable of the Sinful Rich Man," an old French folksong about Jesus, in rags, going door to door asking for food. It was like no other song in the show. And Merritt had changed it slightly; he'd made "the savior" into "the stranger," instantly universalizing it. The audience was rapt. Barry says, "This wasn't entertainment. This was drama, something timeless, something of a different magnitude."
Merritt wasn't drawn to modern composed folksongs, even tended to dislike many protest songs, which he often found naïve and self-indulgent. His politics were left of center but he kept them separate from the songs in the tradition, songs he called "the gift of the culture." He did write a few songs, proving that when the tradition gets inside you it sometimes makes you contribute. One of his songs was "Talking Anti-Protest Blues." Another is "Most People Worry Most of the Time," a satire about our penchant for making our lives worse by worrying. The few times he wrote, it was in a humorous vein. He was struck by the way that in many ballads, the woman is so easily drowned or done away with. So he wrote "The Elizabethan Misfit," about a woman who fights back. It's short enough to quote :

A sweet young girl with long, blonde hair
And eyes of an azure blue
Learned one day to her dismay
That her lover was being untrue.
She straight way took across the moor
Where her feet and the briars were tanglin'.
She tripped up to her true love's door,
Got a rope, walked in, and strangled'im.

Merritt graduated from U Cal Berkeley in geology, which wasn't exactly a career springboard.   Eventually he got an entry level office job at Container Corporation. He worked for them until he retired, rising to General Manager of the Seattle office. Now here's something we may have a little trouble fitting into our picture of him: a senior corporate officer singing "The Devil and the Farmer's Wife," let alone "The Parable of the Sinful Rich Man." The picture gets even stranger when we learn that after his ROTC days at Berkeley and before joining corporate America, he was a Strategic Air Command bomber pilot, flying B 47s. And he valued these parts of his life highly: his military service in defense of his country and his successful business career. But throughout, he kept singing, appearing at festivals and continuing to find the folksinging people among whom he most fully lived.

He retired in 1994, and a few years later moved to Portland to be closer to his grown children. And so he began again to find the local singers. He joined the Board of the Portland Folklore Society (he'd been on the Board of the Fresno Folklore Society before moving to Portland) and helped in organizing weekend programs and concerts by itinerant performers. Ira Frankel says, "He threw himself into the spread of the music he loved, singing at open markets, song circles, pubs, and festivals."   Those in the Tuesday night pubsings welcomed him as a kindred spirit, loving every song he sang. Paul Parker captured his part in those evenings well: "It was always a joy to listen to Merritt, because he breathed life into each song as he sung it—every word was given its due weight and time, each line sung to tell the listener what was really going on… Watching him was a part of the pleasure: his deep chest drawing in the air, his chin swinging round to draw in every member of the circle, and his eyes twinkling beneath those bushy eyebrows."


It would be too long to report here all the heartfelt comments that have come from many of his friends, trying to capture what it was that endeared him to them. But their flavor is unmistakable. Pat Wolk: "Merritt was the dearest, most loving man I've ever known. From the moment I met him I knew he was someone I wanted to know better." Jean Ritchie: "The old Berkeley Festivals wouldn't have been the same without Merritt. I enjoyed singing with him, and being in his company…Goodby to a good friend." Dick
Holdstock: "Above all else Merritt was a heck of a nice guy whose love of music was so infectious that it will be carried on by all of us who knew and loved him." Jane Voss: "The way he would cut loose and just beam when he sang was just so beautiful." Lorna Fossand: "With his fine voice, clear, confident presentation, and wealth of songs, Merritt could easily have held center stage at any gathering. Instead, he let the songs and their stories have the spotlight." David Ingerson: "His songs came out as if resonating from the center of his heart." Barbara Milikan: "Many of us came to know and love him for his enthusiasm for traditional music. He was unstinting in his kindness and encouragement for others who enjoyed the same." Anitra Cameron: "He sang the grainy black and white scrapbooks of song, and they sprang into your mind in full, living, rollicking color."

Of course, no summary of Merritt's life is complete without mentioning his marriage to Kit Siegel toward its end. The discovery of this loving partner was quite a blessing, especially when they subsequently found his time would be so short. Kit was someone to love and to sing with and they rarely missed a chance to do that. Here is Kit's own picture of how they came together.

"Want to go hear some Irish music?" That was the question that began Merritt's and my friendship, love, and marriage. We courted at the Moon and Sixpence, listening to Johnny Connolley play his squeeze box. Soon we were walking our dogs, then going up to Folklife, and falling in love."
        "We spent many hours singing together. He was overjoyed that I could keep a steady tune, while he harmonized, and I loved learning some of the songs he wanted us to sing. My voice became stronger so he wouldn't drown me out."
His humor was with us until the very last. He hoped that if he held my hand real tight when he died, he could take me with him. Then we considered having him stuffed, but decided on cremation instead. Of course, he is with me always.
Kit


Merritt was a rare one, wonderful to hear sing, great to spend time with, a "minor folk legend" in the words of Joe Offer. He was the genuine article, devoted to singing as much as you can, and always from the heart.

Dick Lewis

A Celebration of Merritt Herring's life will be held in the Fellowship Hall of Grace Memorial Episcopal Church (1535 NE 17th , Portland) at 4:00 PM on Sunday, May 16th. There'll be some talk, some food, lots of songs, and much love. There will be a Book of Remembrance and anyone wanting to add to it—a comment, a memory, an anecdote, a criticism of his singing—is invited to send via personal message to Barbara. It will also be possible to add to the book at the event.