I was particularly fascinated by John Ashford's reminiscences about his father's activities collecting folk music around the Pacific Northwest early on, knowing people such as Ivar Haglund (local folk singer and later a noted restaurateur and self-made odd-ball) and James Stevens (collector of Paul Bunyan stories and writer of a number of songs, including "The Frozen Logger"), and of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger staying with his folks when he (John) was little older than a rug-rat.
I then did my party-piece, describing my falling in with questionable company in college and subsequently buying a guitar and starting to learn folk songs. Then, in 1953, a group of us sat around a table in "The Chalet," a restaurant in Seattle's University District, and organized the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society and the East 42nd Street Arts Association, and initiated a series of folk and arts festivals in the U. District. But disturbingly in all its implications, in late 1954, the PNW Folklore Society died from the effects of rampant paranoia when most of our mailing list asked to be taken off the list and then went to hide under their beds. The first nationally known performer we sponsored was Pete Seeger, and although we knew about his joust with the House Un-American Activities Committee, we didn't realize how many people were afraid of being associated with an organization that was associated with Pete in any way. Sheesh!!! The PNW Folklore Society was strictly non-political. We just wanted to hear Pete sing and he was available at the time. Also, I might add that Pete's concert on the evening of October 5th 1954 in the Wesley House auditorium was also apolitical. A couple of labor songs maybe, mixed in with about two hours of love songs, lullabies, ballads, songs about Cumberland Mountain bear chases and foolish frogs, and oodles of sing-alongs.
I've always found it ironic that although the PNW Folklore Society was looked upon with suspicion after the Seeger concert, the East 42nd Street Arts Association—composed of exactly the same people—was deemed fine and dandy! The arts festivals (with folk music activity subsumed under the aegis of the Arts Association) continued on into the late Fifties.
But—although the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society essentially folded a year or two after it was born, it has been resurrected some five-plus decades later and, as of this writing, is showing signs of robust good health!
Bob (Deckman) Nelson picked up with how he and some other folks organized the Seattle Folk Music Society in the mid-Fifties, dedicated to just getting together once a month and singing for the fun of it—sort of like the song circles that came into existence in recent decades. He also mentioned the paranoia aspect of the era when he learned that the F.B.I. had a dossier on him about the size of a New York City phone book, mostly because he had sung for various organizations like the Seattle Labor Council and others of a liberal or progressive bent ("Why did you sing for these organizations?" "Because they paid me five bucks and gave me a free spaghetti dinner!").
Coffeehouses first began opening in Seattle in summer of 1958, and Stan James gave a run-down on some of the more prominent ones. In fact, when the owner of The Place Next Door decided to sell and move on to other things, Stan and a friend bought it. The friend subsequently went to New York to seek his fortune, so Stan renamed it "The Corobboree" (Stan had a thing for Australia at the time) and ran it for a couple of years, hiring various Seattle singers including Nancy Quensé, Judy Flenniken, and myself, and initiated an open mike on Sunday evenings. He talked about several of the other coffeehouses, then how a call went out for singers to sing on Sunday afternoons at the United Nations Pavilion at the Seattle World's Fair in 1962. This proved to be such an attraction that the following year, the Seattle Center (formerly the fair grounds) initiated the Seattle Center Hootenannies in summer of 1963, which drew crowds of up to 15,000 (they actually paid the singers this time!). Stan was doing pretty well until he wound up lost in the Australian Outback, still looking for coffeehouses.
The lovely Nancy Quensé (who arrived in Seattle in 1961 and showed up at Pamir House, one of Seattle's smaller but better-known coffeehouses, carrying her Goya G-20 classic guitar in its hardshell case and looking very much like a young Audrey Hepburn [think "Breakfast at Tiffany's"]) went on to talk a bit more about the coffeehouse scene, and especially some of the social aspects, the friendliness and mutual support among a sizable group of people who shared an interest in the music.
Nancy sang a particularly lovely and somewhat unusual version of "Scarborough Fair." And we all sang a song or two, songs that were characteristic of those we heard in the times we were talking about.
Stewart Hendrickson MCed, guided, and moderated the discussion with a light hand. The scheduled event for the following hour had been cancelled. Paddy Graber, an Irish singer residing in Vancouver, B. C., was unable to make it. He had suffered a stroke a few weeks ago, and although he was recovering and doing well, his doctor had forbidden him to travel. So we were allowed to continue into Paddy's hour, and Stewart had to keep explaining to the folks who arrived during the second hour what had happened to Paddy and why he wouldn't be there. Paddy is an absolute encyclopedia of Irish songs and ballads, and the fervent prayer, in addition to that for Paddy's health, is that the stroke will not affect his memory. The man is a treasure-trove of song.
Genie was there, and said that although her voice is still not quite ship-shape, it's better, and she was actually able to take part in a few events. Good on ya' gal. But take it easy.