Hmm. . . .    I've guess I've led a pretty calm existence. The recording sessions I've been in on all went reasonably well, as did most of the gigs I recall.

There was one evening—Friday, November 22, 1963—that was very strange. President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas, Texas that morning. I was scheduled to sing at "The Corroboree," a coffeehouse in Seattle's Wallingford District that evening. The singing went okay, and the place was crowded as usual on a Friday evening, but the whole feeling of the evening was weird! I was in a rotten mood, and apparently so was everybody else. I sang as usual, there was applause as usual, a few requests as usual, but there seemed to be an atmosphere of anger in the place. Very uncomfortable. But the casual observer probably wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Strange!

Don Firth