You know, Jeri, when I threw out that line about the second silliest thing I ever saw at a Getaway, I was thinking about the year when Eric Cole led a guy named Davey Olive, with his cane and dark glasses, up the center aisle to the mike at the evening concert where he did two blues songs under the name of "Blind Harry Palms." (His usual pseudonym was "Blind Lemon Pledge."

But then Bill reminded me of the year when Dave Olive did one of his best songs, "You don't know me from Adam, but if you want to play the jukebox, Please Don't Play A-11," in the evening concert, **accompanied by Mark Gilston on the Bulgarian bagpipes.** Really. And it sounded good, too, or at least appropriate; you could imagine it was a dobro or something.

And then I reminded Bill of the time, in an evening concert, that Davey Olive played a blues version of "Barb'ry Allen," where I remember Sweet William sent his man into the town and when the man came to barb'ry allen's house to summon her, what he said was, "Git on down heah, bitch!"

So. So many pieces of silliness connected with David. He and his wife, Linda Lieberman, were killed in a car accident going home from the Getaway in I think 1994. (That doesn't seem right, but can't remember the year.) Lisa Null wrote a song for David, which Jennifer Woods sang at this Getaway. I wrote a song for Linda, which I sang last year. We loved them and we miss them. And when I think of sheer high spirits and crazy fun, Dave almost always comes to mind.

But we have other silly, silly memories. There was the year when -- but first, you have to know, that an authentic Bulgarian bagpipe such as Mark's, is made from a whole goatskin with pipes, etc., attached at strategic places. So, maybe it was Mark's birthday? one year, Kathy Westra and Jennifer Woods made him an elaborately quilted and patched shirt with the slogan, "Real Men Blow Dead Goats." Mark wore it at least once at this year's Getaway.

Here's another classic piece of Getaway evening concert silliness which I have heard mentioned on folk radio programs in far-off areas. Bill and I weren't at the Getaway that year. Before our time, dammit.

A singer got up to do a long, obscure and not too tuneful or exciting ballad. Worse, he hadn't thoroughly learned it. So he taped the very long lyrics sheet to the mike stand and started reading and singing the song. He had gotten through two or three verses when Nan Goland, in the front row, casually reached up with her cigarette lighter and set the bottom of the cheat sheet on fire. Not a sound from anybody but the singer til he got through another verse or two and suddenly realized his lyrics were on fire. The room - including the singer, I think - broke up. End of song. Beginning of legend.

Nan led the Telephone Songs workshop this year, by the way.

So. You guys can decide which was the silliest.