Just checking in -- I have a full day today with an important meeting that I have to prepare for this evening, so I don't have time to do much on this thread today, but to answer Sinsull's question about the fair Claire….. I can answer this pretty quickly by doing a little cut-and-paste from my "reminiscences" project.

I actually began playing the guitar a few months before I heard Walt for the first time. Claire got me started.

While visiting her grandmother in the small town of Raymond in southwest Washington, Claire mentioned that she had been learning a lot of folk songs and planned to buy a guitar so she could learn to accompany herself. Claire's grandmother said, "Heaven's child, there's no need for you to buy a guitar. I have one right here in the closet you can have. I haven't played it for years." Until then, Claire didn't know that her grandmother ever played a guitar. Her grandmother went on to say, "I'm sure it's a good one. Your grandfather bought it for me new for fifty dollars." It was a George Washburn "Ladies' Model," made around the turn of the century. Basically it was in pretty good shape for sitting idle in a closet for several decades. The bridge needed to be re-glued and reinforced, but otherwise, it was in excellent condition. With a new set of light gauge strings, the little guitar sang out again, sweet and mellow.

Claire was having so much fun with it that I wandered down to a music store that had dozens of really cheap guitars and plunked down $9.95 on a "Regal" plywood guitar. I was lucky. The neck was straight, the frets were accurately placed, the action was fairly soft, and the tone, although reminiscent of apple-crate, wasn't too bad. Claire taught me G, C, and D7; and Em, Am, and B7. I had a copy of A Treasury of Folk Songs compiled by John and Sylvia Kolb, a paperback bought off a rack in a drugstore for 35 cents (an excellent little collection, long since out of print), so I set to work. A couple months later, I heard about Walt's up-coming concert at The Chalet, which I described above.

Sweet-voiced, tall and slender, with her dark hair flowing over her shoulders, Claire made quite a picture as she sang with her guitar.

Then came the fateful evening in January of 1954.

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. . . That was the evening that Claire and I broke up. Or rather, Claire broke up with me. She told me that it had been nice, but. . . .

She was a couple quarters away from getting her degree in Sociology, and she had some fairly definite ideas about where she was going in the near future and she wanted to get on with it. In the meantime, there I was, furrowing my brow, waffling about what I was going to do with my life, and seemingly going off in several different directions at once, all with pretty iffy prospects.

It was a fairly amicable break-up and looking back on it, I can't say that I blame her, but I did feel a bit ill used at the time. But if I felt ill used, the Fates soon avenged me, at least in a small way.

On several occasions Claire had expressed dissatisfaction with her name. She felt it was anything but euphonious.

"Claire Hess!" she would say. "Plunk plunk! I'm going to be sure to marry someone with a last name that's at least two syllables."

This was mildly disturbing to me. "Claire Firth" would not be a great improvement.

Not long after she and I parted company, she married a fellow named Jerry Huff.

* * * But seriously:

Claire was more than just a major factor in my up-close introduction to folk music. When she first began to learn folk songs and teach herself to play the guitar, her enthusiasm and diligence inspired me to try to participate as well. She was helpful and supportive in my first fumbling efforts, which to me at least, didn't seem very encouraging. She provided the encouragement. This, I truly appreciate.

I haven't seen her or heard anything about her since the mid-Fifties. I hope she is happy and doing well. And still singing.

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Sorry for the thread creep, but it wouldn't have been right not to give Claire due credit for introducing me real folk songs, sung live and in person, and getting me directly involved in the first place. I am eternally grateful to Claire for this -- and for that fact that had it not been for her, I might never have gone to Walt Robertson's concert at The Chalet.

Don Firth

By tomorrow, definitely. . . .