I'd like to contribute another name as a musical legand, and also man who had tremendous impact on me. His real name was Bill Higley. His public (radio) name was "Willy Waw Willy," and he moved down to Seattle from Anchorage, Alaska about 1949. I'll be amazed if anyone out there has heard of him, but if you have, please contact me. A "Willy Waw" is an Alaskan term for a strong blast of wind that comes out of nowhere ... kinda like a California "Santy Anna." Bill was a radio man, and he adopted that term "Willy Waw, to match his radio style.He started in radio back in the days of crystal sets and the Red and Blue networks ... these preceeded ABC and NBC. His early radio partner was Harry K. McKlintock, aka "Haywire Mac." He came into my life when I was 12, after marrying a family friend. He was an incredible performer. He played an old Sears Silvertone plywood guitar, new 4 chords and 34 songs. But he could entertain you for a half an hour with just one song, telling the story behind, beside and instead of, that one song.I used to get up early on Saturday mornings and help him open the radio station,KJR, In Seattle. He was full of cornball humor, and occasionally let me read weather forcasts and teletype news items on the air. I'm sure it wasn't quite leagal, but BOY, did I love it! Later on in my college years, I majored in radio broadcast and even had my own live folk music show when I was 19! (thanks to Bill for coaching me so well). For most of the Summers of my teeage years, I lived with Bill and his wonderful wife Verna. By now he was charter boat captain in Westport, Washington, and I worked with him as his bait boy. This was a Finnish community, and a baitboy was called a 'pooker.' During those Summers, he taught me guitar, ballads, singing, elecution, diction, style, presentation. Verna was a school librarian, so when I wasn't practising performance skills with Bill, Verna had me at the library researching folk songs ... what a wonderful time those Summers were. He was a 'killer' on diction. I well remember singing 32 verses of Mattie Groves, only to stumble on a word in the 33rd verse. He would stop me, by shouting, make me sing it again, from verse one! To this day, diction is a must with me ... remember children, spit out those final consonants and don't mumble. So, here's a tribute to a wonderful man, Bill Higley. He died in Westport Washington about 1962.