Hi, Chris:

Here it is, a little before 4 in the morning, and I'm reading your beautiful remembrance of your Dad. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. I have beautiful memories of the Green Dragon, too. I remember being home one summer when Art was singing at the Green Dragon, when he didn't know that I was there. I went to hear him at the Dragon and sat in a dark corner in the back where he didn't even notice me. At the break, I sat at the bar and as he came walking by, I said, "Hi, Art," and he just about tripped over his feet. He thought that I was out here in Connecticut. It's little times like that, that stick in your mind. I remember playing at the Green Dragon when it had moved to downtown Madison. The old Dragon out on the island in Fort Atkinson had been a mosquito factory, so hot in the summer that even with the windows all open, I'd sweat so hard that my glasses would slide down my nose, and I'd pray that they wouldn't slide right off onto the floor before I finished the song. The Dragon in downtown Madison was very respetable with bookcases lining the walls. And it was air-conditioned. But it never could touch the old Dragon. You, Art and Carol came to hear me when I played there. You were just getting started on being a teenager. You all had been on a trip into upper Wisconsin, from what I remember. It was special to me to have you there, along with most of my family... the only time I met you.

The Green Dragon morphed into the Cafe Carpe in Fort Atkinson, and for many years, Art and I split an evening when I'd come home. Wonderful nights, filled with friends warmed by our friendship. I remember the very last concert that Art ever did. He was booked at the Carpe, and by then was having such trouble driving that he decided he couldn't make the drive. I told Bill Camplin that I'd fill in for him if he wanted me to, because I happened to be in Wisconsin, if Bill would let me use his guitar. At the last minute, Art decided to try it, and managed to get up there. I met him before the concert and have some wonderful photos of him standing outside the Carpe, looking jaunty as Hell with his cane. If you'd like a copy, I'd be glad to send you one. As it turned out, it was the last concert that Art did. I felt in my heart that it might be the end of Art's performing, but I knew that it would not be the end of Art. Like the Dragon, Art was morphing into something new, and just as treasured.

I'm glad that you enjoy Handful of Songs. One of the verses is about Art. It's not hard to figure out which one.

"Some may leave stories well-tuned in the telling
Some may leave jokes that can still make you laugh."

Art is a fine man.

Love,

Jerry