On Saturday, November 14, 1970, I set out to hitchhike 250 miles to a folklore workshop at the home of some folks I didn't know named George and Vaughn Ward, and then take in an evening at the Caffe Lena, where Gordon Bok was performing. I had never hitched more than ten miles, I didn't know where the Wards lived, I had no reservation at the Caffe, and no place to stay the night. I guess God really does look after idiots, folkies, and old vaudevillians. On the way there, I got a traffic ticket, and nearly froze. I got to the point where the next acceptable ride would decide where I went, back to college or on to the Caffe (it was long past time to make the workshop). That next ride took me to the Caffe, about 2 1/2 hours before showtime. In an uncommon spark of common sense, I thought about sitting on the steps outside the door, and rejecting the idea. Not because it was November, after dark, etc., but because I thought that if anybody came out of the door, they'd think I was pretty wierd to be sitting there. So I tried the door, and it was open. I went up, and said to Lena (who didn't know me), "Lena, I know it's early, but I'm frozen. Can I come in?" I ended up having supper with Lena and Gordon, staying overnight at Lena's apartment, and almost being convinced to stay another day and skip my Monday classes. I also met George and Vaughn. ("How will I know them?" "They're tall." "I'm 5'4"; everybody's tall to me!") This was the day that I stopped being part of the audience and became part of the community. In my book, it's a major turning point in my life.I think of the turning point as when I gathered up my courage and opened the door to come in and get warm.
Thanks for being here, folks.