I met Tex in 1963 and considered him my best friend, although sometimes we'd go for years without seeing one another. He only wrote me once, when my then-wife told him that Vietnam was really getting to me. I got a short, heartfelt note on small pieces of paper written in razor point ink and two colors with his "TK" chop. I probably still have it somewhere. We talked, sometimes for hours, about the things we both loved and cared about. I visited the gunsmithing school he attended in Trinidad, Colorado, just to walk the streets I'd heard about. Tex knew just about everybody worth knowing in the world. I'm glad we knew each other. He's missed a whole hell of a lot by a whole hell of a lot of people. I sent this to as many friends of ours as I had addresses for. Tex König September 10th, 1940 — July 3rd, 1999 Brooklyn, NY — Toronto, Ont. Ca.

There is silence, now, where once a great voice was heard. Tex König is no longer with us. Details are still sketchy, but according to his longtime friend Linda Evans we lost Tex sometime on Saturday, 3 July. There will be memorials in Toronto on 7/25 at the Transac Club from 3 'til 6 and New York on the weekend 7/24-7/25 for which details are not yet available..

Tex was never well enough known, either as a singer or as an actor. The few brief moments of him on film are enough to base an opinion that he had great chops as a character actor. He told me that people would recognize him from "The Freshman" and call him Big Leo. I didn't know he'd done the part and saw him by surprise. I literally fell off the couch. "Whadevah!" Pure Tex. The album and his long history of public performances in the US and Canada over a thirty-year period are testimony that he was one of the best interpreters of traditional folk music around as well as a master of more contemporary material, including some of Fred Neil's classics. He deserved far more recognition. Hell, he deserved greatness.

I've known Tex for over thirty years, since the days of the Cafe World, the Renzi, the Four Winds, the Bagamin and a host of coffee houses and folk clubs in New York, Miami, Montreal and San Francisco. It was on this coast I last saw Tex, en route from the Vancouver Folk Festival back to Toronto with a slight detour. He played a couple of gigs, including filling in for Kate Wolf at a festival in the Marin Headlands. That was over twenty years ago. A combination of timing, finances and our combined stubbornness kept us apart except for phone calls late at night that sometimes lasted for hours and were like hanging out at a distance.

We shared a love for folk music, firearms, samurai movies, unsubtitled Chinese sword swingers and Chinese food. Tex came to Oakland with his wok and Chinese cleaver as well as Baby, his Martin and a Navy duffle full of work shirts and chinos. He was one of the best Chinese chefs I know and taught me just a few of his skills. He also found a great dim sum house and a cheap second floor noodle house within two days of hitting town. He managed to find people we hadn't seen in years who lived right under my nose. He was like that; I doubt if there is another like him.

I can't believe I'll never hear his voice live again; and no one else will ever get away with calling me sweetums. I'm often accused of being overly nostalgic. I'll cop to it; I am. I miss the days in the Sixties when we all had goals and ideals of a lofty nature, when we solved the problems of the world time and time again and Tex played the tunes and told the stories. "We can't go back but we can always look behind . . ." and carry the memories. Perhaps Tex is somewhere singing to a different crowd composed of people we knew and some we didn't. I hope there is a round table large enough for all of us; our times will come and it won't be long.

Jamie Fraser-Paige, July 1999