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Tales of Walt Robertson
Related thread:
Other 'Walt Robertsons'??? (7)
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Subject: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 01 Feb 01 - 08:53 PM I was 17 when I first met the late Walt Robertson. In he walked, small, skinny, and in charge. He took over the hoot with his powerful voice and guitar. He had a presence like I'd never seen before, and I think he left with the prettiest woman in the house. I watched him over the next 40 years as he traveled the world, and we became friends. He had great success with records, T.V., stage and screen. He taught me many things, many songs, many tales. I know he made friends in many places. I'm curious if any mudcatters would like to share some stories or songs of "WANDERING WALT!" CHEERS, Bob Nelson, Everett, Wa. USA |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,georgeaustin@msn.com Date: 02 Feb 01 - 01:20 AM I knew Walt well; he lived at my place for months; and I performed with hime numerous times. One Hell of a singer and musician with a fabulous sense of phrasing and timing-plus a great guy. |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,ellenpoly Date: 02 Feb 01 - 06:19 AM I knew walt in hawaii,after he had garnered his reputation in the Pacific Northwest,thereby unfortunately missing him as "the dean".He was a dear friend,and I would so appreciate any and all recollections of him during his "pre-hawaiian" days.This was a special man,and deserves to be remembered! |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 02 Feb 01 - 10:58 AM For those os us who are not familair with him, would one of you let us know more background, please? Thanks, kat |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 02 Feb 01 - 11:37 AM Walt was one of the most amazing controllers I've ever witnessed. It was fun watching him take over a hoot. He would arrive late, lurk in the background until he picked his spot, usually next to a beautiful girl. He would wait his moment, then slide into position next to her. He always kept his guitar tuned lower than anyone else. That way no one could play along with him. He usually prepared a new song for every hoot. These songs we called "hoot killers," because after he sang it, we usually just closed up our instruments and slunk away. No one would ever try to follow him, except the girl he chose to sit beside! Like I said, he taught me a lot! CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 02 Feb 01 - 01:22 PM Walt was raised in the Seattle area. About 1953 he won "Horace Heights (sp?) Original Amateur Hour", a nationwide T.V. show. One of his prizes was an audition on Seattle KING T.V. From that he produced and performed a one year weekly live T. V. show called "THE WANDER". From there his career took off, concerts, records, various venues. He recorded at least two records for Folkways, sitting in Moses Asches house for the sessions. These recordings are now available through the Smithsonian. The one record (tape) I have is "The Smithsonian Institution #02330." It's simply titled, "Walt Robertson." I believe another album is titled, "Northwest Ballads." He was well known for his performances of traditional Northwest folk songs. Over the years, he became a successful stage actor, both in the Seattle and the Honolulu areas. He also appeared in bit parts in several motion pictures. Walt died of cancer at his home in Kingston, Washington in 1994. I hope I'm fairly accurate in all this ... if not, I'm sure that Walt will somehow cause my guitar to be out of tune for the next week. CHEERS, Bob Nelson |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 02 Feb 01 - 01:36 PM Thanks very much, Bob. I remember someone saying, hmmm your old pal, Sandy Paton? that you had some tales of your own to tell. This is a great beginning and I found it quite interesting. It's really what the Mudcat is all about! Thanks, kat |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 02 Feb 01 - 05:56 PM Kat, thanks for your comments. I agree, this is what mudcat is all about ... folk music and related issues. I enjoy some of the other threads ... electricity costs, etc, but it's my love of traditional folk music that draws me to mudcat. And Walt was a powerful presence. Everyone who knew or met him knew him to be a force. He played with the best ... Josh White, Leadbelly, Woody, Pete, Jesse Fuller, on and on. I'll be very interested to see how far his influence drifted. CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,ellenpoly Date: 03 Feb 01 - 06:22 AM even though walt's "folk" days were pretty much over by the time he got to hawaii,i do remember one evening after a production of "macbeth" in which he'd played duncan.while we were having a cast party,walt started playing a guitar that was lyng around..and within a couple of minutes,the entire room had come to a stunned silence.here was a long-time (he's been in hawaii about 5 years by then)friend of ours,who had never before that moment shown us this amazing side of his talents!! it was a moment we would all remember. |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 03 Feb 01 - 03:27 PM Walt Robertson had a profound effect on the entire course of my life. In 1952 I was attending the University of Washington, majoring in English Literature with vague notions of becoming a writer; but not doing much writing except for class assignments and sometimes not even then. I was keeping steady company with a young woman named Claire. I had never heard of Walt Robertson, but just a week or two before I met her, Claire had heard him play guitar and sing at a party. She became so enthusiastic about folk songs that she took the old George Washburn "Ladies Model" guitar her grandmother had given her and set about learning to play it, so she could accompany the folk songs she was eagerly learning. I heard that Walt Robertson would be singing an informal concert at The Chalet, a restaurant in the University District where aspiring artists, writers, and musicians gathered. Jazz musicians often got together there on Friday or Saturday nights to jam (since they didn't have a cabaret license, The Chalet would officially close, but the door was left unlocked) . I was an avid opera fan at the time (even took a few voice lessons), but I enjoyed the songs that Claire sang -- especially listening to her sing them. I told her of Walt Robertson's concert and asked her to go with me. Although I was looking forward to hearing the folksinger who had impressed Claire so much, my main purpose was to ingratiate myself with her. I had no idea that this particular evening was going to be a major turning point in my life. I am currently writing a "memoir" or series of reminiscences about the folk music "scene" in the Fifties and Sixties as I saw it and remember it. I would like to post what I have written about the first time I saw and heard Walt Robertson. It's fairly lengthy, about 800 words. But with your kind indulgence. . . . ------------------------------------------------------ When Claire and I arrived at The Chalet, the CLOSED sign was on the door. We pushed it open and walked in. A crowd was beginning to gather. In the kitchen and up by the door the lights were still on, but those in the long, main room had been turned out. The area was illuminated by candlelight. Some of the tables and chairs had been shifted from their accustomed locations. In one corner, a table had been placed diagonally, with a chair facing it. Immediately in front stood a smaller table with a row of four lighted candles on it. It had been reserved as a sort of improvised stage. Claire and I managed to find a table fairly close. Lucky, because the tables were quickly filling up. After some minutes, a hush fell over the place. Then, a slender young man with dark hair and glasses came out of the back hallway and walked briskly toward the table in the corner. He carried a guitar. A very big guitar. He sat on the edge of the table, propped his feet on the chair, and positioned the guitar in his right leg. Like improvised footlights, the four candles illuminated him from below, casting huge, trembling shadows on the wall behind him. He took his glasses off, put them on the table, and glanced quickly around the room. His face was thin, almost hawk-like. His eyes were piercing and intense. A half-smile crossed his face. His hands hovered over the strings of the guitar. Candlelight shimmered along the gleaming steel strings. A concave cut in the guitar's oversized tuning head gave an impression of devil's horns. Two rows of tuning keys resembled shark's teeth. I had never seen a 12-string guitar before. Nor, I think, had anyone else there. It looked downright sinister. His hands began to move. A strong, pulsing rhythm rang out from that big guitar--deep, insistent, and driving, like the rolling rhythm of a locomotive. His voice, clear and robust, pealed out through the room:
When John Henry was a little baby, I had never heard that song before. A few of the songs he sang that night, I had heard, on records by Burl Ives or Richard Dyer-Bennet; or they were songs Claire sang or was learning; songs like Lord Randal, The E-ri-e Canal, Come All You Fair and Tender Ladies, and Venezuela. But there were many, many others, like The Midnight Special, High Barbaree, Evil Hearted Man, Bile Them Cabbage Down, The Golden Vanity, Black is the Color, Blow Ye Winds . . . dozens of songs I had never heard. Nor, for that matter, had most of the people there that night. These days, almost five decades later, John Henry is considered such an old war-horse that it's been banished from the repertoire, and you never hear it sung anymore. The same is true for many of the songs Walt Robertson sang that night. I had never heard a guitar played like that, either. A few songs along, Walt mentioned that he had just got the 12-string and was still trying to get used to it, but it already seemed to do his bidding. For sea chanteys or chain gang songs, he summoned forth powerful, driving rhythms. For love songs or ballads, the sound he drew from those powerful double strings was gentle, almost like the sound of a harpsichord. He sang for nearly three hours that evening, weaving tapestries of song and story, evoking ancient images and emotions that seemed to emerge from the Unconscious or from some genetic memory trace: medieval castles looming above cold and misty moors; the suffocating claustrophobia of a coal mine; wind and salt spray on the heaving deck of a whaling ship; the sweat, dust, and boredom of the cattle trail; the roar of cannon, flame and smoke erupting from the gun ports of pirate galleons; the agony of love betrayed, and the joys, both bawdy and profound, of love shared; the gleeful nonsense and fresh wonder of children's songs and rhymes . . . dream visions and antique echoes. And somehow, shadows from within my own soul. I was enthralled. Spellbound. * * * Up to that time I had never seriously considered becoming any kind of a musician. Taking singing lessons was fun; futzing around with the guitar was fun, but . . . now, suddenly, it all took on a whole new dimension. * * * One afternoon a few days later, I ran into Walt in The Chalet. We talked for awhile. Then I asked him if he would teach me to play the guitar. He said he didn't really regard himself as a teacher, but he did give lessons once in a while and he would try to show me what he could. ------------------------------------------------------ And that's how I got started. There is much more I wish to say about Walt. But that's enough for now. Don Firth Addendum -- Walt Robertson discography:
The old vinyl records (Folkways library editions) are
Robertson, Walt
(You can hear snippets of American Northwest Ballads cuts by going to the Smithsonian Folkways website, clicking on the "Liquid Audio" link, locating Walt Robertson on the list, clicking on that, then click on the Liquid Audio icon by whichever one(s) you want to hear. Takes a few seconds to download. Article on Walt Robertson by Don Firth: https://pnwfolklore.org/wp/index.php/walt-robinson-american-folksinger-by-don-firth/ |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Sandy Paton Date: 03 Feb 01 - 08:34 PM That beautiful 12-string was built by Pietro Carbone who had a very tiny little shop called "The Village String Shop" (I think) in the Village (New York, that is). I used to drop in and chat with Pietro regularly. He always invited mt wo stay for dinner, often some of his wife's great lasagna. Walt told me about getting that guitar. He said Pietro made him play it and sing over it, to be sure he had enough voice to be heard over the voice of the instrument, before he agreed to sell it to him. Knowing Pietro, I have no doubt that he would have told a lesser talent, "No, my friend, that guitar is not for you!" My memory tells me that Walt paid $400 for it, a HUGE sum in those dark ages, and then strapped it on his back and drove across country with it on a motorcycle. The thought of such a risk being taken with that instrument sent chills along my spine! We all were learning songs from Walt at that time -- good, basic folksongs of America. And Walt had some good old radical songs, too. The kind that worked when we played at the Longshoremen's Union hall for Harry Bridges' boys. I've no idea where Walt had picked them up, but I learned them eagerly. What a lasting influence that man had on many of us! Sandy |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 03 Feb 01 - 08:39 PM Sandy! Do you remember this one? When the downtrodden masses arise, When the downtrodden masses arise, When the downtrodden masses get up of their asses, Then the downtrodden masses arise. And don't forget: Harry Polick. CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 03 Feb 01 - 10:35 PM Keep this going you phoaks! This is great stuff!! |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 04 Feb 01 - 10:00 AM WALT'S LAST HOOT ... was an amazing event. It happened in late August of 1994, in Everett, Washington. He helped plan it and people came from all over; Oregon, California, Canada and from all around Washington state. We all knew this would be his last hoot and the turnout was phenomenal ... standing room only. His arrival, as usual, was major event. He accompanied by his dear sister Liss and the beautiful Ellen. After an afternoon BBQ, the music started. People had assembled who hadn't been together for years. And the music! My GAWD did the music flow. Song after song, each one better than the last, with Walt laughing and carrying on with the best. Late in the evening, I asked Walt if he remembered "Don't Lie, Buddy, Don't Lie?" No one knew if he could sing a note. He took Gearge's guitar and started. Out came the most amazingly powerful voice, belting out the song. He followed that with two more songs. We were spellbound. He left shortly after that, with two beautiful women of course. He died peacefully at his home three weeks later. |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Sandy Paton Date: 04 Feb 01 - 11:27 PM Check the DT for "The Ballad of Harry Pollitt." You'll find a number of differences in the text from the way we all sang it in Seattle, fifty years ago, but the song is there for the learning. What the DT doesn't tell you is that Harry was the head of the English Communist Party, 'way back when. I hadn't remembered that I first learned that one from Walt, but then, there were hundreds of songs inserting themselves into my head at that time, either from Walt or from a guy named Warren Povey. Povey had come west from Dartmouth to study playwriting under Doc Savage at the University of Washington. Bob or Don: do either of you remember him? He had a mess of good songs from Burl Ives and from the Outing Club at Dartmouth. Never pretended to be more than a happy living-room singer, and a darned good one he was, too. He may have gone off to write the great American drama before Walt got back from the army. Sure would like to know where and how he ended up. I liked his approach -- just good, honest, straight-forward singing for fun. Sandy |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 04 Feb 01 - 11:55 PM Hi Sandy ... I think I remember him, but I'll bet that Don can do better than I (he usually does in most things.) I can't give you any current information about Warren. I was describing this phenomenon of MUDCAT to my daughter. I compared it to what a transatlantic pigeon race must be like! Someone starts a thread, people comment as they wish, and it all comes dribbling in ... whenever! She tried to explain to me that TIME varies as the world goes around. I can't understand that ... if it's 8:50 here, in Everett Washington (which it is) then it's 8:50 everywhere! PERIOD! THE END. So what the heck are YOU doing up so late! CHEERS and GOOD THOUGHTS, Bob Nelson |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 05 Feb 01 - 12:29 AM This is getting better and better, you guys...keep going and where is Art Thieme? I'll bet he has a tale or two about all of this....kat |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,Art Thieme Date: 05 Feb 01 - 01:25 AM Another Mudcat thread I'm gonna keep whole hog. Such good folks giving their heartfelt remembrances---and noit a trace of B.S. to be found. Simply wonderful. But it, strangely, leaves me feeling I'm in The Twilight Zone. Being from Chicago in thopse day, I never heard of Walt until I started working at Rose Records on Wabash.(Rose Records called themselves The Worlds's Largest Record Store to the consternation of Sam Goody in New York.) Now, down the street, also on Wabash, was Kroch's & Bretano's----possibly and actually the worlds largest bookstore then. There was guy working there named Sandy Paton (who I had heard at a Sunday afternoon hoot at the GATE OF HORN folk club right after he and Caroline got back to the Midwest after Scotland etc. Sandy had convinced Kroch's to allow him to put a section of folk LPs in the front of the store. WALT ROBERTSON'S Folkways records were in Sandy's good selection as well as at our store do2 blocks further South 'cause we had EVERYTHING ON EVERY LABEL. (We really did.) Anyhow, WALT Robertson was one of the few folksoingters whose music I never purchased---and never heard ! It's strange how things happen. I can picture the albums in my mind right now. And I lived on the coast of Oregon for a few years too. Depoe Bay. A beautiful town where Dan Crary hangs out now when not in California. My wife, Carol, and I owned and operated a little folkie music shop called The Folk-Art Shop the year we got married (1967) right on the ocean in Depoe Bay. We went broke there in 1968. Went back to travel the country for the next few years and to base out of Chicago again... To this day, I've not heard Walt Robertson's music------possibly because, when I looked at the song lists, I already knew all of those songs and that made me less interested somehow.-------But after hearing all of your tales here, I'm gonna search Walt out even if it is too far after the fact. I do wish I'd met him... Art Thieme |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,Art Thieme Date: 05 Feb 01 - 01:29 AM Sorry for the typos folks. It must be late. Art Thieme |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 05 Feb 01 - 04:03 PM Sandy, I'm afraid that I can't say I ever met Warren Povey, at least not that I know of. At the time, I was just learning which way a guitar neck pointed, so I was just a wide-eyed, barefoot pilgrim, overwhelmed by it all. The name sure rings a bell, though. I've just prepared another one of my tomes, which I will inflict upon the multitudes in a few minutes. I contains the story of the 12-string as Walt told it to me way back when. Don Firth
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 05 Feb 01 - 04:09 PM Back in the early Fifties, 12-string guitars were pretty rare. As far as I know, none of the better known companies such as Martin and Gibson made them. There just wasn't any demand for them -- until a few years later. Walt, fascinated by the sound of Leadbelly's guitar, went on a quest. After hearing Walt for the first time, in late '52 or early '53 I began taking my little $9.95 Regal plywood guitar to Walt's apartment for weekly lessons. At the time, he was living in an old firetrap of a house in the University District, which had been divided into small apartments that rented for about $25.00 a month and upwards. Sandy, I'm sure, remembers this place. It was referred to as Cockroach Manor. Lots of really neat (but somewhat less than wealthy) people lived there. It was after one of my lessons that Walt told me how the Carbone 12-string came into existence and how he came by it. (The following is also in an except from the first draft of the reminiscences I am writing -- and it includes a cautionary tale about drastic temperature changes.) ----------------------------------------------------------- I was fascinated by Walt's 12-string guitar. Not only did it speak with The Voice of Authority, it was an impressive looking instrument as well. Walt told me that on a recent trip to New York, he looked up folksinger Susan Reed, who had an antique shop in Greenwich Village. In the course of the conversation, he told her that he was on the lookout for a good 12-string guitar. She directed him to Pietro Carbone at The Village String Shop. Walt went to The Village String Shop and told Pietro Carbone what he was looking for. He and Carbone talked for quite some time. Then, apparently satisfied, Carbone brought out this extraordinary instrument he had created, and showed it to Walt. It was a 12-string guitar. Nearby, a classic old mansion was being demolished to make way for a new building. Many famous people, particularly writers, had lived at this old house at one time or another; indeed, some referred to it as "the House of Genius." But now, it had to make way for a new high-rise condominium, office block, or something like that. In the process of demolishing the house, workmen were ripping out all the woodwork -- all this choice old oak, mahogany, and other fine woods -- and they were burning it. One night Carbone managed to get onto the construction site. He made a careful selection from the piles and stacks of wood destined for the fire. He was especially interested in the door panels. He picked up as much wood as he could carry, and vanished into the night. From this wood, rescued from the demolition of the House of Genius, Carbone made a singular 12-string guitar. He handed the guitar to Walt and asked him to play it. And sing. He wanted to see if Walt had a voice that could match this powerful instrument. While Walt was playing the guitar and singing, someone walked into the shop, listened to Walt for a moment, then insisted on trying the guitar. Walt, having great difficulty unwrapping his hands from the instrument -- this was what he had been looking for -- managed politely to pass it to him. Walt said that he didn't know who this person was, but he was obviously Somebody. He was all over the fingerboard, doing incredible things, things that even Walt hadn't imagined possible. Walt could almost feel the guitar slipping away. Then the fellow stopped playing, turned to Carbone and said, "I've got to have this! How much is it?" Carbone shook his head and said, "I'm sorry. It's not for sale." Disappointed, the fellow departed. Then Carbone turned to Walt and said, "It's yours." "But . . . you just told him. . . ." "That's right. It's not for sale. Not to him. He's a virtuoso on the guitar and the banjo and several other instruments, but his house is full of fine instruments -- instruments that he never plays. If I were to sell this to him, he'd play it for about two weeks, show it off to all his friends, then he'd put it aside and move on to something else. I don't want this guitar sit idle, I want it to be played. I want it to go to someone who will truly appreciate it." Walt asked Carbone how much he wanted for it. Aware that Walt didn't have much money, Carbone asked him how much he could afford. About all Walt could scrape together at the time was $100.00, knowing that this didn't come anywhere close to what that guitar was worth. Carbone pondered a moment, then said "One twenty-five." Walt winced, but at the same time, agreed. Carbone was practically giving the guitar away, but Walt knew what he was about. He wanted Walt to have it, but he also wanted him to have to work for it hard enough so he would appreciate it. He would have to scramble for the money, but he could do it. Then, Carbone advised him to insure it for $700.00. * * * Walt didn't have the 12-string for very many months before it fell on hard times. It had snowed in Seattle. Fortunately only a few inches had accumulated, but the weather was crisp and cold. Walt had several errands to run, but he was operating under time constraints. His television show, "The Wanderer," was scheduled in the early evening, and since this was before videotape, he had to be there on time. The show was live. Walt took the 12-string with him, put it in the back of his car, threw a blanket over it to hide it from sight, and went swiftly on his way. A couple hours later he arrived at KING Broadcasting and, guitar case in hand, sprinted down the hall to the studio. He was a few minutes later than he intended, but still in time for the show. He took the 12-string out of its case, tuned it, then went to the set. Perching on the stool before the cameras, he heaved a sigh of relief. He still had a few minutes to catch his breath and warm up his fingers before the floor director pointed to him and the red light came on. Suddenly a sound, like the crack of a .22 caliber pistol, rang through the studio. Everyone jumped. At first, Walt thought a guitar string had snapped. Irksome, but not to worry; there were eleven others, and he could muddle through. But when he glanced down at the guitar, his stomach turned to ice. A crack ran the entire length of the soundboard. The guitar had sat for two or three hours in the back of Walt's car in near freezing temperature. A few minutes under the hot television lights and the wood in the guitar began to expand. Much too quickly. It was one of those ghastly things -- which you realize painfully in retrospect of course -- that you should have seen coming and could have easily avoided. Walt felt sick. A fellow with a cowboy persona who called himself "Sheriff Tex" had a children's show earlier in the day, and he generally left his guitar in his office or dressing room. Someone made a mad dash down the hall, borrowed Sheriff Tex's guitar, and brought it back to Walt. "The Wanderer" went on the air on time, and somehow Walt managed to get through show. Walt shipped the guitar back to Pietro Carbone for repairs. * * * The Carbone 12-string, despite its powerful sound, turned out to have a delicate disposition. Walt got it back well repaired, but it wasn't long before the neck began to pull up and separate at the heel (guitar anatomy is pretty strange -- the heel is where the neck joins the body). Walt had to have a truss rod placed in the neck to keep it attached and to prevent the neck from bowing. Those twelve steel strings, despite being tuned well below their usual pitch, exerted more tension than the instrument could bear. Walt played it off and on over a couple decades, but it spent a lot of time in one repair shop or another. ----------------------------------------------------------- As far as I know, the guitar still resides somewhere in Seattle, but it has been worked on by so many repair people, some of whom were not as competent as they claimed to be, that I'm not sure it's still playable. It was very well made, no doubt of that. It was elegantly simple -- almost devoid of inlay and purfling -- and it's size and general lines were imposing -- almost intimidating. But much of its powerful sound and broad dynamic range came from the fact that it was pretty lightly built. And the woods it was made of, since it came from selected pieces of woodwork from an old house, had not been subject to the controlled seasoning of the woods that a luthier usually has stashed away. It was an amazing and legendary guitar, and during its active life it was played by an amazing and legendary man. More later. Don Firth
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 05 Feb 01 - 04:12 PM No discussion of Walt would be complete without telling of his Army days, and how they came about. He was raised a Quaker on Bainbridge Island, across the water from Seattle. As a Quaker, he was granted C.O. status with the draft board. This was in the mid 1950's when Sen. Joe McCarthy was on his anti-Communist terror campaign. McCarthy caused a terrible amount of damage before he was brought down. He caused many people to be ruined for life, to be blacklisted and some suicides. One of his targets was Pete Seeger. (I hope you're reading this Pete, and would like to jump in). Walt sponsored, and hosted, Pete in a concert in Seattle. For the two weeks that Pete was in town, he stayed at Walt's famous houseboat on Lake Union. Shortly after Pete left town, Walt received a letter from the draft board to report for active duty immediatly. He was fortunate (?) enough to be stationed with the 7th Army Repertory Theater Co., based in Germany. While there, he appeared in more than 200 performances in Germany and France. (when you're given a lemon, make lemonade). Walt LOVED the theater and was very successful on stage. He often told me that he really learned his acting skills while in Europe. As for the Communism taint, I've often said it this way: "Of course we sang communist songs ... they had the best music." (but that's another thread for another day) CHEERS, Bob Nelson |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: catspaw49 Date: 06 Feb 01 - 01:25 AM I honestly hope you all have not finished because I know there are others like me simply reading and taking it in. Comment isn't needed unless, like now, when I realized that it was dropping way down the list. Maybe a refresh will involve another reader.....or another story from one of you. Thanks. Spaw |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 06 Feb 01 - 01:30 AM Me, too, what Spaw said. I feel like a little kid waiting for the next installment..."and, then what happened?" Thanks! And, Deckman...watch your email tomorrow!:-) kat |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,ellenpoly Date: 06 Feb 01 - 07:03 AM i feel i must add my voice in a plea for MORE!! this is so wonderful for me.and i think i'll share my last,and possible favorite memory of walt with you.his sister Liss and i were taking care of him at the end days,and like most everything else in walts' life,he pretty much knew how many hours left he wanted to have,and how he wanted to spend them. please understand that i don't tell this lightly,but only to underscore the memory of this "lover of life".his last words were.."let's eat,drink and be merry".good advice for the rest of us,eh? please keep up this thread...and thanks...e |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 06 Feb 01 - 01:21 PM Walt had an incredibly itchy foot. He really earned his knick name, "The Wanderer." Somewhere in the mid 80's, he spent a year living on the beach in Tonga. While there, we wrote constantly. Those letters are a real treasure today. I didn't know until he arrived there, that he didn't expect to return ... he had some serious health issues. While there, he sent the following note to me: "SING RAUCOUS, SING JOYFUL, SING SAD AND LONELY, SING WORK AND PLAY AND SWEAT AND LOVE. SING RAUNCHY, SING SWEET, SING HARD, SING GENTLY, SING SEA AND SKY AND BUCKING BRONCS. SING QUIET NIGHTS, SING RIVERS AND DAMS, SING CHILDREN ASLEEP AND LOVERS AWAKE, SING BATTLES AND HEROS, BETRAYALS AND FAITH. SING MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS AND MULES AND SHIPS, SING WARS AND REUNIONS AND FAERY QUEENS, SING BOSSES AND FLEAS AND IMPERTINENT CATS. SING LIFE, MY FRIENDS, SING LIFE. DON'T MOURN FOR ME, SING! AND JOIN IN ON THE CHORUSES. The first day of Spring following Walt's death, we had a memorial hoot. Bride Judy is a calligrapher, so she lettered this on parchment for everyone and I suspect they are hanging on many walls now. Cheers, Bob Nelson |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 06 Feb 01 - 05:58 PM Walt was extraordinarily generous to me, as he was to others who shared his enthusiasm for folk music. For several months he gave me guitar lessons, providing me with a good start on the guitar while teaching me lots of songs at the same time. Finally, he said that he felt he had taught me all he could on the guitar. I didn't think so, but he had said initially that he didn't regard himself as a teacher and it may be that he didn't really enjoy teaching (at least on a regular basis) that much. I had been (and still am, for that matter) an opera fan, and although I had no idea at the time what I was ever going to do with it, I had taken a couple years' lessons from a retired Metropolitan Opera soprano who was teaching in Seattle. I was also an avid fan of Andres Segovia and had it in the back of my mind that along with folk guitar, I would like to learn some classic guitar as well. Although some folk music enthusiasts take a dim view of Richard Dyer-Bennet because of his obvious classical training, with my particular leanings I was learning many songs from his records, and Walt helped me adapt them from Dyer-Bennet's light tenor to my bass-baritone. Walt was not too enthusiastic about applying classical techniques to folk music, favoring what might be called a more "natural" or "non-technical" approach. Yet, he understood my predilections and, feeling that this might be the best approach for me, he went against his own biases (the mark of a really good teacher!) and recommended that I study with a local classic guitar teacher we knew of. This I soon did. But there was much I still had to learn from Walt. As young as he was (in 1953 I was 22 and he was 26) he was a consummate performer. I wanted to perform like he did. To be able get up in front of an audience and captivate them with songs and stories the way he could was something I yearned for. We spent many hours leaning over guitars or sitting in restaurants over coffee while he initiated me into the secrets -- things that seasoned performers usually learn by trial-and-error over a period of time, and that some performers never learn. But he didn't just tell me. He gave me an opportunity to see for myself, and to participate. The following is another -- briefer -- excerpt from my "reminiscences." -------------------------------------- It appeared that Walt had taken me under his wing. On a number of occasions when he went somewhere to perform, he asked me if I would like to come along. At first I just observed, such as when he took part in a television special at KING-TV. Walt and Milton Katims, conductor of the Seattle Symphony Orchestra at the time, discussed the relationship between folk music and classical music and the ways in which classical composers made use of folk themes. Walt would sing a few verses of a folk song, then Katims at the piano would give examples of how various composers used the theme. Then later, as my repertoire of songs grew, he occasionally invited me to perform with him. One notable event was a house concert at the Mercer Island home of one of Seattle's more prominent attorneys. We performed in the large living room in which, in addition to the couple sofas and other furniture, several rows of folding chairs had been set up. Walt had me sit up in front of the audience with him. He did the lion's share of the singing, but in many of his comments about the songs, he included me in the discussion, as if I actually had more knowledge than I did, and he had me sing about half a dozen songs. This was my introduction to one of my favorite kinds of performances: the small, intimate house concert. -------------------------------------- This sort of thing happened many times. During these lessons, conversations, performances , and frequent joke-swapping sessions, Walt became, not just my inspiration, my teacher, and my mentor -- he became my friend. In a future posting, I'll stick in some of the performance secrets I learned from Walt. Don Firth
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 06 Feb 01 - 06:26 PM Do and Bob: WONDERFUL!!! Please keep 'em coming!! This is such GREAT STUFF! I NOMINATE THIS FOR THREAD OF THE WEEK! thanks, katavidlyreading&waitingeagerly |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Dave Wynn Date: 06 Feb 01 - 07:25 PM Should be compulsory reading. Refresh |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 07 Feb 01 - 08:56 AM Being a successful folksinger and actor, Walt also had to find a way to make a living! He was a very good writer, mostly in the fields of technical writing plus years of newspaper work. One of the funniest stories I remember came from his newspaper days somewhere in Texas. As a new hire, he was assigned the thankless job of writing T.V. movie reviews. To keep his sanity, he started trying to slip the occasional outrageous review past his mostly asleep editor. Walt became clever enough at this that he developed quite a following. Walt had saved scored of these reviews and actually included some of them in his resume. I remember one of his tamer comments. Following the usual three sentence film description, he added this comment, "don't miss it if you can." His last work was five years with the University of Hawaii as the editor of an Agricultural Journal that circulated throughout Micronesia. He used to send me drafts of various articles, including one the various methods of Breadfruit propagation. We had a lot of fun with that one! CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Rick Fielding Date: 07 Feb 01 - 11:41 AM This is what keeps me at Mudcat. I truly HOPE that there are many like me who've been reading this every day. Only knew of Walt's name. So glad to read WHO he was. Rick |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 07 Feb 01 - 06:47 PM Bob (the Deckman) has already described how Walt got inducted -- abducted -- into the Army. But he was gone from Seattle and environs for somewhat longer than the usual two years. Most of that time he was in the service of Uncle Sam, but not all. During that same period, I had occasion to spend the better part of two years in Denver. Most of the time I was there I was pretty busy, but fortunately I had a chance to practice a lot, learn songs, and do some performing on my own. I also had time for contemplation. I made some decisions, turned them into plans, and began to implement them on my return to Seattle. As we were now into 1957, I wondered where the heck Walt was. He should have been out by now. On upper University Way, several blocks north of the University District stood a house that was shared by a couple of local folksingers, an actor or two, and a few others of some artistic bent or other. It was a big house, and many historic hoots, parties, orgies, confrontations, jokes, and pagan rites occurred there. Some years ago it was remodeled into an antique shop. (Is there a touch of irony there?) Returning to my "reminiscences". . . . ------------------------------------------------------------ The telephone rang. It was Bob Clark inviting me to a hoot the following Saturday night at 5611 University Way. This was hardly unusual. But Bob sounded especially intense and enthusiastic. "This is going to be a good one," he said. "Lots of people are coming. I really hope you can make it. No. You've got to make it." "Okay, okay," I said, "I'll be there." This sounds special, I thought. He's really tooted up about it. What has he done, come up with a batch of home brew that won't make your head explode? I got there fairly early. It quickly became obvious that Bob was right. This was going to be a big one. In addition to the usual crowd, many people arrived whom I hadn't seen since before I went to Denver; some not since before Walt left for the Army. Hoots here were usually held in the recreation room. The rec room was large; it ran the full width of the back of the house and it boasted a bar. Behind the bar, a door led into the kitchen. When people began migrating from the living room into the rec room, I did a quick survey and picked a spot on the sofa at the north end of the room, with the bar off to my left. A critical mass of singers had assembled, so out came the instruments and we went through the tuning-up ritual. Once everyone was in tune ("close enough for folk music") the singing started. It was definitely a good hoot. Lots of singers, lots of singing, and lots of enthusiastic people. After about an hour, it happened. I was about three verses into a sea chantey and the rest of the room was joining in vigorously on the chorus. Suddenly a familiar voice soared out over mine, singing a high harmony. Everybody's eyes, including mine, swiveled toward the source. There, standing behind the bar and grinning from ear to ear, was Walt. He had come in through the door from the kitchen. A yell went up and a few people started to get up and move toward him. He held his hands out for them to stay where they were. We continued the song, Walt and I singing the verses in harmony, everybody else lustily singing along on the chorus. We finished big. Then, pandemonium broke loose. Walt emerged from behind the bar into a confusion of hugging, backslapping, and hand shaking. After several minutes of everyone trying to talk at once, Walt called out, "Hey, let's all catch up later. Right now, we've got some singin' to do!" Walt's guitar, the little 6-string Brazilian*, appeared and he sat down on the arm of the couch beside me. (NOTE: Walt's 12-string was once again in the shop for repairs) "Mis-s-s-ster Firth, sir!" he said, as we exchanged a knuckle-cracking handshake. "Good to see you! Hey, this thing's out of tune. Let me hear your A." We tuned up together, then Walt called out, "Okay! Let's do it!" And we did. Of all the hoots there were, to me this was one of the most memorable. It was marvelous to hear Walt again. Far from getting rusty during the more than two years he was away, he sounded better than he ever had. He sang many songs I'd never heard before. And (wonder of wonders!) I sang some that Walt had never heard before. There was a whole lot of singing that night. * * * During the few weeks after his return, Walt and I got together several times over coffee and caught each other up. If it's possible for anyone to have a ball in the Army, Walt managed it. He got thoroughly involved with the Seventh Army Repertory Theater Company. He became a stage manager with the company, then got a chance to do some acting. Quite a bit of acting in fact, and he developed a real taste for it. He appeared in over 200 performances of plays such as "My Three Angels" and "The Caine Mutiny Court Martial." (Note: as Bob mentions above, that was a big turning-point in Walt's life) He also sang a lot. He provided appropriate folk songs as incidental music for a production of "The Rainmaker," then gave several concerts in Germany under the aegis of the United States Information Service. During leaves (or after he got out of the Army, I'm not sure which) he went to Paris where he sang at L'Abbaye, a folk club run by Gordon Heath and Lee Payant, two expatriate American actors turned folksingers. The club was small -- Walt said it seated about forty people -- but crowds lined up outside waiting to get in. Heath and Payant were the main attractions, but many well-known folksingers from the U. S. and the British Isles frequently sang there. Walt told me about an interesting house rule they had at L'Abbaye. No applause. L'Abbaye, he said, was located on the street level of an apartment building. Shortly after the club opened, the tenants upstairs found themselves treated to -- sometimes blasted out of bed by -- a burst of applause. Every few minutes. Understandably, they expressed their displeasure to Heath and Payant. Sympathetic to their neighbors' plight, the two singer-actors established a house rule: "No applause, please. If you feel like applauding, snap your fingers instead. We can hear it in here, but it won't be so loud that it will disturb our neighbors." A couple years after Walt told me about this, I noticed that the custom had spread. While singing in coffeehouses, now and then I would spot someone snapping his fingers instead of applauding. As often happens with customs and traditions, the reason it started in the first place was forgotten. Whenever I asked the person if he or she had ever been to Paris, the answer was almost invariably "No." Further questioning revealed that the finger-snapper didn't have a clue as to where or how finger-snapping in lieu of applauding got started. They had seen someone else do it and thought it was "Well, cool. You know. Hip." I still see it from time to time. Recently (four decades later) at a poetry reading I noticed that while the rest of the crowd was applauding, two people sat there snapping their fingers and looking cool. I didn't ask them, but I'll bet the ranch they'd never heard of L'Abbaye. ------------------------------------------------------------ Walt was a master raconteur, and he had many a breath-taking and/or hilarious tale about his adventures and observations while in Europe. If you'll keep reading it, we'll keep cranking it out. More to come. Don Firth *A note for those who may have seen the photo: this is the guitar that Walt is holding on the cover of Walt Robertson Sings American Folk Songs, Folkways Records FA 2330 (dunno about the Smithsonian Folkways cassette or CD -- I haven't seen them). The mustache and beard began to sprout several months later. |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Rick Fielding Date: 07 Feb 01 - 06:59 PM I'll keep reading. Many thanks. Rick |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 07 Feb 01 - 09:55 PM This is fantastic and addictive....thank you, again, so much...please continue |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 07 Feb 01 - 09:59 PM As I mentioned earlier, Walt had a very itchy foot and he constantly scratched it on world travels. I once tried to list all the countries he'd seen and I got writers cramp. Here's a few that I remember: most every state in the Union, Western Europe, Hawaii, Phillipines, Micronesia (he lived in Tonga for a year), The Marshall Islands, Australia, New Zealand, on and on. Another thing I noticed was just how light he traveled. No matter where he was headed, or for how long, he never carried a bag larger than 8" by 8" by 15". Years later, I visited him a couple of times in Hawaii and he taught me the tricks of light travel ... it's an art form! The year that he lived in a native hut on the beach in Tonga proved to be quite a challenge. One of the major industries and source of native income, at that time, was Post Office theft. Because of this, it was nearly impossible to mail him anything of value. I resorted to the 'old hollow book trick.' I glued and cut a large hole inside of a "Hardy Brothers" mystery book. (I still have it). That silly book traveled thousands of miles, back and forth. To Walt it brought goofy stuff like fishhooks, letters written on toilet paper to save weight, snap shots of friends, and the occasional dollar or two. Upon it's return to me, it brought sea shells, notes on toilet paper of very poor quality, and the occasional dollar or two. One of the funnier events happened after he moved to Hawaii in 1984. Honolulu was an incredible mixture of races, cultures and languages. He happened upon a newspaper from Manila. The headline story was a visit from the Archbishop. Let me quote from his letter ... "Just found out who the Archbishop of Manila is: dude by the name of Jaime Sin. His title ...Cardinal -- honest! Always knew there really had to be one somewhere, somehow." Good times, Cheers, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: catspaw49 Date: 08 Feb 01 - 12:03 AM Again....thanks. And if you feel you're only entertaining a few of us, I suspect others are reading too. We're reaching biographical proportions here and I love it more and more. You both came up on another thread and I'd like (Rick and kat would agree) you both to write a book or two. For now, we'll settle for some more great "tales." Spaw |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Idaho 50 Date: 08 Feb 01 - 12:09 AM As you have read before, Walt was a birthright Quaker and a conscientious objector "abducted" as Bob says into the Army against his will. But he still lodged his protest, because master of rhythm he was--he marched in 5/4 time! This, of course, got everone behind him all mixed up and created wild confusion. When his superiors figured out what was going wrong, they made him march in the last line. Songs of his that haven't been mentioned yet are "There's a hold in my bucket, dear Henry" and "Roll out that little ball of yarn". He was very fond of French songs too and they really sounded French when he sang them (no American accent). |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 12:31 AM O.K. "IDAHO 50" Who is this? Is this you Liss? I'll bet it is YOU. It is YOU isn't it? Come on now admitt it! |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Sandy Paton Date: 08 Feb 01 - 01:27 AM I'm thoroughly confused about the dates that are scattered throughout this thread. My last visit to Seattle had to be in 1954. I first left for New York the year of the Army/McCarthy hearings ("Senator, have you no shame?"). I know this because I hiked uptown every day to watch them on the television in a YMCA lobby. Then I spent the next summer in Toledo, Ohio, doing summer stock with the Mad Anthony Players. Hitch-hiked back to Seattle, got the great and embarrassing send-off described in an earlier thread, with Walt providing the major entertainment as a favor. I took the collected donations, gratefully, and hitch-hiked back toward New York. Turned back to Toledo where I'd been told I could actually earn some money singing the old songs I had been singing for fun. That appealed to me more than hauling furniture from a delivery truck up to a fourth floor apartment (hide-a-beds were a hot item that year, and those suckers weigh a ton!) PERSONAL ASIDE: Mitch Woodbury, Entertainment Editor of the Toledo Blade had told me he could get me some singing jobs any time I felt the urge to turn pro. First he tried to sign me with the Johnny Long Orchestra, doing pop schlock. I said I wanted to sing folksongs. Long said I could do a few of them during the band's breaks. Big money for those days, but "No thanks," says I, heroically, always ready to be a martyr for folk art. So Mitch booked me into the cocktail lounge of the Park Lane Hotel, where I sang four nights a week for six months. Quit the gig when I was invited by a former theater acquaintance to a party in Richmond, Virginia, where Paul Clayton would also be a guest. I wanted to meet him, so I left my heavy gear (books) with a friend and hitch-hiked to Richmond. Nice party. Lots of songs! Now this had to be 1954, or '55 at the latest. By 1957 I had drifted back to California, met Caroline in Berkeley, kidnapped her from the ranks of respectability, and the two of us hitch-hiked across the country together to go to England and learn more about traditional folksongs. (I wanted to sit at the feet of Ewan MacColl.) Sailed from New York, had our first-born son as a free baby on the National Health in 1958 (let's hear it for socialized medicine!!). Went collecting in Scotland, and returned to the US in the fall of 1958. Since Walt was back in Seattle in '54, and I saw the big 12-string he got from Carbone (after the army, I'm sure), he must have done his extended hitch before the '57 date Don mentions above. Yet Don clearly knew Walt for a much longer period of time than I did, so -- I am totally bewildered by the conflicting dates. Senator Joe McCarthy began his purge of the State Department ("I have here in my hand a list of names of Communist subversives in the State Department!" -- actually, he later admitted it was a laundry list, or something of that nature) in 1951. The Washington State Legislature's "Canwell Committee" (a rubber stamp of the House UnAmerican Activities Committee that plagued Hollywood in 1947) went to work in Seattle in 1948, attacking professors at the University and, incidentally, the directors of the Seattle Repertory Playhouse where I was still pretending to be an actor. (Another aside: Lee Payant had been an actor there before my time, but had already gone to Paris and started L'Abbaye by '47, when I arrived on the scene.) Those witch-hunts are another story altogether, but they help to set the dates in my head. So -- when the hell was Walt in Europe with the Army? When did he get back to Seattle for the big "welcome home" party so beautifully described here? Was he in the army from around '51 to '54, say, when I got to know him? Was the big '57 songswap/celebration honoring his return from one of his other wanderings? And, after all, does it really matter? Sandy (who is sure that he got married in '57) |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: GUEST,ellenpoly Date: 08 Feb 01 - 06:42 AM boy!some of you guys sure do write your threads in the "wee" hours! but they are so appreciated.walt and i did our first show together in hawaii.it was the musical "carousel",and he played the "starmaker".i remember i was able to endear myself to him by helping to find his "lucky coin"...lucky me. the thing i loved best about him was his honesty.he cut through the crap and you never wondered what he was really thinking.at least,that's how it seemed.it was years before i realized how deep the waters ran with that one. he loved all kinds of motorcycles,though by the time we were together,he was rather tamely tied to a honda scooter,known as the "red devil",or sometimes "the red menace" depending on his mood.when he knew his days were ending,and he was no longer able to ride his trusty steed,he bequeathed it to me,having found out that my own motorcycle had been stolen.i wish i could say i still had it,but this was not to be.i have moved away from the states for now,and left the "devil" with a friend back in honolulu...i'm not quite sure why i'm writing this "thread".it has nothing to do with walt the folk singer,but just walt the lovely,irrascible,brilliant,sly,funny fella i loved...e |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 07:49 AM You know folks ... this is starting to be FUN! CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 08:47 AM He Ellen ... I remember that lucky coin. He carried it for years. Do you remember the goofy way he carried his money? He never used a wallet. He kept his cash folded very neatly inside of a piece of foreign currency. It was quite large and made of very tough paper. Like I said, he traveled very lightly and enjoyed leaving a small footprint on this earth of ours. |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 09:54 AM A few weeks after Walt died, I received the following letter from Gary Oberbillig. Gary and his beautiful wife Molly, Walt and I had been friends for many years. We used to gather for incredible weekends of music and talk at their home on Hood Canal. Walt often told me that these times made up some of his most pleasant memories. As the letter is long, I'll only post part of it for now. I do so with Gary's permission ... Bob Nelson "I'll always recall Walt's delight with the infinite color of words and his deft ability to put the "top spin" on a statement. He was one to take dead aim with word choices and pronunciation and could get a little testy when the world fell short. An older neighbor used to come for Sunday breakfasts while Walt was staying out at our place. When our neighbor told us that some relative of his had invested in one of them time share 'cond-moan-iams' Walt shot him a glance of 'this is really rich! Will there be more? 'Good Night Irene' came as a request at Walt's last hoot, both because of the obvious and because Walt always did a great job with it. Those who knew him well grinned at the glint of classic early Walt in: 'well, O.K.., but only if we sing it right ... it's not 'I see you in my dreams' but Leadbelly's 'I gets you in my dreams.' Quite a different proposition, as Walt might say. Walt had put me straight years before on a line from 'Zebra Dun.' Listen now! It's not the stranger who stopped to 'argue some' ... but the stranger who stopped to 'auger' some ... as in boring holes in wood or in your audience. I chose to sing 'Zebra Dun' as my turn came around at the hoot as a private reference to that conversation. The thought drifted by as I was singing, that probably I was also hearing unrecognized exchanges and confidences to Walt from other singer ... a last 'remember when' from old friends." Gary Oberbillig Nvemember 1994 |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: katlaughing Date: 08 Feb 01 - 11:07 AM It's been fun for the rest of us all along, Deckman!! Just marvelous! Thanks, again, and please continue.... |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: IvanB Date: 08 Feb 01 - 03:39 PM As Spaw says, there are probably many of us reading this without posting. I've been one of them, having opened it every day to see what's been added. This stuff is true Mudcat! |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 03:41 PM Here is the remainder of Gary Oberbilligs letter, dated Nov., 1994 ... "Walt had an abiding love of secrets ... best of all, in getting your secret and hanging on to his, as the two of us have joked over the years. I'll remember for a long time his look of gratitude, overlaid with just a hint of gloating when toward the last, my wife and I proffered a titillating piece of personal information. As the time got short, Walt seemed to be purposefully reshaping all of the pigeon holes of his past relationships into one large boisterous aviary of friends. I feel grateful to be one of the flock. I got hooked on photography a number of years back and Walt obliged as a model with a true friends' indulgence and in the faint hope of photos for his actor's composites. He'd found this old opera topper with a broken spring, somewhere in New England and he used it as a raffish foil for all sorts of character gambits. Generally it was a 'cat-in-the-hat' hat, but for some reason the image seemed more alienated than whimsical when we were shooting that day. I asked him to give me some 'Sam Hall' and some 'damn your eyes.' He certainly did it right." ... Bob Nelson again ... I cannot close this offering without commenting on what a fine writer Gary is, though I know he won't agree with me. CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 04:47 PM "The Marker" ...As you can tell from these contributions to the Walt Robertson story he was a strong personality. As such, many of us who knew and loved him also had occasional dissagreements ... strong personalities are like that. I had a very telling moment just a few weeks before he died. I used to go over to Kingston, Wa. on Sundays to spend some time with him ... time well spent by the way. On this particuliar day, we had something of an argument. I don't know if you know what a marker is, but it's a gambers term for a certain amount of money for a certain purpose. (by this story, I DO NOT mean to infer that Walt was a gambler, as he wasn't, but he knew the value of a marker.) Years ago, one day when Walt was feeling flush, he laid a $100 dollar bill on me. The rules were this: I'm giving you this marker to do as you wish. You can spend it, save it, invest it ... whatever. BUT, whenever I ask for it back, you must give it to me immediately. (kinda like hedging your bets, eh?) Well that silly $100 floated back and forth between us for years. On this particuliar Sunday, I brought up the subject of that marker ... who owed who and how much? I wasn't really sure, but I had the $100 in my wallet to return it to him. He was VERY CERTAIN, to the point of shouting, that I didn't owe him! So, one of his final gestures to me was a $100 gift ... I think! CHEERS, Bob |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Don Firth Date: 08 Feb 01 - 05:46 PM Lemme see, now. Chronology. When exactly was Walt in the Army? I can't give the exact dates, but I can come pretty close. I'm fairly good at relating the chronology of stuff I'm not sure about to things I am sure about. It usually works pretty well, but sometimes I can't pin it down to too precise a date. Usually "near the middle of January '54" or "late spring of '59," sometimes an exact date, but that far back, not too often. I really wish I had kept some sort of diary or journal! Good idea for everyone. Sooner or later, you'll wish you had, believe me. I first started going with Claire sometime in 1952. Not long after, she and I heard Walt sing at The Chalet, as describe above. He had just got the Carbone 12-string a short time before this. Claire and I parted company in January of '54. She graduated from the U. of W. with a degree in social work; I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up (still am!). So she moved on. Sometime in early '54, two organizations were formed, the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society and the East 42nd Street Arts Association. The headquarters of both organizations was The Chalet (south side of East 42nd St., half a block off the U. of W. campus, in the basement of Eagleson Hall -- at the time, Eagleson Hall was the U. of W. YM/YWCA, which makes some of what follows kind of ironic), and both organizations were composed of the same people: Ken Prichard and Bob Clark who ran The Chalet, Ric Higlin who headed up the arts end, and Walt Robertson in charge of the folklore end. There were many others, but who all else was involved I can't recall. The House Un-American Activities Committee was running rampant at the time, trying to stomp perfectly nice people into the ground. Despite HUAC's mighty efforts, copies of The Militant were still being sold on the corner of 15th and East 42nd. But the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society and the East 42nd Street Arts Association were apolitical. Arts and folklore. That was it. The first big event, sponsored by the two organizations jointly, was the East 42nd Street Arts Festival on Memorial Day weekend, 1954. Art work and crafts were displayed along E. 42nd between University Way and 15th Avenue N. E. during the days (the city closed the street for the event), and concerts were held in the Wesley House auditorium (across 42nd from The Chalet) in the evenings. Gordon Tracie and the Skandia Folk Dance group did their thing one evening, Walt sang a concert the next, and Bill and Marty Holm put on an exhibition of Northwest Indian dances and displayed masks that Bill had carved on the third evening. People came in droves and the festival was a rousing success. Sandy, as I recall, you hitchhiked back to Seattle in 1954. Summer, I'm pretty sure, sometime after the East 42nd Street Arts Festival. I don't remember exactly how long you were here; several weeks anyway, but maybe more like a couple of months. I remember the big send-off party at the storefront where Donnie Logsdon preached his sermon (see my posting here) was in late summer or early fall. (Related event: I worked in the advertising department of a neighborhood newspaper in the summer of 1954, and this is how I earned enough money to retire my $9.95 Regal guitar for a Martin 00-18. Your farewell bash at the storefront was the first songfest I took it to.) The next event, a major one, was when Walt Robertson, in the name of the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society, contacted Pete Seeger to see if he would be willing to sing a concert in Seattle. He would. Nobody paid much attention to the fact that HUAC had given Pete a lot of grief (and he, them), nor did most of us care about the political foo-fa-rah -- until later. Pete Seeger was one helluva folksinger and we just wanted to hear him sing! No hidden agenda there. Pete Seeger arrived in Seattle on Monday, October 4th, 1954 and sang an incredible concert in the Wesley House auditorium on the evening to Tuesday, October 5th, 1954. After the concert, a couple dozen of us, including Walt and Pete, adjourned to Carol Lee Waite's house a block or two south of Wesley House, where we sat around and sang (Pete, too) until four o'clock in the morning. (Bob the Deckman was right, up above a ways, but he was off on a couple of points [sorry, Bob]. Different 5-string banjo player, different year. In 1954, Pete Seeger stayed with Walt at his apartment in Cockroach Manor, and he was only in town for three days [arrived Monday, 10/4/54, left Wednesday, 10/6/54]. Walt moved to the houseboat down on Lake Union in late '57 or early '58. He arranged a concert for Bob Gibson in 1958 at the big auditorium in Eagleson Hall, and it was Gibson and Dick Rosmini who stayed with him there on his houseboat for two weeks. Not that it matters that much). It was the immediate aftermath of Pete's concert that makes the mind boggle. Hordes of people who had signed the Pacific Northwest Folklore Society's mailing list called The Chalet and asked -- nay, demanded that their names be removed from the list. The first nationally known folksinger sponsored by the PNWFS had had a run-in with the House Un-American Activities Committee, therefore, the PNWFS and everyone associated with it was suspect and subject to investigation. (What was really un-American here, the activities the committee was investigating, or the committee itself?) Within a day and a half, the mailing list dwindled from several hundred names to about a dozen. Interesting to note that The East 42nd Street Arts Association, comprised of exactly the same people was considered clean! Nor, apparently, was any problem found with the U. of W. YM/YWCA or the Methodist Student Organization, under whose aegis (according to the principles HUAC seemed to operate on) subversive meetings had been held and subversive concerts had been sung. Who did the Feds come and get? Only Walt, the only registered Conscientious Objector in the organization. The Draft Board didn't say it was because he sponsored a concert for a blacklisted performer; they cobbled up some convoluted chain of reasoning based on the idea that at one time he had worked for Boeing. The fact that he had worked in Boeing's Commercial Airplane Division didn't cut any ice. They maintained that since Boeing also made aircraft for the military, Walt had thereby compromised his integrity as a C. O. The Draft Board swooped down on him like a bunch of buzzards. He was hauled into the Army sometime early in 1955. He drove the drill instructors absolutely crazy in boot camp by such things as being diabolically ingenious at being incredibly inept (like marching 5/4 and throwing everybody else off!). Tough, the DIs may have been, but they didn't know who they were dealing with! Then he turned his stint in the military to his advantage by getting into the Seventh Army Theater group. Leave it to Walt to fall through the outhouse floor and crawl out with a cherry pie under each arm! They sprang him sometime in 1957 and, shortly thereafter, he manifested himself at the hoot described above. With the "memoir" or "personal reminiscences" thing I'm writing, I've had to do a lot of checking of whatever documentation I could find, asking people I know who were around back then, and relating things I'm fuzzy about to things I'm sure of. I hope to get it published eventually, complete with photos and maybe some songs, but that may be awhile yet. I've got 85,000 words written so far, and I'm only up to 1959! I've got some serious editing to do, and I don't know what I can cut! I'm usually pretty sure of my facts and my chronology before I put it out there, and if not sure, I try to put in a caveat ("if I recall correctly" or "to the best of my memory"), but if anybody knows for a fact that I've got something wrong, please let me know. Next time, I'll be back more specifically to Walt. (I love writing this stuff. I'm having a ball!) Don Firth
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Sandy Paton Date: 08 Feb 01 - 07:53 PM Walt must have told me all about his theater work in the army when he visited us here in Connecticut many years later, otherwise I would have had no way of knowing about it, since I left Seattle in the late summer of 1954 to ride my thumb back to New York, and Walt wasn't hauled into the service until 1955. Between that time and Walt's arrival in Connecticut (which might have been around 1975, I'm not sure) I had no contact with him. I could probably pin down the date of that later visit, since I can remember which of the various churches the Sounding Board coffee house was using when we took him there to sing a guest shot, and Len Domler will remember when they were using that location. I just don't think it's all that critical, since what we are really trying to do here is give folks a sense of the artist and the person we knew, admired, and loved. Walt had just left some editing/writing job at a newspaper, I think, at that time. My antiquated memory says that it might have been down around Vancouver, Washington, but I'm far from confident of that recollection. He told me that he hadn't been performing much recently, but if he was rusty it didn't show. No one at the Sounding Board had ever heard of him, but they certainly enjoyed his contribution that evening. I wasn't in a position to offer Walt a new recording then (no money!), and he allowed as how he had too little new material to think about making another record at that time. He left for the west coast, and I didn't hear of him again until I was notified of his death by Deckman, who knew that I would want to know. I regretted having to miss the gathering in celebration of his life, and still hope, someday, to take my bride of forty-three years out to introduce her to the wonders of the Pacific Northwest, including many of it's wonderful residents. Someday, that chance will come. Until then, thanks, guys, for everything you did for Walt, and also for all that you did for me. Sandy |
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Subject: RE: Tales of Walt Robertson From: Deckman Date: 08 Feb 01 - 08:20 PM Don and Sandy ... Hey I've got it figured out ... as to why my dates and times were off a bit. Notice that Don uses REAL EVENTS as his benchmarks: festivals, concerts, etc. For myself, I've always used different reference points: "Sue" in Westport, I was 16, she was 15; "Paula" in Highline, I was 17 she was 17, "Nancy" in Seattle, I was 18, she was 23 (that was a benchmark!) Oh well, I think you get my meaning. CHEERS fellas. Bob |
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