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My Brush With Greatness

I just spent a terrific evening with my kids and some friends - mostly new ones - on this otherwise uneventful 4th of July. It's been an interesting week to consider the Declaration of Independence, given our President's big decision of the week: commuting "Scooter" Libby's 30 month sentence after Scooter (can you believe that an aide to the President still prefers to be called "Scooter?" Is that not just nuts?) had been convicted of committing 5 felonies. But that's not what I'm blogging about tonight.

Half way to our destination this evening, I remembered that I'd forgotten to throw in my guitar. I hoped that Michael would have one...or someone else there might.

We arrived at Michael's house 'round 6:30. Having wound around little back roads in Bartholomew County, Indiana, we came upon our destination: the Greven residence. I was relieved to see a few bumper stickers that indicated that I would be among friends. Michael and the two other birthday boys were reading from a book of important historic American writings in honor of Independence Day. Kids were running around, and dogs were sitting next to the deck, hoping for a morsel of the bratwurst.

Sitting on the deck of my friend's house was a quiet, distinguished gentleman in a perfectly starched, off-white cowboy hat. I assumed that he was a family friend, relative or perhaps a quiet neighbor. I may have nodded my head towards him, or offered a hello. There were a lot of people at this little get together, and I'm often uncomfortable in large groups of strangers. I put on a reasonably good show, I think. I smile a lot. Say hello. But I keep my distance.

And boy oh boy do I now regret keeping my distance from this one quiet man.

It turns out that the sparkling eyes and crisp hat belonged to none other than Ramblin' Jack Elliott. I admit it, though. I'm a young 'un. I've heard of Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. But until this evening, I'd never heard of Ramblin' Jack. At least I don't think I'd connected the name, the voice, the person and the persona. I must have heard him on A Prairie Home Companion over the years. Seen his name somewhere in print. Maybe?

And yet here he sat, this historic folk singer who'd been taken under Woody Guthrie's wing. The man who'd been an inspiration to...oh... performers like Mick Jagger. The legend who was the bridge between Guthrie and Dylan.

Oh, to have the opportunity to say hello again. To shake his hand. To play my guitar in his presence. To let him know that he'd played a part in my life, though I only know that now. Guthrie...Elliott...Dylan... words, stories and tunes that have inspired and changed my life.

Thanks, Ramblin' Jack. Godspeed, and stay well.