...i remember, very clearly, the first time i met Doc South. it was in the old
Howlin' Dog Saloon in Ester, in the fall of '72. danny and kent had already gone to
his office in fairbanks and invited him out to play with our string band. what
would a 40-year-old psychologist think of this scene, i wondered. for him, it must
have been like walking into a chaotic dress rehearsal for the musical "hair"...
...imagine this dimly lit, fallen down building full of hippies and crazies. the
place was cabin-like, funky and cozy. if i remember the smell of wood smoke, wool,
a bit of grass, i can't say, but the place was packed. then there was the band he
was about to play with, looking no different than anyone else, maybe a little worse
and a bit high to top it off. there was no rehearsal, no set list. most of the band
he was meeting for the first time. and there stood Dr. Harold South and his wife
Louise in the middle of all this, looking totally at ease. amazing...
...what happened next isn't as clear. we all introduced ourselves, i imagine, tuned
to someone, mounted the six-inch-high stage (that put you dangerously close to the
already low ceiling), sound checked our one-mike sound system, and proceeded to
tear into a crash course in old time fiddling and dance that continues to this
day...
...Doc was then, as is today, a wonderful ambassador and curator of a traditional
form of music that goes back hundreds of years in this country of ours. his open
heart and fiddle has pulled scores of young, and not so young, people into a world
of beautiful melodies and country dance. this is community building done right. a
meeting of a magician and people hungry for magic. Doc wasn't the first, but he was
the first to come along. his music and guidance spawned scores of fiddlers and
banjo-ists, singers and dancers. besides our sincere thanks, our debt to him can
never be repaid, nor his debt to his mentor, Jimmy Campbell, of Bloomington. it is
because it's not a debt, but an investment in a musical road trip, a quest, that
goes a thousand years in the past. a thousand years in the future. thanks, Doc, for
stopping and picking us up, making room, and giving us a ride. with you...
thomas hart
ester, ak
