friend who was learning banjo from a guy, Bruce Erickson, who would come
out from the army base to give a lesson in exchange for a meal. I think
he also cherished momentary freedom from the military (it was his last
year), and a bit of Real Life with two sorta-hippie gals. He told us
there was live music and square dances every weekend at The Howlin' Dog
Saloon in Ester, where we could hear and move to the tunes she was
learning, the way they were meant for. We started going pretty
regularly, kickin' through the sawdust and laughing a lot. Through the
smoke and distance of the long room, I remember Doc towering in the
middle, handling his fiddle like he was playing with a kitten or a
ferret -- no effort -- such economy of motion to make the music for us
dancers; his son playing washtub base; his wife, Louise, steadfast in
her bluegrass-style pickin' and Robin Ford clawhammering beside her, as
neat as you please... what I cant pull out of memory is who played
guitar for them that winter. Was it Tom Hart? Danny Consestine?
Anyway, it worked just great. Before long, I was hearing the tunes in
my head all week long, between dances, so when my roommate got herself a
nice banjo at christmas, I took up the clunker and started connecting
the black dots to the notes in my head, via my fingers. I watched the
band as much as I was dancing, they were so picturesque -- the visual
backup for the culture I was being led into.
After familiarizing with other cultures of music and dance, with
many other people over 30-plus years, its Doc's quality of ease, warmth
and give-away that I see as the most important step stone to
understanding any music of the folk. I remember him saying,"you know
the difference between a fiddle and a violin?" Pause... "one you carry
in a case and the other in a flour sack." Big ol' grin behind those
thick glasses. I would think to myself, "wow, and this guy's a shrink?"
Romany Wood
