Dear Pete
For most of my life I’ve been telling people that I wanted to “grow up to be Pete Seeger.” So I figured it was about time for me to drop you this note to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.
Sure, part of it was me wishing I could play a musical instrument better, and get to hang out with folks like Woody and Cisco and those old folkies. I’ve never gotten very good on any instrument, but you did inspire me to learn a bunch of good chorus songs and get people to sing out together. That’s what I’ve tried to do all my life.
But there was more in my saying I wanted to “be like Pete.” I think I’ve also wanted to be someone who could live a committed life, someone who touched people, someone who made a difference in this crazy old world. And Pete, you made a difference.
My father used to sing snatches of songs from the Weavers back when I was very little. The one I remember best was Tzena, Tzena, Tzena. Of course, those were the only words he knew, but he had the Tzena bits down pat.
The first time I remember hearing you singing was in about 1954, I’d guess. I was about 8 years old and I visited the United States Information Service Library in Bangkok, Thailand. They had some recordings and I remember hearing you sing The State of Arkansas.
I’d been born in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, so the reference to the state caught my interest. And when old Charlie Brennan handed over that mink skin he’s been paid to buy a bottle at a bar, and got three possum hides and 14 rabbit skins for change, well that made me laugh.
Of course with the blacklisting and everything, I didn’t hear much from you for a long time after that. While I was in high school I did get a guitar and a friend had a copy of the Weavers Songbook, so I learned some of your tunes there. But it wasn’t until 1969 that I got to go to one of your concerts.
It was in the summer. The concert site was somewhere near Nyack, New York. I was spending the summer after my college graduation as a landscaper’s assistant—mowing lawns, pulling weeds, and picking up rocks here and putting them there.
In my recollection, I think it was one of the very first Clearwater concerts. And I think there was a crew from public television there recording it—but I can’t seem to verify that. In any event, it was a truly memorable concert because, as it was just about ready to end, the sky opened up and we were all drenched in a torrential downpour.
The rain was so heavy that it shorted out the power to the lights and sound system. There were still some lights on from somewhere, and the most amazing thing was that you stayed there on stage and kept singing. And the people in the audience—I’d guess about 500 or so of us—we just stood there and sang along with you. The song was Guantanamera. It was amazing, all of us, standing there in the rain and singing together.
I actually got to meet you in 1976. You were booked as a visiting artist at Indiana State University Evansville. I was working at the Evansville Press and I had the arts and entertainment beat. We did an interview before an evening concert, and it ran in the paper the next day. But you were visiting some classes during the day, so I used my press credentials and hang out and listen to what you had to say.
Then, come lunch time, people were suggesting the school cafeteria. That was where I helped make a game-changing play. At my then-wife Susie’s suggestion, I lobbied for Muehlbauer’s Café.
Ah, yes. Muehlbauer’s. A classic, west side, working class eatery not far from the old Bucyrus-Erie plant (I ended up working there a couple of years later). It was a fine lunch and you had two pieces of Mrs. Muehlbauer’s apple pie for dessert.
We caught up again in 1980 at the Raritan River Festival. My son, Ben, heard you sing There’s a Hole in the Bucket. When we went home, he remembered all the words (he was only three, at the time). And my wife now, Jane, met you at the Festival, too. She was smart and collected photographic evidence.
And your autograph.
We followed you through the years. We bought recordings—first cassettes and then CDs. And whenever I got into a “folkie” situation where people were singing, I tried my best to channel you and get folks singing together.
Jane and I were there for your 90th Birthday Party in 2009—Jane, me and Bruce, Arlo, Joan, Kris, Richie, Emmylou, Ani, Taj, a lot more musicians and 10,000 or so of your close personal friends. That was a great show. You can see some of the highlights here.
And the New York Times had a nice review of the proceedings.
Pete, I still look back in your books for songs and inspiration. I still listen to your music. I still think about you and Toshi—and I remind people that you guys met at a square dance. (I do some dance calling these days, so I can’t resist that anecdote. I sure do hope it’s true.)
And I still want to grow up to be Pete Seeger.
Sincerely,
Ridge