Roscoe Holcomb
1963 Monterey Folk Festival
Monterey, CA<\/p><\/div>\n

The house was built on a stilty foundation against a steep hillside. The porch looked out onto another steep hillside across the holler. We all sat on the row of straight-back chairs and threaded green beans onto string with big needles, since that was what was going on. When the bean strings got full, they were hung to dry; the beans would be eaten in the winter. This work was done mostly in silence, with a little desultory conversation about who we were and why we were in their house. At one point one of the girls asked if we\u2019d like something to drink. We were incredibly grateful; it was hot, we were tired travelers. Pretty soon she appeared with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of water. But what, we were expecting juleps? Slowly I began to get the picture.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s the kind of poor where you\u2019re a rambling folksinger who\u2019s not about to play the games society has suggested for you; then there\u2019s the kind where you and every member of your family work as hard as you possibly can and are therefore able to buy a little margarine, lard, white flour and salt, some pop to keep you going. And yes, this was the kind of poverty that poured itself into and out of the music. Once \u2018Rossie\u2019 got out his banjo and played \u2018Across the Rocky Mountain,\u2019 I was sure of it. No number of degrees in ethnomusicology could teach you to sing like that.<\/p>\n

And what did I play, when they asked me with polite interest? Well. At least I had the sense not to do one of Roscoe\u2019s songs, or any of his neighbors\u2019 songs. I\u2019d have been ashamed. That\u2019s where my sense ended though. I chose a Greek song; that would be a safe bet. And maybe it might even\u2014waaa-ha-ha-ha\u2014widen their musical base. \u201cWhat\u2019s hit mean?\u201d the wife and daughters wanted to know. \u201cIt means, you take a handful of rice, and some lemon, and an egg\u2026\u2026and then you do something with them, but I don\u2019t know what because I only know the one verse.\u201d \u201cOh. Wal, hit\u2019s a real purty tune, anyways.\u201d<\/p>\n

The daughters, in their teens, were extremely interested in our presence. Their mom was more than interested, she was hungry. We were the world out thar. We wore boys\u2019 corduroy pants, sand-colored, and we wore \u2019em tight. We were free to get in a car and go if we wanted\u2014anywhere! We had no menfolk a-bossin\u2019 us. And we had gallons of wine.<\/p>\n

It was wonderful for me, too; it was family life, a home. The hot water got fetched with a ladle from the water-jacket on the wood stove, dishes got renched and the floor got breshed, and I knew how to do these things along with the girls. At night we\u2019d sit up late, and Mrs. Holcomb (I don\u2019t think that was her name) sat up with us. We talked and talked about all kinds of things, and her eyes were on fire. She drank wine and said her doctor had told her she should be drinking \u2018pork\u2019 wine to get her strength up but this wine we had would probably do as good. Eventually Roscoe would come out of the bedroom, glaring behind his glasses, and tell her it was time to get in bed, there was work to do.
\nHe wasn\u2019t working, though. The miners were all on strike. A wicked strike, if you asked him; how were people supposed to earn their food? But if you crossed the picket line, you\u2019d probably get shot. He thought it was all stirred up by folks from up north who weren\u2019t aware of the immediate needs of the miners, like food.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, I asked the oldest daughter where was a good place to shave one\u2019s legs. \u201cI usually jist go up the crick a ways,\u201d she shrugged. But I didn\u2019t want a snake to bite my toe, so I sat on the back step with a basin of water. In the middle of my shaving, around the back of the house came Roscoe. Right away, watching sidelong, he started in again about the dangers of this picket line: Anyone who wanted to be anywhere else had best go right now, before they blew the road up, because once that road blew up, there wasn\u2019t going to be anyone going in or out, and the people who were in might get shot. There was going to be a lot of shootin\u2019. Even at that, it took me amazingly long to figure out that we were expected to move on\u2014preferably about four days ago.<\/p>\n

This story repeated itself when we went to the next folksinger\u2019s house, and the next. Clint Howard sat across the room on a couch with his arm tightly around his wife and said, \u201cWell, Ah shore don\u2019t remember ye, Ah shore don\u2019t.\u201d But, but, I wanted to cry, don\u2019t you remember all those good times sitting around spitting and you told me \u2018Y\u2019all come?\u2019 Oh God, it\u2019s tough to be an insensitive person.<\/p>\n\n\n

heroic table of contents<\/p>\n\n\n\n