Mary Travers Continued

And there were other voices, other songs. But Peter, Paul, and Mary led them all, or I thought they did. When she sang, "Come mothers and fathers, throughout the land, and don't criticize if you can't understand..." I was thrilled beyond words. And I look back now, and think that they really shaped us, especially the children who didn't grow up where people were assured the vote, regardless of skin color; where "separate but equal" applied to schools, toilets, bus seats, drinking fountains. It's true; I had parents who were out of the ordinary, who talked with me about how disgraceful the situation was in the south--and long before the days of the Movement. Still, they lived there; they were conventional; and they were (I thought) old.

Ah, Peter, Paul and Mary. Through the years they became old friends--where did the time go? Was it really fifty years ago that we went to see them at the Municipal Auditorium in Nashville? That the focus shifted not only to reflect the sorry state of racial tensions, but of an unpopular, bloody war. We marched, we sang, we chanted. And years later, when it had become less necessary to be radical every minute, they still kept us thinking. Their voices were starting to crack and they were getting on up there, but so were we. Still, nobody could quite say it the way Peter, Paul, and Mary did.

And now, she's gone. It seems hard to believe; it wasn't supposed to happen. Mary was supposed to be forever twenty-five. But she, like the rest of us, got old. Things went wrong the doctors couldn't fix. Someday soon, I'll get out the records and the later CD's and play them all. Not yet; I haven't really thought about it, but the time wasn't quite right. I wonder how Peter and Paul are; how can they possibly ever think of singing again? And yet, I know they will. They will, because good songs, important songs have to be sung.

I have not yet written anything about Mary Travers. It's been almost two months; and it's so hard to grasp that she's dead. They were always THERE--Peter, Paul, and Mary; they were of my time. They are ageless, timeless, and they never grew old. Skinny Mary with the swingly blond hair, the long bangs, and the scowl that went with having something vital to sing that the world needed to hear. I used to dream that I would come to New York, and I would find Barrow Street (where Paul lived) and it would be freezing cold. And he would usher me into his warm house, and.....there were so many possibilities. That I married Paul (I didn't much like Peter), that Mary got a sudden case of laryngitis and they discovered that I knew all the parts. And also that my voice was a natural, blended right in the way hers did. Whew! Saved the day!

I didn't outgrow them, although the time came when I put the fantasy aside. They were just so GOOD, so musically and politically right. I'd come back to them every five or ten years; and be amazed that the songs were as fresh and true as they'd been in 1962. No doubt about it; they were first-rate musicians.

They went on the march to Selma; and then they sang in Washington, when Dr. King gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. And I, from the south, watched and wondered and knew that something was happening of monumental proportion.

Thoughts on autumn

Now Louisa is snorting softly under her breath, which is one of the most annoying things a Newfoundland can do. She means, "I want you to pay attentiont to me, and I want you to do it right now!"

It is not freezing outside, but fall is definitely fading into winter. The trees are pale yellow and flame red, and you know they're about to give up the ghost. It is not my best time of year. Cold weather is coming, and it will stay around for five months or so. And I will hate it. I can't pretend, can't wear bright colors, can't think of fun things to do. I wish I could hibernate the whole five months, is what I wish. I hate winter.

Then there is Louisa, who of course was born for the Arctic and prances around outside like it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. If we can just have a mild one, I think, with highs in the 40's or 50's, I can survive it. Phooey on the 40's and
50's, Louisa says, I like the teens or even the single digits. I have not forgotten the Sunday morning I took my other Newf, Nana, to Riverside Park. The wind chill was something like -30. And, oh, she loved it. I don't think I can do it now; I'm 15 years older.

There are other things that make me nervous and depressed about this time of year: I think it's that feeling of expectancy; even though it's not cold yet, people are scurrying around and you know it's coming soon. Also, the bleachers are up for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. And I can't tell you how much I hate it.

Introducing Elephine and Friends

I live at the edge of Central Park with my Newfoundland dog, Louisa, and my cat, Oliver. We haven't figured this blogging business yet.