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.