“It could be that the good Lord likes a little pickin’ too.”
Tom T. Hall
Me and my kind have been getting roughed up lately. First, Levon Helm, then Donald “Duck” Dunn, and now, with the family of Doc Watson having been called to his Winston-Salem, North Carolina, hospital bedside, an impending loss of unimaginable proportions.
Since I first became a fanatic (is there another kind of Doc Watson fan?), I can’t recall anyone who has embodied more musical virtuosity, honor, integrity, humility, grace, dignity, and humor than this gifted son of the western North Carolina hill country. And I’m not sure there’s anyone waiting in the wings capable of filling his shoes.
Speaking of which, as I sit here mauling my keyboard and listening to some early ’60s recordings Doc made with Clarence Ashley and others at the Union Grove Fiddler’s Convention, the Chicago Folk Festival, and the iconic Ash Grove coffee house/cabaret in Los Angeles, I can’t help but think back to a mid-’70s January afternoon down in that valley so low.
The scene is backstage at the old, long-ago-demolished Terrace Ballroom in Salt Lake. Doc, who along with his guitarist-son Merle and bassist Michael Coleman had just completed a sound check, figured that, with the concert still several hours off, it was a good time for our prearranged chat.
I had been writing a music column for The Newspaper in Park City for several years and, at the same time, programming a daily late-night roots-music broadcast on KMOR radio in Salt Lake that featured many of Doc’s seminal recordings. An interview just seemed appropriate.
And this is where Doc’s shoes, or rather, boots, reenter the narrative. You know how they say, “Don’t judge another person until you have walked a mile in his shoes?” Well, that day, following a complimentary reference on my part to his obviously new Wolverine work boots, Doc took them off and implored me to lace them up and put them through their paces. I, literally, spent the next couple of hours walking untold metaphorical miles in his boots.
We rambled on about his life on the road, his life in the studio, his life at home, and how he first came upon the idea of transposing fiddle tunes to the guitar. The fun part, of course, repeated itself every time he would rip off a few guitar licks to further embellish whatever subject matter we were wranglin’ at the moment. But, wherever we went, he always brought the bull session back around to the footwear-in-question.
“So how do you like them boots?” he’d ask after digressing into the extraordinarily exquisite workmanship involved in their manufacture. You’d think he was talking about one of his many custom-built Gallagher guitars, or the new house Merle was building for him and his wife Rosa Lee back in Deep Gap, or his first banjo that, once his grandmother’s 16-year-old cat had passed on, featured, due to his father’s ingenuity, an authentic “cat skin” banjo head.
Over the years, Doc would perform at various Salt Lake venues both prior to and following the Terrace show and I’d somehow find a way to schmooze my way backstage at all of them. I’d always check and see if he’d replaced the Wolverines or if, like an old ball glove, they’d become part of him.
The last time I saw him perform was a few years back when the Salt Lake Twilight Concert Series still took place at the Gallivan Center. We were there early enough for sound check and front row for the show, but, not having seen him since the tragic passing of his son Merle, didn’t go backstage.
Doc has always been an American hero or as President Carter put it, a “national treasure.” He’d receive the National Medal of the Arts from President Clinton, an honorary doctorate degree from the University of North Carolina, and eight Grammy awards including one for lifetime achievement. More recently, a life-sized bronze statue of Doc picking a guitar was unveiled not far from Deep Gap in the town of Boone, N.C.
If he doesn’t make it through this current crisis, the loss will be immeasurable. But, I’m sure Doc would want me to remind you that Wolverine boots are waterproof, very warm, comfortable if you buy them a half-size large, and come with a two-year guarantee. How’s that for keeping the faith, Doc?
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and has been an observer, participant, and chronicler of the Park City and Wasatch County social scenes for more than 40 years.