A Mercifully Brief Memoir         

There is a small steel town in eastern Pennsylvania called Bethlehem.  It was founded on Christmas Eve in 1735 by a colony of Moravian missionaries and it was a perfect place to be raised.          

Were there ever better parents than these?  Two older brothers and a beautiful older sister always laughing and interested.  And all those happy relatives cooking, hunting, working and farting.         

There were baseballs all over the place and maple trees.  The neighborhood smelled of cabbage.  Tiny grocery stores on every other corner with barber shops, bakeries, bars and shoemakers in between.  Double homes and row houses filled with the working class.  Schools that had to be reached by foot.         

There was a tiny Baptist church sitting humbly in a very Catholic town.  There was an altar call, a baptism, a revival and countless rededications;  Fannie J. Crosby hymns and Billy Graham Crusades.         

There were real big snows, cool summer evenings and leaves burning in the gutters.  High black Converse the old man couldn't believe cost $8.95.  There were used cars and new bikes; laundry drying in the wind; sauerkraut on sausage, hard-boiled eggs floating in beet juice and milk at the door in the morning.  There were Poconos and Wildwoods.        

There was a piano, a trombone and a guitar.  Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller and The Kingston Trio; Shelly Berman, Bob Newhart and Jonathan Winters.  There were transistor radios, and eventually there was The Beatles.         

There were too many cigarettes and a hole in the ground.         

Lots of faithful and funny friends.  Lots of faithful and funny friends.                         

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There was a soccer ball, a net and a remarkable streak resulting in an offer and 3 years in Philly.  John Prine and Loudon Wainwright III showed up at the Main Point.  Remarkable!  Add them to Dylan and Simon.         

There was a weekend trip to State College that lasted for a year followed by the worst 5 years ever in That Big City (you know, The Big One) and a desperate and final flight to Guitartown.         

There was a hammer and nails, bologna and cheese, bourbon and water.  A marriage in Pittsburgh, an apartment on The Row and a baby on the way.         

And there was this little white box of reel-to-reel tape with songs on it.  What a weird and wonderful journey.                        

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And there is always her.  And there is always her.  And Him...         

This is the life I’ve been living...