When you're moving on
But you can't look back
Buddy you got to go and sing your song
I spend some time these days looking after my health. God knows there were so many years without money or insurance, I'm surprised I lasted this long.
So one of my ailments reached a point of needing ALL my attention, and I fell into my bed away from newspapers, TV, radio and my computer.
My leg injury and the week's work assignment were all I was aware of. I came up for air on a Wednesday night to find out John Stewart had died the Saturday before.
I can't count the number of things wrong with that; To be so self-involved as to miss the passing of a Titan was one thing. To overlook the passing of a genuinely talented and giving person who made the world a better place was almost criminal. To miss the passing of a great man who reached out to me with a singular kindness was just sinful.
I started a web search to find out what happened. The computer asked me if I didn't mean JON Stewart.
HELL NO, you lousy Jack-in-the-Box! I meant the REAL John Stewart! The Original Lonesome Picker! The songsmith who saw America from the inside-out, not some pretty boy talk-show clown who stole the name!!
I wanted to punch out my computer screen for being so impertinent. I wanted to pound Jonny No H into hamburger for stealing a name that had become sacred, but he wasn't within my reach. Wanting to strike out is a common enough response to grief, but neither of these reactions was practical.
After I found out what happened, I still felt pretty helpless. No words I could write will ever do justice to the legacy or legend of John Stewart. I was too choked up to post anything here other than
"So I will go on loving you
It's easier that way
But you can't go back to Kansas
'Cause that was yesterday"
and figured anyone who knew John would know what I meant.
But the whole computer insult, for all the salt it ground into my wounded heart, opened my eyes. Taking Jon Stewart to task would not balance the scales, and a media more interested in dragging out the demise of handsome young Australian actor Heath Ledger while ignoring a creative giant like John Stewart, would not seek justice. If I had to explain to the rank-and-file citizen who John Stewart was, they will never know.
The sad truth is: John Stewart will never be remembered in a manner he deserves. He performed before crowned heads during the Kingston Trio's heyday, appeared on magazine covers, and showed up on the most prestigious television shows of the day, but he never aspired to be Elvis. Worldwide fame during his days with the Trio was different from the worldwide fame the Beatles experienced, and something else again to the audience of today.
For this reason it was all the more important to me to attend Bobby's tribute this past Saturday, and to express my gratitude. It wasn't a memorial service, but I at least spent the night with people who know who John Stewart was and will appreciate what he left us.
There will be tributes included in Swallow Hill and Mountain Music Festival venues later this year, and I hope to find some healing in the comraderie of other Stewart Fans then and there.
But this week something in me needed that tribute at Ironworks. Thank you Bobby, and God Bless You.
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