Like countless others, my first introduction to Pete Seeger came from listening to “The Weavers at Carnegie Hall” album. “Good Night Irene,” “Rock Island Line,” “Darlin’ Corey,” all found their way into me as did the sound of the 5-string banjo. About the same time, I’d say in 1957 or so, I bought the “Talking Union” album with Pete and the Almanac Singers, my first taste of political songs.
I saw Pete in person for the first time with Bill Keith when the Weavers played a concert at M.I.T. A friend of Bill’s, Charlie Close, was their tour manager, so we got to go backstage and I got to feel Pete’s shy, nervous energy up close. Not too long after that I went with the Lilly Brothers to New York where they were part of Pete’s annual Hootenanny at Carnegie Hall. I saw then how generous he was at sharing the stage with others. He included everyone in his embrace, especially the audience. There was no way that anyone would be left out. Music was for everyone.
In June of 1965 I went down to Nashville to visit Bill Keith, who had joined Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys. Bill had a few days off so we drove over to North Carolina to visit Doc Watson. Doc had been up to play at the Club 47 a few times. Being the musician that he was, Doc appreciated what Bill Keith was doing on the banjo. In the course of his visits to Cambridge, we had become friends, and he had extended an open invitation to visit him at his home in Deep Gap, so we took him up on it. The hospitality and warmth of welcome were genuine. Songs and tunes flowed well into the night.
The next day, we went with Doc over to Asheville, where he was to play a concert at the Municipal Auditorium with Pete. The front page of the local paper featured a lead story about the local American Legion protesting the appearance of the “Communist” Pete Seeger. We could see that there was still some life left in the “red scare,” but it didn’t seem to scare off the audience. Doc had already become a totally relaxed concert performer. He was the same on stage as on his front porch. His warmth and casual demeanor just served to further highlight his virtuosity on the guitar. He would take your breath away. Needless to say, he got a huge ovation at the end of his set. Then it was Pete’s turn. He came out with his long necked banjo, sleeves rolled up, red socks. His reception was on the cool side, especially in contrast to Doc’s. Pete was in no hurry. He played a couple of mountain tunes on the banjo, did a couple of Woody Guthrie songs, got the audience to join him singing “Rock Island Line.” Gradually he drew them in until, at the close of his set, he introduced a song he had just been singing with a singer named Guy Carawan at a place called The Highlander School in East Tennessee. The song was “We Shall Overcome.” Pete started quietly, inviting the audience to join him. Gradually people joined in. He kept encouraging them, finally urging them to get on their feet and join hands. Before long everyone was up, singing, swaying, singing “We Shall Overcome.” Indeed, Pete had overcome. With music. I never forgot that performance.
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From 1965 until 1971 I served on the Board of the Newport Folk Foundation, which put on the Newport Folk Festival. Pete was the head of it. There were a lot of strong personalities in the group–Alan Lomax, Frank Warner, Mike Seeger, Ralph Rinzler, Judy Collins, Peter Yarrow, Theo Bikel, Oscar Brand, Bernice Reagon, Bruce Jackson, Ethel Raim–but with Pete guiding us (firmly backed by his wife Toshi) we had no choice but to work together. Which we did, with amazing results.
Much has been made of Pete’s reaction to Bob Dylan’s performance in 1965. I can’t say, because I wasn’t backstage. He might well have been upset at the sound; he might not have been happy with Bob’s approach, but I never, ever heard him say that Bob didn’t have the right to express himself any way he wanted to. He didn’t have to like it. But that was beside the point.
It was during this time that Pete came up with the idea of building a replica of a Hudson River sloop called The Clearwater to serve as a teaching tool to educate the people living along the river about the necessity to repair it, revive it and respect it. I am proud to say that I have had my Clearwater membership for nearly 50 years. Pete often said that he felt that this was his most significant achievement, because there is little doubt that the Clearwater played a major role in cleaning up the river. The beauty of it was that it was so simple. Pete believed that if you brought people together at the river’s edge to combine work with play–cleaning up the river while singing songs and eating together–it would inevitably lead people to support the political and economic reforms needed to bring about the reversal of the years of pollution and neglect which had so harmed the river. Pete looked out on that river from his house every day until the day he died. One of his mantras was, “think globally, act locally.” Every day he could see his local vision coming true. But every day he knew there was more to be done. He was tireless.
There is no telling how many people were lifted by Pete’s simple vision around the world. I can give one example. Bill Keith, Eric Weissberg, Kenny Kosek and I were flying to Denmark to play the wonderful Tonder Folk Festival. As it happened, Pete and Toshi were on the same flight. In the airport lounge Pete was excitedly showing us sketches of a Viking ship he was working on. He’d been asked to talk to a group who wanted to do a similar project to The Clearwater on the Baltic using a Viking ship. Pete and Toshi were with us in the back of the plane sleeping under a blanket–no business class for them. When we got there, we happily headed for a hotel bed, but not Pete. He hit the ground running and went off to share his vision with the Danish group. Eventually he joined us at the festival. Arlo Guthrie was sharing the closing concert with Pete and then we all went out to join in on the final song. As we were leaving the stage, I was sort of pulling up the rear next to Pete. I heard some singing coming from somewhere and at first thought it was coming from the performer’s tent backstage. However, it suddenly dawned on me that it was the audience singing. I grabbed Pete’s arm and shouted at him (he was a bit deaf), “Pete! Pete! Go back! They’re singing to you!” and I whirled him around and sent him back out. He stood at the center of the stage, his arms out to the audience, as they sang “We Shall Overcome” to him. They were thanking him. He affected people everywhere this way. He worked tirelessly to help us find our hearts, our common humanity through music. We were blessed to have him with us.