Last week I read that Jimmy Carl Black, “the Indian in the group” had died. I liked the early Mothers and felt sad. Yesterday’s Rochester paper had a nice tribute to Arthur Deutsch, Danny’s father, who recently passed away. As a reporter he covered City Hall, politics and crime during what the golden age at the Democrat and Chronicle along side of Henry Clune. He later ran the War Memorial and booked Parliament-Funkadelic on the “Mothership Connection Tour” for the city in 1978. Peggi and I were down front for that one. Anita Ward opened with her hit and then Bootsy stole the show before P-Funk even took the stage. Today I read Mitch Mitchell died after a gig in Portland. He was one of my favorite drummers.
Martin Edic was at the Little Theater Cafe last night for the Margaret Explosion gig andthe conversation that followed. He was raving about “Suzy, Led Zeppelin, and Me” by Martin Millar. “Best book I’ve ever read”. And Martin has read some books. He often finishes books while still in the bookstore.
But earlier he told us that his dad had just started hospice. When you meet Martin’s parents they quickly become friends because they hang with you. You don’t exchange niceties with them. You engage them in real conversation. Ken Edic is one of the greatest guys in the world.
6 Comments
All kind thoughts to Martin and his family. When you’ve been there, you know how meaningful – although tough – this time can be.
What a lovely forum for kind thoughts you provide, Paul.
Deep condolences to Martin and Danny.
T
Thanks all. I don’t believe I said the Led Zep books was the best I’ve ever read (that’s probably something like The Great Gatsby) but it is a good one. If you went to high school in the late sixties/early seventies you knew the kids in the book even though it takes place in Glasgow.
Martin, after my dad passed away a couple of years ago he passed this passage on to me:
One of my favorite poets, Ted Kooser, has a passage about losing a
parent in the final piece in his recent memoir, Local Wonders. The
piece is a long metaphor beginning, “Life is a long walk forward
through the crowded cars of a passenger train…” The third and fourth
paragraphs go like this:
“So many cars, so many passages. For you there may be the dangerous
passage of puberty, the wind hot and wild in your hair, followed by
marriage, during which for a while you walk lightly under an infinite
blue sky, then the rushing warm air of the birth of your first child,
and then, so soon it seems, a door slams shut behind you, and you find
yourself out in the cold where you learn that the first of your
parents has died.
“But the next car is warm and bright, and you take a deep breath and
unbutton your coat and wipe your glasses. People on either side, so
generous with their friendship, turn their faces to you, and you warm
your hands in theirs. Some of them stand and grip your shoulders in
their strong fingers, and you gladly accept their embraces, though you
may not know them well. How young you feel in their arms.”
Please accept this in that spirit.
Slight correctio, Should have read that Adam Wilcox fellow Badenov pasedd the excerpt to me.
Wow, that is an awesome metaphor- and, as a writer, I’m not generally fond of metaphors. Thanks Stan.