Folk Heroes- Richard Arnold Beattie-Walking the Same Ground and Larry Sandburg

In 1970, Larry Sandburg a professor at Boston University came into the Denver Folklore Center, considering a move to Denver. He decided to stay. He wrote a classic book with Dick Weisman, The Folk Music Encyclopedia and he remains in Denver today. He is our Folk Hero on Community Radio!

In cooperation with Sound Century Academy, the University of Colorado and The Harry Tuft Collection. 

Transcript

SPEAKER_06 0:00

Folk Heroes is made possible with permission from the Harriet Tuff collection at the University of Colorado and Sound Century.

SPEAKER_08 0:14

Spirited City White Boy. Toes in the plates long ways from Illinois. But I can emerge in the Queen City of the Play. Yeah, here they even get Snow M. But I'll play my ball in the Queen City of the Play. Yes, you're Ivan. I'll play my ball in the Christity. Queas city of the play. You're a Queensity. I'll play baseball in the crease.

SPEAKER_09 1:23

They've got a baseball.

SPEAKER_08 1:26

Queen city of the play. With those Denver Cracks. They're hollering shrills. Had enough of them. Don't think I'm gonna Had enough of your Queen City. I've been a Queen City. I'll leave this ball to the Queen City of the Play.

SPEAKER_06 2:21

Acknowledging that yes, we even get snow in May. I wrote that in nineteen ninety-four for a baseball television program for Rocky Mountain PBS in nineteen ninety-four. They came to play was the name of the show, recorded up in North Glen at Avalanche Recording Studios. It features stri pianist, the late great Yancey Strode, and I recorded my vocal on an authentic reconditioned 1930s ribbon mic. It was a great mic. Meanwhile, in this studio Time Machine, we will have another episode of Stories and Songs with Dick Jones and me from Walking the Same Ground. And then the author of the folk encyclopedia, Larry Sandberg, who moved from Boston to Denver in around 1970. He came to the Denver Folklore Center and Harry Tuff recorded him live in the concert hall. And we have that tape. Larry Sandberg is still in Denver writing and hopefully still playing guitar. It's what you don't see that can change your life.

SPEAKER_02 3:34

It's what you don't see that can change your life. Every day you open your eyes, and the mental checklist of all that you have for the day blocks your vision. You get past the bedroom, the bathroom, the breakfast, and the drive-thru. You arrive at your desk, and there are voicemails and emails and snail mails, and you process through until lunchtime. That's what you see every morning. Then, when we rewind the AM and go back, you find the morning that you didn't see. You ran past your husband who was trying to find meaning in his work. You snarked down the burnt toast and left the coffee maker on, and oh, and you cut off your neighbor who was bringing his wife home with their new baby. You were in your own zone as you raced through the school zone. That can change your life.

SPEAKER_01 4:17

A fishing trip with Father Dan. Father Dan Jones is a traditional Catholic priest, a good friend, and one of my old fishing buddies. In the 1970s, Dan owned a 1940 Chevy pickup that he had nicknamed Zeke. Now Dan's a very honest man. However, his fishing vocabulary is open to interpretation. For example, if Dan says to me, Oh, to get to that lake isn't really a bad trip, the translation is, Oh, to get to that lake might be humanly possible. It was mid-August, and Father Dan and I were going fishing. To get to Dan's chosen spot, Blind Lake, we had to drive the top of Hermit Road, hike down to Rito Alto Lake, up and over another ridge and down into the lake. Hermit Road was and is still definitely a four-wheel drive road, but nobody had told that to Mr. Two-wheel drive Zeke. We loaded our gear into Zeke and headed out at 5 a.m., bouncing our way to the top of Hermit. It was a beautiful sunrise. We did not see another vehicle all day, but we did see a lot of wildlife, caught lots of fish, and got back to the truck at around 7 p.m. As we were passing Horseshoe Lake, Dan stopped the truck and said, I think the fish are breaking down on horseshoe. He grabbed his rod and headed down to the lake. I took a nap in the truck. When Dan returned, it was dusk. It had settled on the mountains, and we were on our way again. Barely below timber line, Zeke had a flat tire. By the time we got the spare on, it was almost dark, and we started down the road again. But we soon discovered the tire was too big and rubbed the fender around every switchback. Understanding Zeke's idiosyncrasies, Dan always carried a very large hammer with him. He knocked the running board loose and hammered the fender out so that the tire would clear. By now it was pitch dark, and as we slid into the truck again, Dan informed me that Zeke's lights did not work. And so all the way down the mountain, I leaned out of the window with a flashlight to keep us from going off the edge. When we finally did get home, my wife was beginning to plan my funeral. Later I learned that Lucille Paquette, who lived next door to Dan, had watched from her window as our flashlight had bounced all the way down the mountain.

SPEAKER_08 8:43

Wisdom we have a phone.

SPEAKER_01 11:01

And that's only to keep somebody from putting more zucchini from their garden in your back seat. And there are other nuances of living in a small town. Ruby Giroux called it neighboring. Neighboring is when the work that needed to be done was too big to be done alone, so people came together to lend a hand. Used to be a common practice in the valley. Spring branding was one of the best examples of neighboring. I've had the opportunity to help brand at several ranches. Most of the time I was on the ground crew vaccinating, branding, or castrating the bull caps. When they did let me get on a horse to rope, it was usually a good time for the ground crews to have a little rest. One catch in every six or seven throws on the rope was a pretty good run for me. In later years, I would move to the other side of the corral fence and sign on as cook. Gathering the mamas and babies often began at daybreak, and if everything went as planned, we would begin branding soon afterward. There were, however, other possibilities than everything going as planned. One time we had about 300 pairs just ready to funnel into the corral when a few cows did not share our enthusiasm for this plan. One minute we were looking at tails, and the next minute we were looking at heads and horns. We couldn't hold them. They scattered, and the cows went north, and the calves headed south. We spent all morning rounding up the rebels, and we didn't brand a calf until after lunch. Speaking of lunch, food was always the highlight of a day of branding. Oftentimes it was a matter of sitting around on the ground by a homemade feast, while swapping embellished stories and outright lies. Other times, lunch took place at a local hangout. When we were branding at Wolf Springs Ranch, it would mean a trip to Mandela. Mandela's was the best Mexican restaurant in Gardner. In fact, it was the only restaurant of any kind in Gardner. Afternoon branding may have mucked a little slower after Mandela's, but the good conversation shared made it worth it. Neighboring took many forms. I borrowed horse trailers, bulldozers, tractors, trucks, horses, and tools. In 1975, when my sister was ill and later died, our vehicles questionable reliability. Harvey and Gene Rusk loaned us their car for ten days so that we could drive to Indiana. Writer Wendell Berry called these friends the membership of our lives. And he explained it well in his novel Hannah Culture. Work was freely given in exchange for work freely given. There was no bookkeeping, no accounting, no settling up. What you owed was considered paid when you had done what was needed doing. Every account was paid in full by the understanding that when we were needed we would go, and when we had need, the others, or enough of them, would come. None of us considered that we were finished until everybody was finished. The membership of our lives, neighbors or friends, whatever you call them, they touch some of the deep God-given needs of our lives friendship, belonging, and community. Over the years, Barb and I also have tried to share what we had, give what we could, and be there when we were needed. None of us are heroes. In a real community is just what you do.

SPEAKER_08 19:09

As the sunsets at his feet. Shine bright this evening, shine on through the night, shine till the morning. Shine on till tomorrow. Shine on for today. When we're silent, we shine bright. We live on for another day. We can shine on till tomorrow. Shine on for the day. In the darkness we shine bright. Shine bright this evening, shine on through the night, shine till the morning light. Shine on till tomorrow. Shine on for today when we're silent, we shine bright. Shine on the evening, shine on on to the light, shine. Shine Shine on When we're shine.

SPEAKER_10 21:37

Yeah. That should be loudish. No, you make that loudish.

SPEAKER_00 21:42

Can you make uh Larry's mic?

unknown 21:54

That's fine.

SPEAKER_00 54:22

Thank you all for coming tonight. Thank Larry for coming out from watching to do this. If things go well, it might uh someday be a recording of Larry.

SPEAKER_06 54:36

Well, I guess things went as well as uh as could be expected. Uh that was Harry, I believe, at the end of that uh that recording. Uh I did send Harry Tuff the recording and my remix, and he has identified himself as the engineer, uh Larry Sandberg as the artist, and longtime musical author and partner to Dick Weisman uh on the folk music encyclopedia. Uh the recording was done sometime in 1970 at the Denver Folk Core Center. Sounds like Larry just got off the plane, and um he was exploring Denver as a relocation place, and I guess that worked out as well. And uh the rest, my friends, as they say, is history. Like so many others who passed that way in Denver, uh, I know that I came through Denver, and the first place that I was told to go was the Denver Folk Core Center, and I met Harry Tuft and uh the and and company, I should say, a lot of really good people. And uh recently I uh shared this song with Harry Tuft. You're listening to Folk Heroes on Community Radio. My name is Richard Arnold Beattie.

SPEAKER_08 55:51

Another weird traveler moving on Seen so many others pass this way another weary, Jones drift with a distant song, might have coming long of you stay there you are at the corner of seventeenth and pearl of the many portraits you could pay for the many places I was turned away, I found through the kindness of my friend on a Wednesday night we in line to pay you play the evening alone there was Willie Jen is Dorser, and the good humored man with an angle and pursuit There you are at the corner of seventeenth Empire, all the many portraits you could paint, but of all the many places I was turned away, found upon true kindness of us, turn up the disguise of the eat this while And perhaps we all are travelers, perhaps we're alone, perhaps we are similar, but you always made me feel at home walking these crowded streets again, all many other many they don't see the beat one like a real friend, and here I am walking these temper streets again, all the many, but like all the other orphans with no place to go, you still provide the kindness of a friend traveler moving on, seen so many others pass this way, Jonesmith Drift with a distant stone, light of coming along of people stay there you are at the corner of seventeenth and pearl of the many portraits you could paint all the many places I was turned away, I found the hold through the kindness of my friend on a Wednesday night we did line to pay a pleasant evening there was Willie J and there's Dorset Man and the good human man with an angle in pursuit at the corner of seventeen pool of the many poetry to paint, but of all the many places kindness and we need this one, and perhaps we all are travelers, perhaps we're all perhaps we are lost to millions, but you always make me feel these proudest trees again. You still provide the kindness of a friend.