Folk Heroes- Richard Arnold Beattie-Walking the Same Ground and Rosalie Sorrels

17th and Pearl Street, it appears to be 1968 with the "Traveling Lady" Rosalie Sorrels at the Denver Folklore Center. The theme is The Queen City of the Plains with host Richard Arnold Beattie. Then another chapter and song from Dick Jones and his book "Walking the Same Ground," with music and lyrics by Richard Arnold Beattie. That is this week on Folk Heroes. 

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

Transcript

SPEAKER_02 0:00

Folk heroes is made possible with permission from the Harry Tuff Collection and the University of Colorado and Sound Century Academy of Recordings Spirited City What I Boy Toes in the Black Long Way from Illinois I can emerge in the Queen City of the Black Here the play ball here they can stop him up Queen City I City Up they look city We've got Biss Ball Quin City Queen City Up Spa In the Queen City We City With Shrew I don't Don't I Queen City Queen City Baseball Queen City of Hello again Community Radio This is Richard Arnold Beatty, Host of Folk Heroes, with another chapter and song of Walking the Same Ground with Dick Jones reading from his book and a song from me. Dick and I will be around town performing in May and June. To find out more, email me at SoundcenturyOriginals at gmail.com. That's SoundCentury Originals at gmail.com. And then after that, we have a concert circa 1968 with the traveling woman and she rides again, the late Rosalie Sarels from the Denver Folklore Center at 17th in Pearl. But first, take another look around.

SPEAKER_00 3:03

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 snarfed 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.

SPEAKER_01 3:47

This chapter of walking the same ground doesn't actually begin in Westcliff. It's called Breakfast in a Small Town. It doesn't even begin in the Valley or Custer County at all. However, it will get home eventually. This morning I'm sitting, riding, having breakfast at the Dutch Mill restaurant in Antonito, Colorado, a small town near the New Mexico border. Antonito, originally a sheep herding camp near the Canellos River, is home to the oldest church building and congregation in Colorado, Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church, built in 1857, almost 20 years before Colorado became a state. As I drove around, I only saw two other churches in town, another Catholic and a Presbyterian. One of Antonito's claims to fame is Fred Haberline, an American muralist who grew up in Canelos County and painted several murals in Antonito. The Dutch Mill is a little cafe with a bar in the back and a few Fred Haberline adorning the walls. It's the only restaurant I found open on Main Street. I'm not sure, but it may have been the only restaurant in town. As I walked in, I immediately noticed that my cowboy hat was definitely not the only one present. I asked my waitress how long the Dutch mill had been there. She told me that she didn't know for sure, but her grandparents had run it forty years ago, and it was still in her family. The two waitresses were busy, so one of the customers grabbed the coffee pot, made the rounds, and poured refills. I am sure that this was a common and accepted practice. I had asked for an extra napkin, which I never received. I was not offended, however, as my waitress had gotten sidetracked by stopping at another table to visit, and I was enjoying listening to the laughter and stories being exchanged. In our modern day of hurry, I did not want to forget the small town restaurant protocol, there is a procedure called patience. After a while, I just went to an unoccupied table and got my own app. On this particular Sunday morning, as probably every Sunday morning, the cafe was full of people who all seemed to know one another. No one left without stopping at other tables to give somebody a hug or a handshake, visit with friends, or catch up on local news. Since I was seated near the door, everybody saw me as they left, probably thought they should have known me simply because I was there. Most of them said hello as I passed by. No sooner did people leave than others filtered in off the street to take their place. During the hour that I was there, most of the tables were always full. Finally feeling a little selfish, I left when I saw a mother and a young daughter waiting for a table. As I sat at the Dutch meal enjoying my bacon and eggs and watching others, thoughts wandered back to Westcliff in the 1970s, and similar mornings at Suzy's Cafe. Those days, Susie's, named for Susie Sanchez Logan, who was the proprietor, was the only restaurant in town. Silvercliff may have had a prospect of cafe or Silver Bell at the time, I don't remember. As were the people in the Dutch Mill, I would have known almost everybody present, and coffee refills were the responsibility of anyone with a free hand. Hugs, handshakes, and stories would have been as common as the cowboy had. Raymond and Belinda, Susie's brother and sister, may have been somewhere in the restaurant helping out or just busy. Susie's husband Danny might have been setting up for music night, and his local band, the Mountain Meadowmen, would have been playing. To be sure that the ranchers and other early risers had a place to eat and catch up on the latest Valley News, Susie opened at 6 o'clock AM. Susie's cafe didn't have an original Fred Haberline, but it did have a Thomas Hug mural of the Sangra Cristo range that filled on the wall. As with the Dutch mill, Susie's bar was in the back, separated a little from the cafe. And like my breakfast in Antonito that morning at Susie's on that day long ago, would have been filled with good food, good conversation, much laughter, and a good dose of local news. A few years ago, Barb and I were in one of the local restaurants. There were probably thirty or so people in other tables. We knew three Mary Katnick, her son Bob, and his son Tom. Mary has passed away, Bob has moved to Missouri, and I think Tom lives in Gunnison. So my restaurant friend list continues to dwindle. This is not because people in Westcliff are no longer friendly, they are. The restaurants serve good food, and the waitresses are great. I suppose it's because of my introverted nature, and then I'm no longer so involved in the Westcliff social loop. When there were way fewer people in the valley, and I was a teacher, a pastor, and a coach, I knew almost everybody and they knew me. I don't get many hellos anymore, however, as I said, this is my own fault. Maybe I need to give a few more myself and sit near the door more often. It doesn't seem possible that Susie died over twenty years ago. But on the front of the building that was once Susie's is this plaque commemorating her many years of service. It says, Susie Sanchez Logan, 1930 to 2001. If you haven't been to Susie's, you haven't been to Westcliff. Her heart, her home, haven't to send thirty children, the caregiver to the sick, the elderly, and the hungry. Susie.

SPEAKER_03 10:45

Springtime tomorrow. We welcome once again. Can't see the mountain. All I can see is one last.

SPEAKER_01 14:21

I think that many of you who knew Susie as I did will vouch for the truth spoken on that plaque. I don't know the exact year of this menu, but I think the prizes may offer a clue. In that day fifty years ago, there was a specialty sandwich served with French fries and your choice of lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles and fries for four dollars and ninety-nine cents. Apart from visitors riding the train to Chama, New Mexico, tourism doesn't seem to be particularly thriving in Antonito. And other than a family dollar and a couple of retail cannabis outlets, the town has changed very much in the past half century when there's probably three churches in the Dutch mill. On the other hand, Westcliff, which is about the same size as Antonito then, has changed considerably. Currently we have about twenty five churches in the county. Six restaurants, five coffee shops, two bakeries, four more restaurants in Soda. No cannabis yet. But we do have a family dollar, a dollar general in the subway, along with a lot more tourists and a lot more traffic. I guess this morning as I'm sitting in the Dutch mill cafe in Antonino, I'm feeling a little nostalgic because I find myself missing the days in West Life when there were just five churches and Susie's.

SPEAKER_04 18:40

I think I maybe sing you about uh three or four goodbye songs right around before I go. All kinds of goodbyes. Can't just end with a closer, you know, and I never like that much. There's harsh, bitter goodbyes. I never like those much, although I've said them sometimes. Regretful ones. And the kind you say when you intend to come back. I forgot where I was going. I've been on the road so long, I forgot where I was going. All the way back home. See when I started out, I had something on my mind. Yes, I did. When I started out, I had something on my mind my road has turned so many times now the damn thing just won away. You know I love to party, love to drink and carry on. I do I love to party, love to drink and carry on the party oh god, you know I hate to be alone I'm always on my way to meet somebody now's on my way I'm gonna meet somebody now Sometime it might be nice to have some old friend that come on home too Been on the road so long I forgot I was gone I've been on the road so long I forgot when I was gone camp on me on the way back home. I always thought this was one of the nicest goodbye songs I ever heard. I think uh Freddie Neil write this. You got to say goodbye, it seems like the sort of way you ought to say it. And if I leave you try to remember the good times warm days, all filled up with sunshine and just a little bit of rain just a little bit of rain. And if you look back, won't you try to forget all that times? All those trouble, lonesome, rain, sentence Just that little bit rain Just that little bit of rain. And if I look back on I remember all the good times one day all filled up with sunshine and just that little bit of rain just a little bit of rain and if I leave you try to remember all the good times, swamp days, I'll fill up with sunshine, and just a little bit rain and just a little bit of ray just a little bit of rain. One of my favorite ones. I learned here in Denver, I was uh God, it's been a it's been such a long time ago that the record I got this song off of was at ten inch thirty-three. That's how long ago it was. I found it in a bin in some big department store in Denver, Colorado. And it was an electric record and had this picture of this lady with her hands crossed and a lily that said, Oh, lovely appearance of death. Well, I just bought it right away. I was totally attracted to that. I can't tell you why. It was, you know, I just always like things like that. It's like Ingamar Bergman movies that really knocked me out too. And it was uh Hallie Wood. That's a really unlikely sounding name, but it's real, you know. And she she had a most incredible voice, and she sang all these songs. Somebody stole that record from me about three weeks after I got it, but I remembered every single song on there. Really fantastic album. If you ever see it, you should snap it right up. I had the greatest goodbye song in it I ever heard. That gentle gentleman. Pretty song. I think Texas Gladden used to sing this song. My dearest dear, the time has come for you and I'd apart, and you will never know, my dear sorrow in my heart. How I love you all so well I love you more, my dearest dear, than human tongue can tell my dear old mother's heart to leave my father's on my mind, but for your sake I'd go with you and I'd leave 'em all behind. Oh for your sake I go with you, dear mother, very well For fear I've never seen more why here on earth I will I wish your breast was made of glass on in a go name in the seed that I would write in letters of breakup letters of crackle, my dear, please believe what I say You are the man that I love the best until my dying day And when you're run some distance show Think on your rhapsome friend When the wind blows high clear letter to Chris When the wind blows high and clear won't you send it up to me that I may know by your hand right now with thee and my dearest dear the times come for you in thy depart you will never know my dear all the sorrow in my heart and you will never know my dear how I love you so well Hey I love you more my dearest dear in human time and tell Okay well I'm gonna end up with a song by my friend Utah Phillips, the golden voice of the Great Southwest. I really like uh Chris's songs as much as anything I ever heard. And one of the reasons I like him so much is because he writes songs that use the language that the people he's speaking to understand. That's very rare. And he wrote this song uh one time after we've been having a conversation about why we like to sing. And that is a very hard thing for me to articulate sometimes when I try to tell people what I think I'm up to. It's really nice to have a friend who can uh say that for you. So it it seems real simple. Sometimes I wonder how the simple rain can weep by the wind, a lonely child cries itself to sleep. I've envy the sunlight, the amber of its smile, and I wished it could be borrowed for a while. If I could be the rain, I washed down to the sea if I could be the wind, there'd be no more of me. If I could be the sunlight and all the days were mine, I would find a special place to shine all but all the rain I'd ever be as locked up in my eyes And when I hear the wind, oh it only whispers say goodbyes If I could have the way I feel I'd never sing again sometimes I wish that I'd be the rain if I be the rain I wash down to the sea if I could be the wind, oh there could be no more being the way I feel I never sing again sometime I wish I wish I would never stop to wonder till a person's home never seek to know him till he's traveling and when a person is around us We never stop to ask Who's beneath your mirror Who's behind your mirrors We never stop to wonder till a person's gone never seek to know him it is packed and travel three my rod and my road on a silver stream You just a platinum reflection in a movie magazine? Hey, did you ever have a headache? Did your mama own a grandma phone? Did you like to be an actress? Were you scared to be alone? We never stop to wonder till a person's gone never to seek to know him till his traveler and when a person is around us, we don't know who we're seeing. We just take a Polaroid picture to see a human being, we never stop to one a person's gone, never seek to know him. There is Pat a travel on sweet, your beautiful Jesus on a painted crust, you got a poly staring body, and a superficial gloss. Hey, were you jealous of your father? Were you short when you were fully grown? Did you like to walk on the water? Were you scared to be alone? I think perhaps tomorrow I'll try and make a friend and I really get to know him instead of pretend. I'll ask him, do his feet hide, has he burdens to be shared? And if he doesn't walk away, I'll ask him if he's scared. Yes, and if he doesn't walk away, if his eyes don't turn to stone, I'll ask him if he's scared to be low. Holy stand aversion to an absolute thing for you. I think it really, really inventive and use things like the anvil chorus. Give me the gristly part. Wasn't that a hell of a thing to do? To give me to choose the gristly part. Altogether of all of those songs, my very favorite was also from a kid singing in the bathtub. It was Wilcott Gibbs kid. Wilcott Gibbs was a well-known theater critic, intellectual. He sneaked up to hear what his kid was singing in the bathtub, wrote it all down, put it in the New Yorker, and said he thought it was the handsomest literary effort of the year. And Pete Seeger wrote a tune to it, and I don't think I probably have the tune right by now because it's been years since I heard him do it. But it is the ultimate kid song. It contains all those elements I was describing. Those kids who sneak off and make songs up about those people who are gonna sing those dumb songs to them, like they don't have any better sense than to know what the hell a rooster says when he's sitting under a greenberry tree. He will not do as he is told. He will not do anything at all because he does not wish to. You know I'm awfully fond of my head about the cat, and she had lovely things to say about children like Archie, she used to say to the cockroach who wrote the book. Archie, what have I done to deserve all these brats? The eternal struggle between life and lot is wearing me out. Sometimes I think the kindest thing to do would be to carry them over to the river and drop them in. What a mother's love, Archie. It's so unreasonable. Something always keeps me from doing it. Okay, well, if you're gonna have anything to do with babies, you must know two kinds of baby rocking songs. One is called the benevolent baby rocking song. And it is for when the kid is behaving well and waving its toes around, gurgling and cooing and being cute. They do that on purpose, just to disarm you. The next thing they do is they turn purple and scream all night and won't stop no matter what you do. And people who do not know or have forgotten say, oh, they're teething. They do that on purpose, too. For them, you need the hostile baby rocking song. Can't survive. Every culture has a hostile baby rocking song. It's nothing to be ashamed of. The Basques have a nice one where they say, Listen, it's time to go to sleep now. And if you don't, the bear will come through the window and eat you. If you remember Jean Ritchie, who sings sweeter than anybody in the world, she would sing, Every time my baby cries, stick my finger in the baby's eye. So this is a medley of the two kinds of baby rocking songs. And I will start with a benevolent baby rocking song because I prefer babies that way. In fact, I'm a regular baby freak, as I said before, and they know it. There's an island way out in the seas. Where the babies, they all grow on trees. It's jolly good fun to swing in the sun, but you have to look out if you sneeze, you sneeze. Have to look out if you sneeze. Oh, you have to look out if you sneeze, or swing in a flaring breeze. If you happen to cough, you might very well fall off and tumble and flop on your zone. Come on and flop on your knees. And when those stormy winds wail, and the breezes blow high in a gale, then there's the funny just hopping and flopping and dropping, and fat little babies just hail there. Fat little babies just hail, and those babies lie there in a pile, and the grown-ups come after a while, and they're always fast by then babies that climb they take only babies that smile. Smile, take triplets or twins if you'll smile. Alright, it's uh 5 30 in the morning. That kid is not quit crying now for six hours. You're breaking out in a cold sweat. You know all those other kids are gonna get up in one half an hour. They are gonna demand cereal, peanut butter sandwiches, and milk. And you forgot to get milk. Okay. All the paragoric is gone. It's gone because you drank it. It's not bad that way. You put about 12 drops of it in the uh water. It tastes like anisep. Chill it a little. That's good. Lice, huh? Well, you've got to let that stuff out of yourself. You can't keep it bottled up, or you get weird and punch the baby and you can't get away with that. Get you every time. Give you a big ticket. You'll feel rotten. So you take the baby, smile sweetly, rock it firmly. Do not use a rock. Sing in a sweet, motherly voice. Your favorite hostile baby rocking song. This is mine. I learned it from my grandfather. He got it from Ethel Barrymore, who sang it when she was touring with Captain Jinx of the Horse Marines in the early uh part of the century. I don't think my grandfather meant the same thing by it that I did. Oh, this is the day we give babies away with the half a pot of tea. Knowing the ladies who want any babies, send them around me. This is the day we give babies away with the half a pot of tea. You open it and you take out the kid with the written guarantee. This is the day we give babies away with the half a pound of tea. It's a lullaby too, I thought I'd sing that one here. It's uh it's a dialect song. I don't usually do those because I usually think people who naturally have them sing them better than I do, but you're not likely to hear it often, and it's beautiful. It's a working class uh woman from Aberdeenshire lamenting uh the fact that the place where she lives has become so overcrowded that uh there's no opportunity anymore for the people to live as they should have on the land. Aberdeenshire in Scotland. Uh so the men must go to work in the mills and the mines. I'm telling you this because it's uh not comprehensible. And uh the women must stay home and do the men's work and also t tend the children and and consequently uh life has become a burden. Not just in the sense of everybody dividing up the labor, but rather just there being too much and too heavy a load for everyone, so that the child is loved, but still a burden. It's a it's a sad, haunting song. The mother sings to the child, you're canny at een, which which means you're bright and alive in the in in the evening, and you're bunny at morn. The sheep in the meadow and the kaya in the corn in the body the sheep parinamad, the kaya cord, darta lion in the body bani, with a keeping another bird, the lad win hour, the last we love with a keeping other bird, the lad win hour, and the loud birdies in the bird is thumb, a very bird is in the night, an atorality is in a bird the hinder is the mami van ear to burn that lion in the lion. Okay, well I asked Harry if he'd like to hear a couple of tunes. Aha, you got that thing. And uh he said I should do what I felt like doing. And then he mentioned uh he might like to hear something new. I haven't written any songs for about three years for approximately the reason I was just singing about, which was I have all these uh kids, as I mentioned before, and I was so busy trying to stay alive that I uh I got sort of paralyzed uh writing-wise. And uh I couldn't I couldn't figure out how to support what what I said in my head about the way I felt with the chin, you know. And then one night I just heard this song. I just unlocked all the things I was feeling and out came a song, which I liked pretty well. I thought I'd sing it, and then a couple more followed, which was kind of nice because that hadn't happened for a long time. I'm a lyric freak. I basically don't think of myself as writing music, and uh however the the music supports the words. Well, what happened was I went to hear this friend of mine named Terry Garthwaite, who I just think is one of the greatest singers I know, used to sing Lead with the Joy of Cooking. And she was singing with a group called Dick Oxtot in his hot tour, and she was uh singing all traditional jazz music, and she was singing a song by Ma Rainey, and the the words to that song just uh really kind of glues uh have a tendency to compress everything into into just minuscule whirls that blow you away sometimes. They have uh a succinct kind of way of saying exactly, you know, what was in your head. And this was an Oma Rainy tune, and I I must admit that I unabashedly and unashamedly stole that tune to say what I had to say. I'm sure she wouldn't have minded. I sing your first the verse that got me admitted to me. Because I'd been there, and I suppose it paralyzed me. It's great to hear it just said so straight out that it unparalyzed me. So I'll sing that verse and then I'll sing him. Okay, Matt. I'll also tell you that I started I started out because somebody asked me this evening with uh travel lighting. But I've thought a lot about that. I think that song has been misinterpreted in its identification with the image that people project onto me because of the words they hear. I find a lot of people think that that idea that uh somebody's grandmother and the mother of five also goes around drinking real hard and uh living out on the road and not living anywhere is romantic. Now that is uh pure bullshit. You gotta know that. I have a good time a lot of the time, but I basically am uh much tied to the land I came from and often yearn for a place to return to, and the place that I want to go back to doesn't even exist anymore. Does tend to hang me up occasionally? And this song is also tied to that notion. Rang it around in a circle too. Here's what Maureen said. I had a dream last night, and the night before. I did I had a dream last night and the night before I wanna get drunk tonight, so I won't have to dream no more. Okay, here it came. I've been on the road so long I just forgot where I was gone. I did I've been on the road so long, I forgot where I was gone now. Some kind friend taught me on the way back home. See when I started, I had something on my mind. Yeah when I started, I had something on my mind. My loved time so many times I'd a dancing all the wine I know I love to party and drink and carry on. Yes, I do. I love to party, I love to drink and carry on. But when the party's over, honey now you know I hate to be alone. I'm always on my way. I'm on my way, I'm gonna meet somebody new. Sometime it might be nice to have some old friend come on home soon. I've been on alone so long. I just forgot where I was gone. Yeah, I did. I've been on a house gone. Oh my god. Oh, I don't know.