My Old Gray Coat: Mountainhome Musings - A Preview
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Preface I didn’t plan to write this book. It evolved. As a performing musician, I learned that sharing a thought, a poem, a story helped to accentuate the mood of my music. As a concert host, I expanded my use of the written word to complement the music of others. One concert, two; one year, two years, five years, ten—the collection grew. Themes emerged. A book was born: My Old Gray Coat. I hope it fits.
MY
OLD GRAY COAT Table of Contents
Something About Freedom I know something about freedom, but there is much more I don’t know. I don’t know freedom as well as the Jews who were liberated by the allies at Auschwitz, Dachau, and Treblinka. I don’t know freedom as well as Rosa Parks, who stood against the social tide by refusing to move to the back of the bus. I don’t know the desire for freedom nearly as well as the unnamed young man who faced down a column of Red Army tanks on their way to Tiananmen Square. Perhaps They Heard A Memorial Day Salute About ten years ago I was on my way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to play for a wedding. Until I noticed the monuments and tombstones, I didn’t realize that my route took me through the heart of the Gettysburg Battlefield. It was dusk, late in the fall; the trees were bare, the air cold and gray, and the park was empty. I had a little extra time, so I decided to look around—to imagine the sights and sounds and to feel the significance of this historic place. Banjo Betsy Jacob, a middle aged man, is wrestling with his conflicted feelings about the war. The war is still young, but he has already experienced the horrors of battle. The scene begins with Jacob playing “Home Sweet Home” on the banjo. After he stops to share his thoughts, his banjo “sings” to keep him company. “Banjo Betsy” is representative of Confederate mountaineers’ motivation to fight. Betsy and I spend a lot of time together. I like having my arms around her. I like to touch her skin and run my fingers along her long, slender neck. And when she speaks, boy, it’s music to my ears. To tell you the truth, old Betsy here’s the best banjo I’ve ever had. Slaughter at Shelton Laurel The true story of “The Slaughter at Shelton Laurel” is told through a fictional newspaper story. Although most mountaineers who fought in the Civil War fought for the Confederacy, there was also a strong presence of Unionist sympathizers. Shelton Laurel is in Madison County, North Carolina, about an hour from Asheville.
There was a slaughter of Unionist sympathizers in the Shelton Laurel community of Madison County. It was mostly about grudges—and about salt. As readers know, salt keeps meat from spoiling, and without salt, folks may be left without meat during the long, hard months of winter. My Old Gray Coat “My Old Gray Coat” reflects the sentimentality of the era. If Jacob doesn’t make it home, he wants to be remembered and he wants his wife to be taken care of.
I’m Coming Home “I’m Coming Home,” alludes to the true story of Grant’s attempt to begin to heal our nation’s divide by showing respect to Lee’s defeated army. Jacob was seriously wounded in the leg near the end of the war. He is crippled. Expecting humiliation by Grant’s Army, he is deeply moved by their respect.
Dear Lorena, I have some good news. I’m coming home. Me and some fellas from over in Tennessee are headed home. I didn’t write sooner because I couldn’t. A surgeon had me confined to a cot for over a month after cutting some Yankee lead from my left leg. But my strength returns with each step towards home.
St. Patrick’s Celebration If I didn’t play Irish music and help to put on concerts, most likely, I would give very little thought to St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t recall ever intentionally wearing green when I was a kid, and I never got pinched. I do recall thinking that derby hats were cool, that dancing leprechauns looked funny, and that after St. Patrick’s Day it would soon be warm enough to go swimming. Eternal Moments Thanksgiving is between Halloween and Christmas. Christmas day is between presents and a Holy Presence. We live our lives between birth and death. We snack between meals. We succeed and fail between our fears and our aspirations. We travel between destinations. Is every moment and every place just a pause between another moment and another place? A Fountain of Blessing Hands. I see my great-grandmother’s hands piecing together old cloth to make a new quilt. She softly rocks in a dark, coal-fire lit room, skillfully pushing and pulling and planning and piecing; bringing into one, cloth of different shapes, colors, patterns, and textures.
A Full Moon on Freshly Fallen Snow A wide soft blue light gently rises up from nature’s snowy blanket and melts into the darkness of a star-filled sky.
Christmas Candy I have never been to Cleveland, but I used to love the Cleveland Browns. They had a good football team and good players. They had Jim Brown to run the ball and Lou Groza to kick it. And they wore beautiful brown and orange uniforms that looked good in the mud and snow. Suwannee River Snakes Unlike Stephen Foster, I’ve been to the Suwannee River, I’ve been on the Suwannee River and I’ve been in the Suwannee River. Mossy oak trees line the banks as the snaking dark tonic water runs from the Okefenokee Swamp, through South Georgia and the panhandle of Florida and into the Gulf of Mexico. Moving to the Mountains I remember a time when I thought I might be the only one who noticed the beauty of the fall leaves. I thought about telling others, but then I decided to keep it to myself.
The Price of Travel It’s expensive to travel these days, so why not just stay at home? I know I’m staying home more. I used to have to run all over town to do this and that: to go to the bank, to deliver articles to the paper, to go to the library, to go to a concert, to visit with friends. And now there’s little need to waste this time and expense. I can do it all on the Internet. Elementary Wonder In the second grade, I remember the Halloween Carnival at Bayview Elementary School. I remember the crowds, candy apples, and cotton candy. I remember a lot of adults wore big round buttons with a picture of a baldheaded man. The buttons said, “I like Ike.” I didn’t know who Ike was, but I remember I liked the “I like Ike” buttons and I wanted one. But I didn’t get one The Inspiration of Lloyd Lloyd Rhodes was somebody everybody in the 5 th grade looked up to—and feared. He always wore tight blue jeans, a wide black leather belt, and a dirty white T-shirt. And he had a loud motorcycle at home. I heard it one time when I was delivering papers. It was loud and scary, just like Lloyd. I never saw him in a fight. I didn’t need to. Everybody feared and respected Lloyd. The Button The thin metal strips had been wrapped around his teeth and implanted in his gums. Today, wires would be added, tightened and strung. As he was waiting for his name to be called, the music of the Drifters took him to a sunset on the beach, where a gentle breeze was blowing, where small waves were lapping on the shore, and where he was walking barefoot with his girlfriend under the boardwalk, just having some fun (sing) under the boardwalk, boardwalk.
The First Day of School Mr. Murphy arrived at Mountainhome Middle School feeling slightly out of place. For twelve years his classroom had been many different classrooms all over North Carolina, wherein he had visited and taught and departed; his classroom had been teacher conferences and banquets and seminars; his classroom had been the highway and the hotels and movie screens; his classroom had been full of long, quiet spaces wherein he pondered problems of the world and the possibility of his return to full-time teaching. Burnt Toast Some of my colleagues complained about the smell of burnt toast in the teachers’ lounge. This was soon after I decided that I’d eat my breakfast at school rather than at home. I am usually the first one in the building, so, along with my morning coffee and scan of the news on the Internet, I decided to enjoy a warm, crisp piece of jelly covered, wholegrain bread. Taking the Test Students, give me your attention...I’m waiting. Good. Notice your name and school number have been pre-marked on your answer sheet form. There are two number two pencils positioned in your pencil pouch and pointed to the left. Please raise your hand if you need pencils and the proctor will provide them for you. The Last Day of School I pay attention to the news. This week Iraq got an interim government, the president visited with the Pope, an angry man drove a bulldozer through Granby, Colorado, the economy and gas prices swung up, severe weather swept the nation, and, what had the greatest affect on me, this week, yesterday, was the last day of school for this school year. Just Tolerable As far as we know, Grandpa was a potato famine refugee and the first American branch on the Shannon family tree. Soon after he arrived, he caught the gold rush fever and headed toward the western mountains of opportunity. How or exactly when he found his fortune isn’t known, but somewhere near Carson City, Nevada the luck of this Irishman turned into a pot of gold. Travelers’ Tech Traveler: I was traveling this Thanksgiving, like I am on most Thanksgivings. My mother and my home place are in Orange Park, Florida, just outside of Jacksonville. This year, every year, that is my Thanksgiving destination. Since gas is still high and advanced airline tickets are relatively low, I flew home this year Work is Never Done Work is a place to have my name on a mailbox or a door or a seat or chair or place in line; my place to tighten the bolt, steer the wheel, answer the phone, change a tire, hoist a sail, file the mail, or surf the web; my place to sell products and skill, wisdom and worthiness; my place to sell or to share with others.
Bill Monroe Bill Monroe is widely referred to as the Father of Bluegrass. Some may wonder what he did to achieve this recognition. Some may not distinguish bluegrass from country or folk music and therefore wonder: What is bluegrass? Others may question why any of this matters. I will very briefly try to answer these questions. The Man in Black From 1969 to 1971 I religiously watched the Johnny Cash Show on ABC. After the opening announcements, he would turn and announce, “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” I listened to the man in black. The Old Gospel Ship Puberty hit at about the same time that Elvis and Pat Boone were vying for our nation’s soul. I was encouraged to avoid Elvis and to emulate Pat Boone, which is why I wore white buck shoes and secretly listened to “All Shook Up.” I liked Pat Boone and Elvis. By the age of twelve, I had lost my innocence. ************ |
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Joe Shannon is well-known to residents and tourists of High Country. He founded Mountainhome Music which showcases local and regional musicians. He has two CDs, Warmlight and A Full Moon on Freshly Fallen Snow, and he wrote a Civil War era play, Blue Ridge Blue & Gray, about the Civil War in western North Carolina, which has been performed numerous times throughout the High Country. Originally from Jacksonville, Florida, Joe Shannon came to North Carolina in 1976 in order to be close to the mountains and mountain music. His paternal great-grandfather was an Irish immigrant and his paternal grandmother was half Cherokee. “Coming to the mountains,” he said, “felt like coming home.” In addition to being a touring artist and concert producer, he has worked as a teacher in Watauga, Ashe, and Wilkes Counties. He has also taught at the University of Virginia and at Caldwell Community College. He presently teaches special education at Hardin Park Elementary School in Boone. |
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My Old Gray Coat (ISBN: 13:978-1-933251-39-4) is priced $14.95 and is available from local bookstores. It is also available on this website. at BOTH books for the price of one, shipping & handling included. |
