From Street Singer to Legend

Our Nation has lost a legend.  His name was Arthel Lane Watson but everyone knew him as "Doc."  Doc Watson died yesterday at age 89.  I first wrote about my interaction with Doc Watson in 2010 and I will repeat some of it here.

We moved from rural Burke County, NC to live in downtown Boone when I was ten.  While I would never have admitted it to my new friends (country wasn't cool), I loved country music.  Late at night my radio would pick up stations far away and I would listen to country music until I fell asleep.  I loved watching country music shows on television.

My mother had a friend (I will call her Janie) who help Mom with heavy cleaning.  They became good friends and many weekend evenings during the summer Mom and I would drive out to Janie's house in Deep Gap.  Janie played the guitar and on most of our visits Janie's porch was filled with neighbors and friends who played and sang country music.

Oh, how I looked forward to and loved those evenings.  The music made it worth every mosquito bite I later scratched.  I was fascinated with one of the musicians.  He was blind and I loved to hear him and watch him play the guitar.  He was the same man I had seen singing on the streets of Boone.  He wasn't always at Janie's porch gatherings, but when he was I sat and watched him all evening.  I especially loved the laughter and the conversations in between the songs.

Never in my wildest imagination would I have guessed that this blind musician would become a legend in my own lifetime.  The man was Doc Watson.  And as a child I often stood very near him and heard him play with Janie and the others on the porch.  Imagine.  As Doc Watson became more and more famous I began to realize what an amazing childhood gift I received in being able to listen to him and the others.

Doc Watson won numerous Grammy awards, sang with almost all the famous music stars and was presented the National Medal of Arts.  He remained a most humble man who credited his music to his blindness.  He said that had he not been blind he would have been an auto mechanic living in Deep Gap and he would have been just as happy.

Photograph from The Transylvania Times

Doc Watson was the star attraction at the Mountain Song Festival here in Brevard in 2010

Doc Watson recording.

(Photo from the Web)

Last June,  the town of Boone unveiled a life-sized statue to honor Doc Watson.  It sits on the corner of Depot Street at King Street, the very place Doc Watson used to sing.

Doc Watson and his statue

In the days of singing on the porch, Doc Watson called me Carolyn and he teased me about the time I whispered (far too loudly as children are prone to do) "Mom, he is blind."  When my mother shushed me, Doc Watson said, "Honey, that's all right.  I already knew I am blind."

I'm sure Doc Watson never remembered my name.  He never knew how much his music means to me still.  I'm fairly certain he did remember the evening songfests at Janie's house.  Maybe he even remembered a little girl who so enthusiastically sang along and clapped to his music so long ago.


The following words were written by Doc Watson and his wife Rosa Lee in the song "Your Long Journey"

God's given us years of happiness here
Now we must part
And as the angels come and call for you
The pains of grief tug at my heart

Oh my darling...
My heart breaks as you take your long journey


Thank you for the music, Doc Watson.  You will be missed by many.  Godspeed on your journey to your new gig.

You Just Never Know...

I lived in the country for the first nine years of my life. It was not a farm, but we had a cow and chickens and a huge vegetable garden. Summer days were spent working and playing outside all day. We made playhouses in the woods, carpeting the rooms with moss we gathered. We made buildings from empty cardboard boxes. We built a cemetery and looked for little dead things to bury there. We made elaborate little coffins from matchboxes and conducted funerals with great ceremony. Winter days were spent attending a small rural public school.

My father was a carpenter and also manager of a North Carolina State Fish Hatchery. The students at the small school we attended were pretty much all alike. There were no rich kids and few children of professionals. (Those students went to the "better" school in town.) Our little school was for the "country folks." I thought everyone was just like me.

When I was ten, we moved to Boone, North Carolina. At that time Boone was a sleepy little college town. We no longer lived in the country with a garden, cow, and chickens, but lived in town. Many of my classmates in school were children of college professors, dentists, physicians and other professionals. As I struggled to fit into this new society, I learned that most of my new classmates thought "country music" was somehow not "cool." Country music was the object of jokes. So, at the tender age of ten, I learned to present a different view of myself in order to fit into current society. I pretended I didn't like country music either.

In truth, I adored country music. Late at night my radio would pick up stations far away and I would listen until I fell asleep. (WCKY...Cincinnati ONE, Ohio was one of my favorites.) I loved watching the country music shows on television.

My mother also loved country music. Not as much as she loved the old hymns, but enough. She had a woman (I'll call her Janie) who helped Mom with heavy housecleaning. Janie and Mom became good friends. Almost every week during the summer, Mom and I would drive out to Janie's house in the country and visit in the evening. Janie played the guitar and on most of our visits, her front porch would be filled with neighbors who played instruments. They played and sang country music and folk music and bluegrass for hours on end.

Oh, how I loved those evenings. The music made it worth every mosquito bite I scratched later. One musician fascinated me. He was blind and I loved his music. He wasn't always at the gatherings, but when he was, I sat and watched him all evening.

Never in my wildest imagination would I have guessed that this blind musician would become a legend in my own lifetime. Yes, the blind musician is Doc Watson. And as a child I heard him play with Janie and the others on the porch.

So many years have past. And here in Brevard, the star attraction at the Mountain Song Festival is none other than Doc Watson. A winner of seven Grammy awards, and awarded the National Medal of Arts by President Bill Clinton, Doc Watson still performs, although much less often than in the past. The Mountain Song Festival was held this past weekend and Steve Martin (yes, THAT Steve Martin) made a surprise appearance, playing the banjo with the Steep Canyon Rangers. But the person everyone talked about was Doc Watson.


(Courtesy photograph from The Transylvania Times.)

Doc Watson does not know my name. He does not know how much his music means to me. I'm certain he remembers the evening songfests at Janie's house. And maybe he even remembers a little girl who so enthusiastically sang along and clapped to his music on Janie's porch all those years ago. You just never know...