Post by Chase Lane on Sept 5, 2014 13:55:17 GMT -6
I'm going to digress before I get started...
Other posts have mentioned Pop or Pops. This one mentions Dad. Two distinctly different people, whom I love more than words can do justice.
Now to our story... eventually.
I wonder how many younger children know who Stephen Foster was, or heard/sang his songs, or other songs like Polly Wolly Doodle and Sweet Betsy from Pike. Thank goodness for Scouts and Camps, as I am guessing that may be children's only exposure.
When my brothers and I were young, we got a lot of everything in the way of things that are now folklore. I say things, as it wasn't just music. It was history, too. We sang WWI songs, like K-K-K Katy, many of Foster's songs, and some of the stuff I mentioned above. Not just because of family, but schools, too. I knew several George M. Cohan songs before I was five, but I also listened to mom's stuff, falling in love with Del Shannon, Bobby Vee, and Brenda Lee. Some time before my twin brother and I were three, I recall us singing the whole song All Alone Am I, hugging each other while mom put on her makeup. I guess we knew she was going somewhere.
Okay, but where is the Whiskey?
Dad was a salesman, who eventually became president of a large division of Pet Inc., the milk people. Dad's business was printing. Many of his customers were in Kentucky, where the finest of whiskeys come from. Hint: It's the lime water.
We would get to travel with Dad, mom, and his boss (and family) to Kentucky every so many years. In Owensboro I got to meet the Medleys of Medley Bros. Distilleries. Even got to sample some mash when it was in a very yellow state. We would more often go to Louisville and down to Bardstown. In Bardstown we dined at places like the Old Talbot Tavern, where Daniel Boone and Washington Irving stayed.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Talbott_Tavern
This was before the fire, so we got to see most of it as it originally was, bullet holes in the wall, etc.
Dad's boss (along with the rest of us) would get to go to My Old Kentucky Home Country Club. The place was very Lake Tahoe (sixties) like on the inside. Had a nice pool on the outside, and most fun were the slot machines. I believe the two were penny and nickel. As young kids we would cadge change off of dad, order French Fries and say "Put it on [name excluded] bill." When we saw it later the pool had been ignored, the slots gone, thanks to some governor that probably put them up in his house, and things were a lot quieter. Still, it was a thrill. We would get to see The Stephen Foster Story, which has been put on in Bardstown continually since Shakespeare visited Hawaii or something. I still have a music book of Foster's from back then. I didn't understand a lot of his story, but I sort of got that his end of life was sad. Dad, who could always explain things in nice terms, said something to placate my curiosity.
Digression ahead: Besides all of the songs and stuff we learned from mom and dad, dad would spend time before we went to bed, reading devotions and praying with us. I can even remember one of the devotions and the illustration that accompanied it. Probably because it hit home, even back then. It's dad's strength of Christian Character that has gotten me through some pretty rough times in life.
Now, back to our story:
There was also visiting My Old Kentucky Home, where anecdotally Stephen Foster spent some time. He certainly was writing about it in the eponymous song. This full circle of the story, surrounded by all of the historical spots, made me a nut to always dig deeper.
When I got married, my wife and I spent our honeymoon in Louisville and Bardstown, by then, housing the Whiskey Museum. We ate at the Talbot, saw all the Foster things, and then sat in the middle of town Pharmacy where you could still enjoy an ice cream soda. What a lovely town. Had I the misfortune of another childhood, I would not know of such things, nor be a Stephen Foster nut now.
Foster's final years were filled with some drink and sadness, but he never forsook his love of his Creator. Where most people read that he was in dire straits they overlook the reason. All of his royalties were sent to his wife and child. Foster showed his heart when he stopped some unfortunate from a beating, and received a beating himself. On at least two of the five photos of him you can see his facial scar.
Today, some people know him by one of his songs that both Springsteen and Joan Baez sang. If you listen to the recordings, many are sung by some parlor soprano with all of the joy of jock itch. Even Nelson Eddy, who sang over twenty of his songs, had a voice a little too rich, though I am certain that's how many of his songs were sung in some parlor somewhere.
Enter Tom Roush: Tom has an album and some of Foster's songs on YouTube. He brings a Twainsian feel to them, as if sitting my a babbling brook, imagining all of the words that Foster wrote, and their meaning. Foster wrote Beautiful Dreamer as one of his last songs. His words of twilight speak of what's beyond this earthly existence, something many of his songs envisioned. Foster had a delicate and gentle mind, one filled with the silliness of life and the glory and beauty of what is to become. Old Black Joe sings respectfully of that hard life of a slave who has gone on to his glory and the gentle folk before him. I got mad when I listened to Paul Robeson's rendition, changing black to man. Where is the shame of glorifying someone who was black and reflective of his mortality? Foster used some words early in his career that he would not have used later on, but for crying out loud! Should Joe be ashamed of being black and earning his well deserved rest?
This is Tom Roush's rendition of Beautiful Dreamer. It's speaks of the gentle twilight to come, and is the most beautiful version of this song that I have heard. Even beats dad's clunking it out on the piano. Tom's website is musicoftomroush.com/ You can get his CD's there, even songs like Sweet Betsy and Polly Wolly Doodle. He is also on Amazon MP3 and iTunes.
I wrote this article for a few reasons:
I hope to keep alive Stephen Foster's memory and music, as Tom is also trying to do.
Because I wanted to share some things I felt interesting that I feel few people even notice today.
I want to share a dad, who has been a big man in many worlds, but the biggest in my heart.
Love you, Dad.
DRB
Other posts have mentioned Pop or Pops. This one mentions Dad. Two distinctly different people, whom I love more than words can do justice.
Now to our story... eventually.
I wonder how many younger children know who Stephen Foster was, or heard/sang his songs, or other songs like Polly Wolly Doodle and Sweet Betsy from Pike. Thank goodness for Scouts and Camps, as I am guessing that may be children's only exposure.
When my brothers and I were young, we got a lot of everything in the way of things that are now folklore. I say things, as it wasn't just music. It was history, too. We sang WWI songs, like K-K-K Katy, many of Foster's songs, and some of the stuff I mentioned above. Not just because of family, but schools, too. I knew several George M. Cohan songs before I was five, but I also listened to mom's stuff, falling in love with Del Shannon, Bobby Vee, and Brenda Lee. Some time before my twin brother and I were three, I recall us singing the whole song All Alone Am I, hugging each other while mom put on her makeup. I guess we knew she was going somewhere.
Okay, but where is the Whiskey?
Dad was a salesman, who eventually became president of a large division of Pet Inc., the milk people. Dad's business was printing. Many of his customers were in Kentucky, where the finest of whiskeys come from. Hint: It's the lime water.
We would get to travel with Dad, mom, and his boss (and family) to Kentucky every so many years. In Owensboro I got to meet the Medleys of Medley Bros. Distilleries. Even got to sample some mash when it was in a very yellow state. We would more often go to Louisville and down to Bardstown. In Bardstown we dined at places like the Old Talbot Tavern, where Daniel Boone and Washington Irving stayed.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Talbott_Tavern
This was before the fire, so we got to see most of it as it originally was, bullet holes in the wall, etc.
Dad's boss (along with the rest of us) would get to go to My Old Kentucky Home Country Club. The place was very Lake Tahoe (sixties) like on the inside. Had a nice pool on the outside, and most fun were the slot machines. I believe the two were penny and nickel. As young kids we would cadge change off of dad, order French Fries and say "Put it on [name excluded] bill." When we saw it later the pool had been ignored, the slots gone, thanks to some governor that probably put them up in his house, and things were a lot quieter. Still, it was a thrill. We would get to see The Stephen Foster Story, which has been put on in Bardstown continually since Shakespeare visited Hawaii or something. I still have a music book of Foster's from back then. I didn't understand a lot of his story, but I sort of got that his end of life was sad. Dad, who could always explain things in nice terms, said something to placate my curiosity.
Digression ahead: Besides all of the songs and stuff we learned from mom and dad, dad would spend time before we went to bed, reading devotions and praying with us. I can even remember one of the devotions and the illustration that accompanied it. Probably because it hit home, even back then. It's dad's strength of Christian Character that has gotten me through some pretty rough times in life.
Now, back to our story:
There was also visiting My Old Kentucky Home, where anecdotally Stephen Foster spent some time. He certainly was writing about it in the eponymous song. This full circle of the story, surrounded by all of the historical spots, made me a nut to always dig deeper.
When I got married, my wife and I spent our honeymoon in Louisville and Bardstown, by then, housing the Whiskey Museum. We ate at the Talbot, saw all the Foster things, and then sat in the middle of town Pharmacy where you could still enjoy an ice cream soda. What a lovely town. Had I the misfortune of another childhood, I would not know of such things, nor be a Stephen Foster nut now.
Foster's final years were filled with some drink and sadness, but he never forsook his love of his Creator. Where most people read that he was in dire straits they overlook the reason. All of his royalties were sent to his wife and child. Foster showed his heart when he stopped some unfortunate from a beating, and received a beating himself. On at least two of the five photos of him you can see his facial scar.
Today, some people know him by one of his songs that both Springsteen and Joan Baez sang. If you listen to the recordings, many are sung by some parlor soprano with all of the joy of jock itch. Even Nelson Eddy, who sang over twenty of his songs, had a voice a little too rich, though I am certain that's how many of his songs were sung in some parlor somewhere.
Enter Tom Roush: Tom has an album and some of Foster's songs on YouTube. He brings a Twainsian feel to them, as if sitting my a babbling brook, imagining all of the words that Foster wrote, and their meaning. Foster wrote Beautiful Dreamer as one of his last songs. His words of twilight speak of what's beyond this earthly existence, something many of his songs envisioned. Foster had a delicate and gentle mind, one filled with the silliness of life and the glory and beauty of what is to become. Old Black Joe sings respectfully of that hard life of a slave who has gone on to his glory and the gentle folk before him. I got mad when I listened to Paul Robeson's rendition, changing black to man. Where is the shame of glorifying someone who was black and reflective of his mortality? Foster used some words early in his career that he would not have used later on, but for crying out loud! Should Joe be ashamed of being black and earning his well deserved rest?
This is Tom Roush's rendition of Beautiful Dreamer. It's speaks of the gentle twilight to come, and is the most beautiful version of this song that I have heard. Even beats dad's clunking it out on the piano. Tom's website is musicoftomroush.com/ You can get his CD's there, even songs like Sweet Betsy and Polly Wolly Doodle. He is also on Amazon MP3 and iTunes.
I wrote this article for a few reasons:
I hope to keep alive Stephen Foster's memory and music, as Tom is also trying to do.
Because I wanted to share some things I felt interesting that I feel few people even notice today.
I want to share a dad, who has been a big man in many worlds, but the biggest in my heart.
Love you, Dad.
DRB
