Old Timers and Heroes
"Hard times are real
There's dusty fields no matter where you go.
You may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high where corn don't grow."
- Travis Tritt -
I'd been on the farm in Wisconsin for four days and I was on my lunch break. I scratched off the silver plastic that revealed the pin number on my international calling card and sat down on the stairs with a cup of soup and a hotdog. I heard the faint connection tone and then the ringing of the phone. Timing was critical. He didn't hang around long after having lunch and I only had thirty minutes. Grandma was elated to hear my voice but I had to cut short our conversation. There was so much I wanted to tell her and she wanted to know everything but I needed to catch him in the house. It was his seventy third birthday. I heard grandma call into the house and heard him sigh before he took the phone. It was so good to hear his voice. My heart was pounding with pride. I could wish him Happy Birthday and I could tell him that I had made it to America and I'm working and doing what I said I would do. I was listening hard to hear clues in his voice. I wanted him to be proud of me, I wanted him to acknowledge that. But he beat me to it. "Are you hurting? " He asked. I said no, but I was. I had to replace plow shears the previous day and I had gotten my fingers in between a stack of new ones while offloading them at the shop. I was missing the finger nails on my right pinky and ring finger and my whole hand was swollen and bruised to the point that I could hardly make a fist. He could tell but I didn't say anything. He didn't like to talk on the phone and he was always in a hurry but we talked briefly and then, before we said goodbye, he paused, sighed and said: "Hang in there. We don't quit. Show them what you're made of and make us proud. I gotta go." By the time he'd hung up I was crying. I was missing home, I was cold and tired and I still didn't really know at the time if I would be able to complete the whole contract. I was used to working hard but I was dealing with all the fear and anxiety that an eighteen year old man could have and soon, I would get to know myself very well.
He would have been ninety one today. I still have to remind myself he is gone. He was brave, hard working and a man of his word. He is still one of my heroes. A star you can guide your ship by. He was a great storyteller and in the end I allowed him to tell the same stories over and over. He got stuck on a few in his final days and I remember every word. I miss hearing the story of his fight where he knocked out a big portuguese butcher at the abbatoir while working as a young man in the Johannesburg inner city. Like me, he had to leave home to make some money and save the farm and make a living. But he lived in the Great Depression and World War Two poverty and had never been anywhere but the farm. He took a horse into town and jumped a train with only his little bag of belongings and got off at Johannesburg station. Barely seventeen, he had to figure out how to stay alive, find a job and get a place to stay. He paid off the farm, raised my dad and took care of grandma. He was never wealthy, he lived through droughts, failed harvests and massive changes in our country. He survived a farm attack and he became a great grandfather. He was a hard man but he was honest and stood up for what he believed in. He did his best with what he had and he knew he was flawed. He had incredible humility. He was a rich man in my opinion. He died surrounded by his family without a single cent of debt. He was married to grandma for sixty four years. He taught me the value of integrity, hard work and discipline. He was great with a rifle and quick with his fists. He understood cattle and he was as cowboy as they come. I talk to him all the time. I need him more and more these days. I wish I could ask him for advice, especially now.
I am fortunate that I get to share my life with incredible characters. Men and women who live lives that inspire songs and stories that I can write and sing about. I'm grateful for the lessons and their example. I hope I can live up to the legacy of the ones that came before me.
I feel the same about my musical heroes. I have a responsibility to keep reinventing myself and to make honest and fearless art. To connect with people and tell their stories. I'm extremely fortunate to call some of the most creative and competent musicians my friends and band mates. I learn from them and I trust them with my songs. I've got the opportunity and privilege to perform in a Bob Dylan Tribute show put together by my fellow singer/Songwriter and friend Tomas Taljaard later this month and together with amazing musicians we will pay tribute to one of my greatest influences on his eightieth birthday.
Please join us if you can on the twenty third of May at the JARR BAR in Pretoria for a night of Bob Dylan songs and stories.
The cold wind outside is ripping the autumn leaves off the trees and I can feel that winter is finally here. It's supposed to be snowing in the Drakensberg this weekend and the sky is heavy with rain to the North. I think I'll have some Bourbon tonight. Kentucky Straight. One for Grandpa, one for Willie Nelson and one for Dylan.
I'll shake the raindrops from my Stetson before I come back inside and I will be thinking about the sixth of May.
JB