Authors: D. P. Macbeth
None of this mattered to Aaron. He would never recover his memory of Gallipoli other than the surreal exchange of rations across no man's land. Still unconscious when he was lifted onto a British hospital ship, the doctors quickly determined that his arm could not be saved and took it off at the shoulder. His broken leg was set and encased in plaster. A thorough inspection of his head wound determined that a single piece of shrapnel had burst through his scalp. For this wound there was nothing to do but dress it. Therefore, a large swath of bandage encircled the top of his head covering the right eye. The most pressing concern was his coma. After consultation by telegraph with more experienced physicians in Sydney, it was decided to simply watch and wait in hopes that consciousness would eventually return. A young nurse was assigned to monitor his condition as he lay in traction among fifty others in the ship's topmost ward. It was several weeks before Aaron regained consciousness. Fortuitous, because the most acute pain from his severed arm, broken leg and pierced skull had passed.
Jimmy took the northern route to Burlington, again staying on back roads and letting the Saab out whenever he hit a straightaway. At Highgate Springs he turned south, linking up with Route 89, the north south highway that wound down from the Canadian border through Saint Albans and beyond to the Champlain Valley.
Tim Rash came to mind when he saw the sign for Swanton. That's where they met for the first and only time although it was Rash who later set the professional path Jimmy eventually took. They shared the stage in Swanton's old railroad station that had been converted into a restaurant and bar. It was owned by the father of one of Jimmy's classmates who invited him to play one night six months after Kevin Royce's death. Rash was the headliner, a tall good-looking folk singer from New Hampshire, ten years older with a few recordings under his belt. Between sets they shared a beer at one of the tables.
“Like your sound,” Rash told him.
They chatted on and off during the night. Rash was a minor legend in the North Country across Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont and southern Canada. He had a soft brooding style, unrushed. He got his start in Cambridge at Club 47, later renamed Passim, where his contemporaries, Maria Muldaur, Joan Baez, and Joni Mitchell performed before hitting it big. Rash went a different route, content to craft his music, unconcerned with money or fame. Despite the one meeting, it was Rash who urged Skip to seek Jimmy out. Later, it was a note from Rash with a referral to Passim's manager, Pinky Kiel that sealed Jimmy's decision to head for Cambridge. Rash left the note with Skip who passed it on with a knowing wink.
“Timmy thinks it's time you moved on.”
Jimmy read the note and the accompanying letter of introduction to Pinky. Both were short and to the point.
Jim
I suggest you take your act to the old Club 47. It's called Passim now, on Palmer Street in Cambridge. Summer is when they audition new talent for the fall. Pinky Kiel is the manager, a bit gruff but knowledgeable. I've enclosed a note for her. You won't earn much so a day job will be necessary
.
TR
The note to Pinky Kiel was even more succinct:
Pinky:
Have a listen and give Jim a shot
.
TR
Jimmy never heard of Passim. Skip merely opened his palms, equally unfamiliar. “Some place Timmy used to sing at in college. That's all I know.”
He struggled for a week, debating whether to leave or stay. Peggy would soon be back from Dartmouth. His plan, all along, was simply to stay the summer and deal with his future in the fall. He had decided to stay when the call came that his father had died.
He found a mindless textile job in North Chillingham and lived at home with his mother for a year. The job and its hours worked perfectly into his plan. He wasn't looking for a career. He intended to take Tim Rash's advice and pursue a gig at Passim. The other benefit was the tedious work. As each shift went slowly by, Jimmy passed the time creating melodies in his head.
Pinky Kiel was a short, plump woman in her mid thirties with a serious look that meant business. Her black hair was cut short, pixie style. Her most noticeable feature was her bright, pink face.
“So you know Tim?” she asked, looking up from Rash's note.
“We shared a stage in Vermont.”
“Okay. Let's see what you can do.”
She led Jimmy from her tiny office, through the back corridor and into the main room. It wasn't much, a bare space with small tables positioned tightly in front of a floor level performance area, just large enough to accommodate a small band. A stool stood in the center where the previous night's last act, a single, had left it. Jimmy spotted a console piano against the back wall. Passim was a Cambridge, Massachusetts coffee house, originally opened in 1958 as Club 47 because it resided in a failed antique store at 47 Mount Auburn Street. It moved to Palmer Street in 1963. In 1969 its name was changed to Passim.
Pinky took a chair in the middle of the floor and waited while Jimmy removed the Gibson from its case. Her stare made him nervous as he swung the strap over his shoulder and checked the tuning of each string.
“You should have done that before you came in.”
Jimmy looked up embarrassed. Then he remembered Tim's description. He decided to play
Lulu
. It seemed appropriate to do something she hadn't heard before. He did the song in Kevin's up-tempo style, wishing furtively that his friend were there to back him on the drums. Pinky sat expressionless, watching his mannerisms as he played. When the song ended she said nothing and folded her arms across her chest, waiting. Jimmy wasn't sure what to do, so he copied her and waited as well.
“You got anything else?”
“One more if you want to hear it.”
“That's why we're here.”
“Can I use the Piano?”
“Roll it out.”
Jimmy put the Gibson down in its case, walked the short distance to the piano and tugged the heavy instrument to the edge of the performance area. After he put the bench in place he sat down and tapped a few notes.
“It's tuned. Let's go,” Pinky said, impatiently.
Choral Guns
was a hard melody, played loud with emphasis on Jimmy's contra-tenor voice. Its words spoke of the fleeting freedom of youth. Pinky waved her hand, ending it before he was finished.
“Okay, button up your guitar and put the piano away. Then come on back to my office.”
A few minutes later, Jimmy found her seated behind her desk. He took the chair opposite and waited as she rifled through a desk drawer, looking for something. She spoke as she looked.
“Is that your own stuff you played?”
“Yes.”
“Got anymore?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Best get to writing some.”
“I'll try.”
Pinky stopped searching through the drawers and looked up at Jimmy. “Here's the deal. We don't pay much, just enough to cover carfare or whatever, so you get here. All the coffee you want. You start next Tuesday and then every other night after that. Be here at seven sharp ready to play. Miss one night and you're done.”
Jimmy nodded, suddenly unsure. Pinky had none of Skip's laid-back manner.
The phone rang on her desk. She picked it up and, for the first time, smiled when she heard the voice on the other end. “Charlie, hold on a second.” She laid the handset on the desktop and simultaneously reached into the drawer, pulling out a handful of harmonicas. She dropped them on the desk in front of Jimmy.
“Pick one.”
Jimmy looked at the mouthpieces. “I don't know how to play a harmonica.”
“I want you to work it into your act. It's not hard.” She pointed. “This one belonged to Dylan. That one is a Joan Baez. That other one is Tim's. Made him learn how to play it, too. He uses it when he's here. Not so often anymore.”
Jimmy picked up Rash's harmonica. It was bigger than the others, heavier than he expected. “I'm not sure it'll work out.”
“Just do it.” Pinky reached for the handset. “We're done. Remember seven o'clock sharp. No excuses. This is a business and I run it like one.” She brought the phone to her ear, smiling into the mouthpiece as she spoke. The interview was over.
During that summer and the following three seasons, marking a year, Jimmy learned more than he ever expected. It was four months before he felt comfortable with the harmonica, but as his competence grew, he found ways to work it into his songs, adding a new dimension to his act. He also wrote a dozen new melodies, well received by the regulars who kept the club afloat.
Pinky kept her distance, neither encouraging nor disparaging his efforts. She was an oddity to Jimmy, rarely responding to his attempts to make conversation between acts, but he was aware of her presence at all times. When he came to the mike she took her place at the coffee bar, paying close attention and taking note of the patrons who shuffled to the tables.
Alice appeared one night in late fall with several of her friends. He saw her taking notes at her table out of the corner of his eye. Although only a sophomore at McGill, she was already writing for Roundtop, a Canadian pop music magazine. He looked for her when his set was done, but she was gone. He knew her departure, without a word, signaled her response to the way he'd done the same to her sister six months earlier.
One night in early February, Pinky summoned him to her office before his first set. “When you're done I want you to head over to BZ for an interview with Dick Summer.” She said the words with a straight face, seeming not to notice when Jimmy's jaw dropped.
Dick Summer was the overnight anchor on WBZ AM radio, taking over from the hugely popular Bruce Bradley, who held down the six to eleven spot. Together, the two DJs owned nighttime radio in Boston. While Bradley played the top thirty, Summer dove deeper into the folk-rock genre that was still a popular mainstay in the Boston area. His sleepy eleven to five shift was perfect for the format he preferred, long periods of music interspersed with live interviews and few commercial breaks. Through the years, Jimmy listened to him adroitly handle the most eccentric personalities of the day. Often Summer
coaxed them to perform live without thought of remuneration and many debuted new releases, bantering back and forth with the prominent DJ in hopes of a plug. Summer's endorsement carried much weight. Jimmy recalled the legends introduced in those quiet hours after midnight, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Odetta and many others. To be a guest on the same show filled him with a mixture of pride and unworthiness. He did not belong in their class, but he was thrilled with the honor.
Summer in person was no different than he was on the air, an unassuming man with a soft enticing radio voice that coaxed unexpected revelations from the people he interviewed. Jimmy was calmed quickly by the veteran radioman's charm, even performing
Lulu
and
Choral Guns
live like so many others he'd heard before.
Thereafter, Passim was filled for every one of his sets. He saw many of the same faces night after night, enthusiastically applauding his songs and urging him on. For the first time in his career, Jimmy Buckman had a regular following. It felt very good.
The next months flew by with Jimmy energized by the nightly packed house. By April, he noted that there were people lining the sidewalk outside, waiting for the doors to open so they could be in their seats early for his first set. Pinky sometimes had to turn latecomers away. This, she did not like.
But, by June, the crowds thinned, as they customarily did during summer. The college students were gone home. The Cape Cod scene claimed many others. This is when Pinky went in search of new acts, using the time until September to break them in just as she had done with Jimmy the year before. Sometimes, an act would be held over for the next season, but this did not happen often. Pinky liked to keep things fresh. Jimmy figured his gig was through when she called him to come in one afternoon well ahead of the regular reporting time. When he entered her office a man was seated across from her. Pinky beckoned for Jimmy to sit in the empty chair next to him.
“Jim, I want you to meet Charlie Montez. He's here from New York.”
Charlie thrust out his hand with a smile. “How do you do?” He was older than Pinky, with graying hair. Jimmy pegged him for his late forties.
Pinky took control of the conversation. “The simple fact is you've outgrown Passim and it's time for you to think about a better showcase.”
“I'm happy here. No complaints.”
Pinky raised her eyebrows. “Really? So all your chatter about adding electric and amping your sound is just talk?”
“You said no.”
“I didn't say no. I said you need to get some accompaniment for that to work.”
“I took that as a no.”
“I can get you some backing musicians and you can plug in, but I'll tell you right now the folks who come to see you every night won't like it. Your rep around this town is set. People don't like change.”
“Are you firing me?” Charlie burst out laughing. Jimmy gave him a sharp look.
“When Pinky fires somebody they know it right away.”
“Charlie's right. You can stay, but it's not in your best interest.”
“So, what is?” Jimmy didn't like the way the conversation was going.
“Charlie?”
The older man turned to look at Jimmy. “I own a club in New York, Greenwich Village. We think you should take your act there and polish it up before a new audience.
If you want to expand I have some session guys who can back you up, percussion, keyboard, anything you want.”
Jimmy stared from Charlie to Pinky, a feeling of uncertainty overtaking his thoughts. The year at Passim had filled him with new ideas. People applauded when he sang. A growing group of regulars made it their business to be at their seats when he performed.
Lulu
and
Choral Guns
, as well as a few of his newer songs, received favorable reviews in the Boston Phoenix. Things were going well, but he was becoming restless. As his confidence grew, Kevin Royce's prediction that he would want a bigger sound proved true. He was also exhausted. His gig at Passim had gone to six nights a week, including every Friday and Saturday. His monotonous day job, followed by a hasty drive into Cambridge at rush hour, was taking its toll. He wanted to devote more time to his music, write more songs and test out keyboards and an electric guitar. All of this took practice and practice took time. Time he didn't have.