News: Country music singer Doc Williams, who left coal mining as a teen to play in beer gardens and became a star radio act with his wife on Jamboree USA, has died. He was 96.
In Memoriam
When ever an asset to the culture dies, those who remember shim "should" tell what they remember. I loved Doc Watson and here I'll tell of a close encounter with him. In 1957 or '58 my buddy and I agreed to run the Si Como No Mexcian artifact gallery on MacDougal Street for the owner while he went to Mexico to gather more inventory. Al sold original pre-Columbian pottery picked up from the ground around the pyramids. He also carried Mexican-crafted sandals, tops, pants ... His stock was damn low, we wouldn't have much to sell, but hell, it would keep me from drinking beer in the White Horse every night. Supposedly I was working: studying, taking an extra lit class in summer school: neat: Columbia co-ed for a change.
Next door was an idle basement which would soon be converted into the Gas Light. Bob Dylan would half-live there for the next several years. Upstairs next door was the Caricature coffee house. Next over, going toward Bleeker, was a string music shop: guitars, mandolins, zithers, banjo ... Sales and repairs. My buddy Alan reported being in there when some blind guy was shown a twelve string guitar. "Gee, I've never played a twelve string," the blind guy said. They handed him the axe. Right off, he blew the roof off the place. First try, sounded more like Leadbelly than not.
Doc Watson. That's right.
I didn't see it, but I almost saw it. I was only a few dozen feet away, in the Si Como No.
PS. Distinguish between Al the store owner and Al my buddy. Esquire had a great full page color pick of Al the store owner that year: Al sitting with a guitar at the fountain in Washington Square. 1958 hippy beatnik: right on Woody Guthrie's turf.
More News: Willie Mays Aikens, who went from World Series star to federal prison inmate, has been hired by the Kansas City Royals as a minor league coach.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110201/ap_on_sp_ba_ne/bba_royals_aikens;_ylt=AkA4lfd3bb7YNjKfHmQtv.QLMxIF;_ylu=X3oDMTJtamthYWUyBGFzc2V0A2FwLzIwMTEwMjAxL2JiYV9yb3lhbHNfYWlrZW5zBHBvcwM3BHNlYwN5bl9hcnRpY2xlX3N1bW1hcnlfbGlzdARzbGsDcm95YWxzaGlyZXdp
I read this line because I knew Willie Aikens at Jesup fed jail, played chess against him. I was one of the best players, Willie was a bit better (at least I never beat him, though I'd regularly get a pawn up, then fade). He regularly got trounced by a guy called "Wall Street." I never played Wall Street, arrogant bastard. I went a step out of my way to befriend Willie because I though he trounced Wall Street regularly. Apparently it was the other way around.
I'm glad I was there no longer than I was: but I also would have liked to have strengthened my game to the point where I'd humiliate Wall Street. Then again, if I got better, so too could have he: he was younger. They were all younger, by quite a bit.
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