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R.I.P. Doc Watson

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The great Doc Watson has passed away at the age of 89. He played the guitar and sang, but mostly he took possession of songs and fixed them with a translation that others could only admire and hope to imitate.

Doc Watson became blind around the time he was one year old, the result of an eye infection. But Doc Watson did not allow blindness to restrict him. I gathered some notes about Doc Watson for Trial Balloon in May of 2010. They still apply.

He was an expert in flatpicking and fingerpicking guitar techniques. His influence among players of traditional and popular music is impossible to measure. Among his many honors, Doc received the National Medal of Arts from President Clinton in 1997.

But far greater gifts came from Doc’s father, who hand built a banjo for his 11 year old son. Watson told Fresh Air’s Terry Gross that his dad …

“… showed me a few of the old time frailing or clawhamer style banjo tunes. And one day he brought it to me and put it in my hands and said “son I want you to learn to play this real well. Some of these days we’ll get you a better one. It might help get you through the world.”

General Dixon Watson’s dedication to helping his son ‘get through the world’ led to another important moment. When Doc was 14 his father assigned him to do some work with a crosscut saw – a risk many of today’s hyper-protective parents wouldn’t take with their sighted children. Doc told an interviewer for “Bluegrass Unlimited” …

“He made me know that just because I was blind, certainly didn’t mean I was helpless.”

And it helped develop a useful skill. Doc and his younger brother cut and sold scrap wood to a local tannery to make some money. Doc used his share to buy his first mail order guitar from Sears Roebuck.

Years later, a music store proprietor in Boone, North Carolina offered to help Doc get a better guitar, a Martin D-18, by cutting the payments to five dollars a month.

As Doc told Terry Gross …

“At that time I was playing at the little fruit stand and a little bean market that they had at Boone and makin’ me a few shekels on Saturday. Havin’ a good time a pickin’. I paid for the guitar that summer. He got me that thing at his cost – and it cost ninety bucks. And I paid for it. Lord I was proud of that guitar. But in all truth, compared to my guitar now it was like frettin’ a fence. It was really hard to play.”

Doc Watson made the best of what he had to work with. If you didn’t already know the story you wouldn’t look at that early handmade banjo or the Sears mail order guitar and guess that a blind boy might pick them up and with time and talent, become a national treasure.

Watson also told Terry Gross in that interview that he considered leaving the road and the music business when his son Merle died in 1985, and would have if Merle hadn’t come to him in a dream and urged him to keep going. Good thing, or we’d have lost 27 years worth of music.

What talent or skill would you like to be able to practice all the way to the very end?

54 thoughts on “R.I.P. Doc Watson”

  2. Rise and Shine Baboons!

    I think I have two: I’ve always said I would like to garden to the end and take my last breath in the garden. I love cutting and and arranging the flowers I grow and would like to do that until the end, a flower clutched in my fist. The second is artwork. I’d like to be sculpting or fashioning a pastel drawing to the end of my time. Robin posted a beautiful poem at the end of yesterday’s blog that fits this topic, too. It is about living until one dies and incorporating each day and all the past fully. Take a look.

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  3. My favorite Doc Watson tune is Black Mountain Rag, a tune that Doc used to develop his guitar style. This is a good video. Be sure to listen to the last part, where things get lively (it reminds me of “Star Wars” when Hans Solo hits the switch to go into hyperspace).

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jc63T-AEjGs

    Thanks, Dale, for the link to the Terry Gross interview. I think it is the second-best musician interview to air on NPR.

    Doc Watson was a sweet, humble man, a man whose gift for life matched his gift for the guitar. You can’t have too many of those, and we are richer for his having been here.

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  4. Having no talent even remotely distinguished enuff to follow Doc, I’d like to say that at the end I would like to remain cleaver and be able to appreciate cleaverness in others.

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    1. did you know the beav is on daily at 8 and he is little right now? yesterday was the one with old man merkle and the paper route.

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    2. I share that goal. It doesn’t take any physical skill that might wane with age. It would indicate membership in that select population that is described as “sharp as a tack” into one’s dotage (or, in this case, into one’s cleavage).

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  5. To be perfectly honest, I’m afraid I don’t have a particular talent or skill, but I make up for it with enthusiasm! I love to cook, and am pretty fearless in the kitchen. The best thing about kitchen failures is that you can eat your mistakes (usually!) and the evidence is gone, though I have to admit the occasional inedible meal. My theory is that if you use good quality, fresh ingredients, there’s a limit to how bad things can get, no?

    I’ve been fortunate enough to hear Doc and Merle Watson play together a couple of times, and when Doc played at the Cedar in 2010 I was there. Didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to hear Doc one last time. The thought of Doc and Merle playing together again is enough to make wish there is a heaven, and if there is, I bet there’s some pickin’ and grinnin’ and singin’ goin’ on there today.

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    1. i didnt go to hear doc at the cedar because i heard he was fading and it was going to be a sad event. i should have known better. i saw him play a couple of times and never enjoyed sitting back and letting it soak in as much as with doc. kaufman union and the old cedar if i remember right. he was such a nice man who was just there to share his gift.

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  6. doc has long been one of my favorites. the way his playing is just so naturalit sounds like it effortlessly intertwined with his brain. he and greg brown. my brother is a meticiculous guitar player http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/pauljones
    and he used to give me flack because i wanted to play like doc with the music rolling of the end of my fingers sounding like it was meant to be while he did finger contorsions making it sound like the stuff he was doing was natural when you can tell by listening that it was never meant to be. he got real good at his stuff and i still have guitars in my life to and the way i play is a bit like docs 2 finger style except it takes me 3 fingers to accomplish it.
    i enjoy the heck out of guitar playing and singing. i used to leave the guitar in the case and pull it out when it struck me, then i heard if you leave putters all over the house you will start practicing your golf as you walk down the hall and become a better golfer. i tried it with guitars, if you leave guitars all over the house, you pick em up and become a better guitar player. i especially enjoy seeing my kids pick em up and work em a little and then set em back down again.
    i feel a bit like the guy on martha stewart one time who was there as a beer aficionado and she asked him if he had to choos one beer to drink for the rest of his life which oe would it be and he responded . if i had to choose one beer to drink for the rest of my life i think id kill myself.
    i have a little problem with my wife, or she would say she has a little problem with me. i leave stuff out that i am sure to get back to in just a little bit and when i get back it has been cleaned up and put where it belongs. sometimes it takes me so long to figure where it belonged that by the time i find it again i forgot that i was after a fulfilling moment of artistic interaction. cooking gardening painting drawing woodworking listening to tunes and people discussing interesting ideas, books to read… mile to walk before i sleep. geeze its 730 and i feel like im two hours in the hole already.
    .

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    1. tim, this trick only works part way with me; I have the ukelele and banjo sitting right there but it’s hard to take the time to really do anything with them. And I really should tune them more often…
      My son has installed a pull up bar in the bedroom door; he’s heard to get good at pull ups you have to have the bar there and use it every time you walk by.
      I haven’t seen him using it but I’ve used it a few times.

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    2. tim, your brother is a talented guitarist in his own right, and has a lovely voice. Sure, he’s no Doc Watson, but who is? I think your assessment of his playing may be tinged by a bit of sibling rivalry, is that possible?

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      1. I meant my assessment as a compliment. I meant the stuff he does is not natural it is the result of intense work like a Chet Atkins vs a doc Watson who sounds like he is whistlimg

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  7. When I am really old, i want to be able to whip up a fabulous pie or some fancy pastry and amaze everyone. I also want to keep gardening and putting up garden produce.

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      2. I made a rhubarb pie on Sunday using my home rendered lard and butter in the crust. it is maybe the best pie I ever made. I know you are a vegetarian, but that crust was wonderful.

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  9. Good morning. I heard Doc Watson play twice when I was a student living in Indiana, once at a folk music show at Ball State and the other time at a blue grass festival in Bean Blossom. I attended those shows with Norm Carlson who was also a student and who had a large collection of old time string band music and older country music. Also he was the president of the Bill Monroe fan club and had a radio show devoted to old time music and country music. I suppose Doc played a big role in bringing the great musical traditions that my friend Norm admired to a wider audience.

    Gardening is the activity that I would like to continue to do up to the end of my life. I’m not much of a singer and can’t play any musical instruments, but listening to music has been a big part of my life and I would like continue to listen to all kinds of music right up to the end of my life.

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      1. I was at Purdue and we had to drive across the state to go to the concert. I lived in Indiana for about 15 years. We moved from Indiana to Minnesota In 1980.

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  10. Love all these renditions this morning. Thanks baboons!

    I have so many things that I still want to be doing right up until the end. Can you call reading a talent/skill? I think if I had to give up everything else, I would still like to be able to read. In the garden. With daughter. Oh, and with a cat on my lap.

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  11. Count me in the baking camp. Enough of my sight and faculties left to see that I am getting flour and not sugar, that I am not getting egg shell into the batter…I can smell when things are about done, but a toothpick is still about the best way to see when a cake is cooked through. Plus, I’m far less likely to lose a finger baking than I am playing with power tools.

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  12. Sing, and dance – a tall order if you’re talkin’ about till the very end.
    Gotta run, more later. Have a beautiful day, Baboons.

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    1. Yup, singing and dancing until they kick me out of the choir or off the dance floor. (I just found a video of myself dancing from a couple of years ago and I’m glad I dance with those who appreciate all skill levels. I do need to lose the clunky sneakers)

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  13. I was feeling greedy and selfish not wanting to imagine not being able to garden, bake, carry wood, walk, enjoy music, be there for my mentees as they meet and change their little places in the world while I wait for the tipping point on this earth—the one where common sense and kindness begin to rule. But, if I whittle it down, for my own joy, I want to be able to read and write poetry, then to listen to and enjoy poetry, and at the very end still be able to see poetry in the world around me. I guess it boils down to, I don’t want to lose my mind. Great question, food for thought in my garden today.

    Thank you for Doc’s music today. Doc did well without his sight. I do not think I will use my saws if my eyes go.

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  14. I told this story in one of my earliest TB blogs, but it is appropriate today so you might forgive me the repeat. My guitar teacher in the late 60s had a helper named Bob (last name forgotten). Bob and his buddies performed a few gigs at the West Bank’s famous Scholar coffeehouse. Bob claimed to have been there when Doc Watson met Bill Monroe. It is Bob’s story, and I can’t vouch for it.

    According to Bob, Bill Monroe was not a bad fellow, but growing up in poverty had given him a competitive edge. He was a tough old rooster who felt protective of his turf. This blind guy was introduced to him as one of the fastest pickers alive, so Monroe set out to put Doc in his place. He invited Doc to play along with him. The tune Monroe picked was “Rawhide,” the melody he’d used for years to show off his speed on the mandolin. Monroe and Doc set off at a blistering pace while the rest of the Bluegrass Boys looked on in wonder. When he saw that Doc was keeping up with him, Monroe played faster and then even faster. “It was like there was smoke pouring up off their picks,” said Bob. Doc was able to stay with the father of bluegrass, no matter how insane the tempo was.

    Doc’s style in normal circumstances was not show-off fast but clean and relaxed. He never slurred or buzzed a note. A guitarist’s guitarist.

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    1. At the Blue Grass festival at Bean Blossom which I attended, Doc played a duet with Bill Monroe on stage. By that time I suppose they knew each other and were more interested in playing well than in playing fast. I don’t remember what they played, but I do remember that they did a good job of playing together.

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  15. As a kid, my mother made me practice piano at least two hours every day (it felt like five). Piano playing had also been her “gift” growing up, so it was one of those legacies that was supposed to be passed down. From the time I was tiny, I fantasized about having a white baby grand piano one day. More than two decades passed in which I didn’t go near a piano. Very depressed in my 40s, I was put on Prozac for a few years until one day I decided I didn’t need it any longer and simply stopped taking it. What happened next (as I’d later learn) was a drug-withdrawal induced mania!
    I honestly thought I could do anything & be anything I wanted, including becoming a concert pianist with a lot of practice. During this time, we badly needed a better used car, so I withdrew all our life savings ($7500) a took off to find a new car. Unfortunately, the route to the dealership took me right past a Schmidt Music Store. I stopped, walked right toward a white baby grand and said, “I’ll buy this one!” This was indeed my “grand Prozac moment”. The mania subsided in a couple of weeks, but the piano would last forever.

    This beautiful instrument now sits in my living room, facing out over Crystal Bay. I recently had it tuned for the first time in a decade and ordered some familiar sheet music online (Claire de Lune
    and the Moonlight Sonata) which I long ago played with ease and joy. I now try to “practice” without a critical mother standing over me, my goal being that when a friend or grandkid begs me to play for him/her, I’ll finally be ready to inspire the joy of music once again. It’s so difficult to relearn now and hard to believe that a 10-year old could mesmerize an audience so long ago.

    (I’m fussing about having shared this story before – if so, my apologies!)

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    1. Cb, you have told that story before, but it’s a good enough story that it bears repeating. I’m glad that you’ve recently had the piano tuned and that you’re once approaching music with joy. Practice, practice practice.

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  16. Whew, finally finished yesterday’s project so I can respond at last! Sorry I missed yesterday’s topic; usual post-holiday rush. I’d also want to be able to read for as long as possible–I really wonder what the last book I ever read will be (naturally, I hope it’s a really good one, and that I don’t miss out on the ending). Following onto Nan and her love of poetry, I aspire to be like the Zen haiku masters who composed great poems on their deathbeds. I’d really like to come up with a zinger, life the universe and everything in 17 syllables. I’ll have a tough time coming up with something as good as Basho’s last poem, of course:

    on a journey, ill/my dream goes wandering/over withered fields

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  17. I hope to be gardening with the rest of you, as well as doing some baking.
    The thing that I am really hoping for though, is to have the eyesight and manual dexterity to do all the intricate needlework I don’t seem to get to sit still long enough to do now.

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  18. I have no skills to practice to the end. I used to torture guitars, but compassion finally led me to sell my guitar so it could live with someone else with a little bit of musical dignity. I never could garden. I’m a better cook than some men (but not many . . . just the ones who think heating a can of something is “cooking”). My singing voice has the effect on music that Kryptonite has on Superman.

    Nobody will ever sadly note that I have “lost it” in my old age, as I never had it.

    I just hope I can go on writing letters to friends near and far, letters that communicate my affection for them and occasionally bring a smile.

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  19. I don’t think of them as “skills” so much as personal dreams and obsessions. Gardening, and the eyesight to keep reading/knitting/needleworking to the end, and some time to play piano again after 40 years of neglect would be my choices. Why else would I keep dragging my grandma’s upright grand piano to one house after another if not to rise to the occasion one day? Maybe start with the first piece she taught me, “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows”. And I also have her Chopin music books.

    Most of all, I don’t believe you have to be highly accomplished at something to enjoy doing it. If you like baking pies or playing the mandolin eventually you’ll probably achieve some competency as well as a whole lot of pleasure. So many American children seem to go through a phase of “fear of failure” or making mistakes, of looking incompetent or dorky. I always told my girls that, yes, you will likely always know someone who can do (whatever) better than you, but that’s no reason not to dive in and enjoy it to the utmost! Your natural preferences and skills will eventually sort themselves out, but don’t censor yourself before even trying or putting yourself on the line. That’s a surefire way to miss out on the best things in life. I couldn’t have predicted that one would become an accomplished Scottish highland dancer and the other a Minnesota Roller Girl!?! Watching your children make their own choices is fascinating, hair raising, mind boggling at times.

    OT, Sherrilee, how’s the hay bale garden growing? Everything in my yard is twice as big as it would normally be at the end of May!

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      1. Yes 🙂 Have you ever been to a bout? Something to look forward to in the big city, Jim 🙂 Bring your ear plugs!

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        2. Two years on Atomic Bombshells and two years on the Garda Belts. In the first minute of her first bout she was shoved and broke her shin badly in two places (still has a titanium rod in her leg), but went on to skate for 3 1/2 more seasons. Her injury prompted some revision in the course layout. Lots of gals come and go every year, get married, have babies, various interruptions. There’s a group of them that still get together almost weekly, lifelong friends, I’m thinking. An interesting bunch of women — artists, lawyer, social workers, school counselor, waitress, etc. They pay their own way, uniforms, track rental, insurance, etc. and sponsor various charities every year. And contrary to the Raquel Welch image, there are lots of rules governing this sport, and it IS a sport. These women are incredibly fit and strong. I had fun sewing uniforms for some of them which are no doubt in the rag bag by now. It was an entertaining time for our whole family 🙂

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  20. Good Evening–

    I spent the day thinking about this and now realize I had mis-remembered the question. I was thinking it was ‘What do you want to die doing?’ and I kept thinking if I died driving the tractor that would create a whole series of other problems what with the tractor off in the trees or at the bottom of a ravine.
    Or to die sitting at a light board? Or falling off a ladder? Phooey.
    Ah, but what do I want to DO until the end? Well now… that’s a better question.

    I hope I can keep designing lighting to the end. When the colors are just right and the fade is just right, well, I am just filled with immense satisfaction.

    Farming is nice; but it would have to be the end of the season to make the circle complete. Crops harvested and ground all plowed, first snow storm and feeling all snug in the house… and then just slip away.

    Speaking of farming, I have finally got everything planted. I had to keep an eye out for fawns hiding in the tall grass of waterways. Scared out three of them in the last week. Never had that problem at planting time before.

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