John & Roger
- Anthony Rowe
- Feb 15, 2022
- 23 min read
Updated: Oct 12, 2022
By Anthony Rowe
For Leslie
Author’s Note
The inspiration for this story's structure came from my lifelong love of vinyl rock 'n roll record albums. I've always loved the way songs capture moments, and I love how an album brings the moments together to create a whole.
Though I love music, I have no musical talent, so my album has no music, only words, but please feel free to hum along as you read.
Like the record albums I grew up listening to, my album has two sides. Side One has five short vignettes, and Side Two has six.
Each of these 11 vignettes tells a part of a story, and together they create a connected narrative.
So if you are old enough to remember placing an album on a turntable, you can blow the dust off of an imaginary stylus, drop the needle, and start the album.
If you are not old enough to remember placing an album on a turntable, you can always Google the experience.
Thank you for taking the time to read my album.
Side One
A Text
“Nice idea us going together.”
- Leslie
Without much thought, I tapped a few buttons and pressed send. A text message took off on an instantaneous cross-country journey of thousands of miles from a house outside of Chicago to a phone resting on a counter in Northern California. Invisible radio waves moved at impossible speeds and caused invisible wheels to begin turning imperceptibly.
The text was sent to my sister on a weekend morning in February of 2018. I had been scrolling on my phone when I came across a concert promo announcing that John Prine's "The Tree of Forgiveness" World Tour would be coming to the Chicago Theatre in April, so I forwarded it to her.
Leslie and I have shared a love of John Prine for most of our adult years, which is a lot of years. Over those lot of years, she and I talked enthusiastically on numerous occasions about going to see him in concert together one day. But even as those words of possibility would come out of our mouths, we each understood the reality - it would never happen. Why? Because of…schedules…responsibilities…obligations… and a mutually shared hatred of cramped and torturous airplane travel.
So, on that February weekend morning, I continued our longstanding tradition of futile suggestions and sent her the promo via the aforementioned text.
She responded within a minute, "Are you going?"
Smugly smiling to myself, I replied, "Yes. Wanna join me?" Here I was, playing our game once again.
A few minutes passed, and then, "Nice idea us going together. Need to think about it, check calendars, etc."
Huh?!?!?!
I expected a "Wish I could, but..." or a "Sorry but I…" or an "I can't because…" not a "Need to think about it."
The part of me that understood the rules of our game began typing a response, letting Leslie know I was only joking, but another part of me detected a shift in our patterns, and I stopped.
So instead, I tentatively typed, "It would be great if we could see him together."
A few seconds later, "That would be fun."
One lighthearted, impulsive text had changed a long-time, understood fiction into a possibility, and the invisible wheels that had begun to imperceptibly turn upon the transmission of that first text began to move with a faint perceptibility
What’s So Great About John Prine?
Well I got some
Gold inside me too
You Got Gold
John Prine
John Prine has an acute eye for the absurdities of life that most of us are too busy and distracted to notice. His whimsical observations and clever wordplay crack me up, but then, a verse or two later, he will break my heart with his understanding of the inner lives of lost and forgotten souls. When I listen to John Prine, I feel I understand the world a little better, one song at a time.
Strong beliefs and understandings swirl inside of me, but it can be a challenge for me to articulate them to others. I feel the truth, but if I try to explain their importance to others, I can fumble or get too esoteric, or the person I'm talking to just doesn't care, which flummoxes me even further.
When I listen to John Prine, he offers me the words I've needed. My core beliefs about living life - family, friendship, laughter, faith in myself, and compassion for others - are all in his songs, sometimes all in one song. In the worlds he builds, people aren't pretending or putting on airs or closing doors. In his world, we walk through the doors to hear unvarnished truths. The rooms are bare, and the lives can be desperate, but the people are honest, smart, funny, and resilient. John Prine respects and understands the challenges people face and what they have to do to get by.
I marvel at the mysterious power of a gifted songwriter. He sits with a guitar, a piece of paper, and a pencil, alone in a room, conjuring up stories and images that will reach out to the ears of people who need to hear them.
And when two people discover they have a true love for the same gifted songwriter, the connection is powerful, otherworldly even. My sister Leslie and I share this true love for John Prine.
Our shared experiences have led to similar world views, values, and grievances over our lifetimes, and John Prine gets us.
So Leslie, what's so great about John Prine?
It's his heart. You can feel it when you look at him, when you hear him. He's got gold inside of him. It just goes to my soul. He's helped me get through a lot of bad times. The stuff he's writing about is bad, but the method is upbeat, and it fills your heart and rejuvenates you.
That would seem to be enough to encourage her to put up with the misery of a plane flight and come to Chicago to see John Prine with me, but it had never been enough in the past - she would just wait and see him when he came to San Francisco a few weeks later, and then we'd compare notes. So, something even more powerful than John Prine was pulling Leslie toward Chicago.
Leslie & Me (circa 1964)
Leslie and Me
In 1962, when I was two, Leslie was seven, and our brother Tom was nine, our parents divorced. From that point on, we lived in homes where the adults were angry, overwhelmed, incapacitated, or all of the above. Our father's house was in the comfortable Chicago suburbs, where tensions and conflicts were kept behind closed doors to avoid messing with the idyllic images of family life presented to the world. Our mother's apartment was in Chicago's Old Town neighborhood, the beatnik center of Chicago in the mid-sixties, where personal problems were masked by public faces of defiance and merriment. For years, my big sister Leslie looked out for me as we went back and forth between these two worlds.
John Prine often writes about people who have been dealt a bad hand and learned how to make the most of the life they have been given. That was my childhood with Leslie. Life kept presenting those two kids challenge after challenge, but somehow she and I survived it by relying on one another. Life was heavy, and there was not much laughter under the watchful eye of our oppressive mother and the palpable dislike from our stepmother, but on our own, we laughed at others with one another.
I think that is why we each like John Prine so much. He looks at the world with a truthful eye, sees the pain in people's eyes, and understands what brings out the glint in those same eyes. I think many fans see themselves in the characters John Prine writes and sings about, and they feel comforted by him.
Some say there are very few things we can't laugh about with time, and I think that is because we survived. Surviving is a great feeling, it's a release, like laughter, and it's at the root of the rooting we do for John Prine's struggling characters - we want them to survive.
Many people in his songs can laugh at their situations, but those who can't are presented with compassion, and we are asked to look out for them.
I believe Leslie and I are drawn to John Prine because we see ourselves in his songs. We feel the struggles as we laugh and cry while we listen.
So when Leslie said she'd think about coming to Chicago to see John Prine in concert, I knew a big part of her thinking was the connection she and I had with each other and with John Prine; but we'd had that in the past during all of those times we talked of seeing him together but didn't. So there was something else motivating her, and, deep down, I knew who it was.
Me, Roger, and Leslie (April 2000)
Roger
My Uncle Roger, my father's youngest brother, lived about five miles from me, and at the time of the initial John Prine text, he had been struggling with dementia.
Uncle Roger was a shining star in our lives. Our childhood was filled with tension due to our dad's divorce, but Roger had a way of cutting through the pressure with a joke and a smile. It was as though Roger lifted up the children and motivated the adults to behave.
My brothers, my sister, and I all loved our Uncle Roger, and he loved all of us, but he loved Leslie just a little bit more, mainly because she loved him a little bit more. When the two of them were together, they would crack each other up, telling stories and jokes, and causing the rest of us to roll our eyes and smile. As we became adults, their relationship continued to grow, and he would
light up whenever he saw Leslie, much as we had when he showed up during our childhood.
I used to be envious of Leslie's closeness with Roger, and I remember the moment that the envy went away. It wasn't monumental. We were just sitting in the living room during a family gathering, and I sat back and watched the two of them closely. They talked to one another, sharing smiles, eyes lighting up, and it became clear that what I was witnessing needed to be celebrated, not envied. It's hard to explain but clear to the eye.
Now and then, one of my brothers would call me and ask me how Roger was, and I would tell them they should call Leslie. She lived 2,000 miles away from Roger, but she knew more about Roger than me, the one who lived 5 miles away. I'd get caught up in my life and lose track of Roger, but Leslie never did. She called him regularly, and she always knew how he was doing.
In the months before I first reached out to Leslie about seeing John Prine, Roger had been deteriorating both mentally and physically, and I knew Leslie was worried. So even though Leslie's first response to my concert invitation surprised me, had I been thinking clearly, I would have known that it was the opportunity to see Roger that made our previously empty John Prine proclamations a possibility.
A ticket from a previous John Prine concert (back in the days of paper tickets)
Concertgoing
Within two weeks of my text, the wheels were rolling. Leslie committed to coming to Chicago to see me, John Prine, and Roger (not necessarily in that order). Now it was time to discuss who we might invite to join us.
When choosing a concertgoing partner, I have evolved over the years. I used to think of going to a concert alone as the act of a loser who was unable to convince anyone to join him. However, over the years, I've come to understand a few things. First of all, going to a concert with a trusted partner is always the best experience - one who shares sensibilities and approaches music with an open mind and an open heart. My second choice used to be any warm body because that's the way it's supposed to be.
But over time, I've come to lament bringing people who were not as excited as I was about the band we were seeing. It was no fault of theirs. The fault lay within me - I'd feel responsible for their enjoyment which affected my own.
There's nothing worse than taking someone to a concert, and then, once the show is over and we're walking out, I turn to the person and can see they were underwhelmed. My inner voice wants to yell, "What's wrong with you?!?!?" but I hold it in. I wish I were a strong enough person to keep someone else's opinion from dampening my enthusiasm, but I am not. To be clear, the other person has every right to their opinion, no matter how wrong it may be, but didn't this person see what I saw?
Didn't this person hear what I heard? So I sulk for a few minutes as we leave the venue, take a few deep breaths, and try to remember that this person is my wife.
By now, you understand that John Prine is in the upper stratosphere of concertgoing experiences; and the higher I hold an artist in esteem, the more particular I am about an invitation. So the pool of qualifiers was a very short list, and after two unsuccessful invitations, that list was depleted.
Then, I thought about Kay.
Kay is a member of our family. She had been dating my dad for twelve years at the time of his sudden death over twenty years ago. Though there was no marriage and no legal document, we understand that she is and always will be, for better or worse, a member of our family for the remainder of our days.
I didn't know if Kay had ever even listened to John Prine, but I did know one thing about Kay - she is an appreciator. Kay has proven herself to be open to new experiences, and she is amazed by true talent when she sees or hears it. So I invited her because I knew she would see and hear John Prine and would understand. When I asked her later why she had accepted my invitation, she replied quite simply, "Because you invited me."
So we had our concert crew - me (58 years old), Leslie (63), and Kay (75). It was time to buy the tickets. As I sat down in front of the computer, I thought about Leslie flying in from California to do something she and I always knew would never happen. I also thought about the fact that we hadn't been to a concert together in years, which led me to acknowledge that we weren't getting any younger, as a voice in my head said, "We're talking about John Prine!!!" Not just any ticket would do in this particular situation.
I logged on to my ticket broker website. Immediately, I ruled out the balcony. I figured the 20th row was as far back as I was willing to go, so that's where I started. The tickets for rows 10 through 20 were between $75 - $125, which, while pricey, was worth it considering the occasion (see above). Just for fun, I looked to see what the seats closest to the stage were going for, and there…in the front row… Row AAA...were three seats, $238 each. Why $238? Not sure.
That's a lot of money for a ticket to a concert. So my brain quickly shifted into rationalization mode:
Leslie traveling 2,000 miles. Not getting any younger. Rare opportunity. John Prine.
My most effective rationalization tactic is to go big, big, big picture. For example, when I try to get my wife to spend a couple of hundred extra dollars on a piece of furniture, I'll say something like, "Audree, do you think you'll be on your deathbed thinking, 'If only I hadn't spent that extra $200 on that ottoman 20 years ago!'"
I did some quick calculating. $238 x 3 = $714 (plus the inevitable fees) + Leslie + not getting younger + rare opportunity + John Prine = “Submit.”
Leslie, Kay, and I were going to see John Prine in concert at the Chicago Theatre on April 27, 2018, and we'd be sitting in the front row.
Did I think for a moment that I would regret spending that money? No. Did I end up regretting it? Please read Side Two to find out.
Side Two
Nine Miles Long
On the morning of the John Prine concert, my one preparation was choosing a t-shirt for the evening before I left for work.
I have a few John Prine t-shirts from previous tours, but my favorite is the one from the Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings album tour in the mid-1990s. I love the design (see above), I love that album, and I still have specific, happy memories from that evening all those years ago.
The shirt took on new meaning when I wore it on August 4, 1995, the day our first child, Olivia, was born. The shirt was there with me while I helplessly offered Audree ice chips as she endured hours of torturous labor before Olivia finally emerged. Why did I pick that shirt on that day? Because it gave me comfort, and I needed comfort because my wife was beyond comforting.
On the day of the concert, our daughter was 22 years old, and I'd gained at least a pound for every birthday she'd celebrated, which is why I hadn't worn the shirt in a long time. I'd kept it mainly as a souvenir. As I opened my closet that morning, I hoped to wear it to the concert, but I had my doubts. After a couple of tugs, some stretches, and a few contortions, I was able to squeeze myself into the shirt.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The shirt looked like an army green sausage skin wrapped around something plump and meaty. As I stood there pondering in front of the mirror, I faced a tough decision. Would self-respect, pride, and common decency lead me to put it back in its proper place in my closet? Or would nostalgia spur me on to go out in public wearing my beloved- but-two-sizes-too-small John Prine t-shirt? Memories of John Prine and my newborn daughter led nostalgia to victory. I threw the shirt in the back of my car and headed off to work.
While I was at work, Leslie and Kay spent the afternoon with Roger and his wife, our Aunt Marcy. The four of them sat in the living room, relaxing on the couches, eating popcorn, and catching up. Leslie had a great time telling them about John Prine's new album, The Tree of Forgiveness. When she got to the song "When I Get to Heaven," she broke into the chorus:
'Cause then I'm gonna get a cocktail
Vodka and ginger ale
Yeah I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long
I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
Yeah this old man is goin' to town
When Leslie got to the third line, she began, "I'm gonna smoke a cigarette…" then she stretched her arms out as wide as she could, looked up at the ceiling, and belted out, "that's NINE MILES LONG!"
As Leslie sang, Roger watched her intently, and when she spread out her arms and sang about that cigarette that's NINE MILES LONG, his eyes sparkled, and he broke into a wide grin. When Leslie finished, she and Roger looked at one other, and he quietly asked, "Nine miles long???" and they burst into a familiar shared laughter.
When Leslie and Kay said goodbye that evening, Leslie felt positive. Roger and Marcy were doing well. Roger was forgetful, but he was cheerful. He participated in the conversations; he laughed and made others laugh. As she drove away, Leslie thought to herself, "That was a good visit. They're doing well. I hope it lasts.”
Vodka and Ginger Ale
And then I'm gonna get a cocktail
Vodka and ginger ale.
- When I Get to Heaven
John Prine
We turned the corner on State Street, and there was the marquee, our beacon, guiding us towards the theatre. Fans were milling about, inching towards the entrance as we joined the back of the pack. The hoping, planning, and logistics all came together - we were going to see John Prine together at the Chicago Theatre.
Once we were in the door, we made a beeline for the bar. As we snaked along the queue towards the bartenders, an inebriated woman was standing in the lobby nearby, loudly challenging everyone who passed with the question, "What's your favorite John Prine Song?" It quickly became evident any answer that wasn't "Illegal Smile" would meet with her scorn. So why ask the question? Leslie played her game and answered with "You Got Gold," which, of course, was not an acceptable answer.
When she looked towards me, I stared straight ahead until she got distracted by another passerby.
In the song "When I Get to Heaven," before John smokes that cigarette that's nine miles long, he gets a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale. So, of course, Leslie ordered two for herself.
We entered the theatre and headed towards our seats, smiling at one another as we passed row after row after row until we got to our row, the front row. We immediately made ourselves at home by putting our drinks on the stage, and that lasted for less than 10 seconds as the usher brusquely told us to get them the hell off the stage - our welcome wagon.
The Milk Carton Kids were the opening act—two guys with acoustic guitars, harmonizing vocals, and sharp senses of humor. They were talented and fun, and we showed our appreciation with whoops and enthusiastic clapping.
While waiting for John Prine to come onstage, I leaned over the front of the stage and looked backstage to my right. Standing just inside of the side curtain was John Prine. He was alone, guitar strapped across his shoulder, staring straight ahead, not seeing (not wanting to see?) the old guy dressed in the skin-tight "Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings" t-shirt waving at him from the front row.
The first three songs were "Six O'Clock News," "Knockin' on Your Screen Door," and "Chain of Sorrow (Bruised Orange)." At the beginning of the fourth song, "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore," Leslie decided she needed to use the bathroom and stock up on drinks. She was back in time for "Lonesome Friends of Science" with a vodka and ginger ale in her hand. She sat down and neatly lined up her new drink with the other two on the floor in front of the stage. She then turned to me and said, "Amph, they would only let me get one drink." I nodded in feigned sympathy for her plight. She then asked me, "Do you think I should go back for more. They would only give me one. I think I should go get another one. What do you think?" Before I could answer, she climbed past me, heading up the aisle, intending to right the wrong. When she returned, she had two more vodka and ginger ales and added them to her collection. She looked at me and gave me a satisfied smile.
Mission accomplished. Those bartenders didn't know who they were dealing with.
Of course, Leslie accidentally kicked one of the drinks, and it spilled on Kay's purse. A few months after the concert. Leslie, Kay, and I were reminiscing about the show when Leslie asked Kay, "Do you remember when I spilled my drink on your purse?"
"Which one of your drinks?" Kay responded.
So Leslie had her drinks, the spill was out of the way, we'd adjusted to the cramped quarters, and John Prine was singing, "Grandpa was a Carpenter." Seven songs into the show and we were settled in and ready.
Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody Part 1
I ain't hurtin' nobody
I ain't hurtin' no one
- Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody
John Prine
"Hello in There" came next. John Prine wrote this song when he was 22-years-old, but it contains the wisdom of someone who had lived a lifetime. The song asks the listener to look into the "hollow ancient eyes" of a lonesome person and take the time to say, "Hello in there."
Many of John's songs live in my head and come out when needed. "Hello in There" often plays when I'm walking down a city street, and ahead of me is a person slumped against a building. My impulse is to avert my eyes, hoping I can walk by without having to feel the discomfort of meeting the person's gaze. Then the voice of a much younger, wiser, and more compassionate John Prine enters my head, singing, "Hello in there," and encourages me to acknowledge the feelings and experiences living within this forgotten person.
Song Number 12 was "Ain't Hurtin Nobody," my favorite John Prine song (a fact I might have shared with the lady in the lobby if I had thought there was any point). The song has a groove, it's funny, and has a great message - the simple idea of living your life to the best of your ability and not "hurtin' nobody." Being in the front row, I had the opportunity to express my love for the song right in front of the band. I sang every word, adding my personal touch by making a slight change to the chorus. As John Prine sang, "I ain't hurtin' nobody/ I ain't hurtin' no one," I sang, "You ain't hurtin' nobody/You ain't hurtin' no one" while forcefully thrusting my index finger towards him on each you. I wanted to let John Prine know that I knew he wasn't hurtin' nobody and also that I knew he wasn't hurtin' no one. Towards the end of the song, Leslie poked me and pointed at the bass player, who was looking at me and laughing. Maybe I couldn't catch John Prine's eye, but I did entertain his bass player. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
Our 19th song of the evening was "Sam Stone." The song is about a Vietnam veteran who turns to heroin and includes the powerful and poignant line, "There's a hole in daddy's arm
where all the money goes." I could attempt to unpack all that John Prine conveys in those eleven words, but I think I'll let you do that for yourself.
Towards the end of the concert, we heard the familiar harmonica opening of the crowd favorite, "Lake Marie." It's a spirited break-up song. During its verses, John Prine tells the story of a past relationship that had its moments but didn't end well. The chorus interjects at the pauses, and it's a rollicking singalong with everyone in the audience calling out, "Whoa, ah-oh, ah- oh!!!" At the end of the song, John Prine asks the question, "You know what blood looks like in a black and white video?" To which the crowd responds with the enthusiastic answer, "SHADOWS!" When I listen to this song at home, I love yelling out, "SHADOWS!" but I have to contain myself because Audree hates that part of the song. However, here at the Chicago Theatre, standing in the front row with my sister next to me, there was no holding back.
All in all, we were often loud and occasionally entertaining. Sure, maybe I could have contained my big body and big feelings a little bit for the benefit of those sitting near us, and, sure, maybe Leslie didn't have to yell to John Prine how much she loved him quite so many times, but really…we wasn't hurtin' nobody, we wasn't hurtin' no one.
Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody Part 2
What’s that???
- Leslie
We weren't hurtin' nobody, and we weren't hurtin' no one, but we were in the front row. We'd never been in the front row before, so when we got excited, we acted like we would typically act at a concert if we were sitting in the 20th row or the balcony - wanting to be heard and not realizing our voices were so big and so loud up close, front and center.
For the encore, John Prine brought out his older brother Dave. John Prine's wife Fiona rolled Dave onto the stage in a wheelchair. Once Dave was in place, John Prine told the audience that Dave was the one who taught him how to play the guitar. We were excited to meet Dave. He joined the band, playing the violin on "Paradise," one of John Prine's all-time classic songs. "Paradise" tells the story of a special town from John Prine's childhood that was hauled away by "Mr. Peabody's coal train." It's a classic John Prine tale of living in a heartless world driven by commerce. When the song came to an end, Leslie and I yelled out our shared appreciation for Dave. As Fiona rolled Dave off stage, they went right by us, and Dave gave us this look that asked, "Why are these people yelling at me?" Leslie caught Fiona's eye and received a less-than-positive look.
The one thing that a John Prine fan never, never, ever wants to do is upset Fiona. Nobody is more important to John Prine than Fiona, and Dave is also clearly high on that list, so here Leslie and I offer an apology to Fiona and Dave:
We are so sorry. We didn't mean to alarm. We were genuinely excited about your family coming together to sing "Paradise," but we got a little carried away. Please know our reactions came from a place of love.
After "Paradise," the concert was over. The applause died down, the lights came up, and people began grabbing their coats and shuffling up the aisle toward the exits. A young woman weaved her way through the crowd towards the stage. When she reached the stage, a roadie came over, bent down, and listened to her.
The roadie walked away, then came back, leaned over, and gave the woman the setlist for the concert. A setlist is a sheet of paper that lists the songs the band will play, usually taped to the floor in front of the singer. For the true music fan, acquiring the setlist is gold, the ultimate accomplishment.
I knew about the importance of the setlist, but as it turned out, Leslie did not. When I pointed out the setlist to Leslie, she turned, looked at it, said, "What's that?" and grabbed it from the woman, scrunching the corner in her hand. The young woman gave Leslie a horrified look. I quickly talked Leslie into loosening her grip, and I appeased her curiosity by letting her take a moment to look over the setlist. Then I gently took it from her, smoothed it out, and returned it to the incredulous woman.
When we got out into the lobby, Leslie realized she had left her brush under her seat, and she needed to get it, but the usher told us we couldn't go back into the theatre. We'd had a few vodka and ginger ales, and the usher didn't quite understand what we were asking or know what to make of us. Eventually, she must have seen that we were harmless (just loud), and she let us go back in.
After Leslie got her brush, she went off to the bathroom and returned with an injured hand. All we got of the story was that the line for the women's bathroom was too long, so Leslie went to the men's room and hit her hand on something. Now she was hurt, but not too hurt to keep her from enthusiastically walking up to a life-sized cardboard cutout of John Prine, putting her injured hand on his cardboard shoulder, and exhorting me to take a picture. Many in the lobby turned and gave us disapproving looks. In a moment of clarity, the thought hit me that all of these people were John Prine fans. So I announced to all, "She ain't hurtin' nobody, she ain't hurtin' no one." Most smiled, turned back around, and let us be who we were.
Though our excitement may have occasionally boiled over and affected other concertgoers, in the end, we celebrated our love for John Prine and one another to the best of our abilities, and we didn't (really) hurt nobody.
Goodbye, Roger
“Hello in there.”
Hello in There
John Prine
Leslie flew back to California the morning after the concert. The Friday after Leslie's visit, Roger fell and was moved out of his apartment and into a convalescent home. Over the following months, Roger deteriorated, both physically and mentally. He became a ghost of the tremendous spirit he once was. When I visited, I did most of the talking, feeling uncomfortable because I didn't know what he could understand, but knowing it was important to keep talking.
Amid my talking were moments when a story from our shared past caused his head to lift in recognition. He would respond with a quiet and raspy voice that was hard to understand, but then I looked into his eyes, and there he was! It was Roger, with an unmistakable glint in his eyes, and even though I could not understand his words, I knew he was there with me. Hello in there, Roger, hello.
Leslie did not talk to Roger again after our concert weekend. She called Marcy regularly but could not call Roger, could not hear his reassuring voice, and could not laugh with him. He faded away from those he loved before he died, and we all had to face the fact that this man of hope, this bringer of laughter, this spirit lifter was indeed leaving us. Then, in early December, I received a call from his daughter, Betsy, telling me Roger was in hospice. Betsy was there with her father until the end, which came on December 8, 2018.
Leslie was so grateful she had that time together with Roger that weekend in April. It was a visit that would not have happened had it not been for the spontaneous text that caused those invisible wheels to begin to turn. Leslie thanked me for making it happen, which is nice, but I had no conscious thought of anything actually happening when I sent that text. I was amusing myself and playing a game with my sister. It was an invitation that was supposed to die in the moment. Instead, it took on a life of its own, creating its own purpose, and bringing Leslie and Roger together one last time before it was time for him to go.
Goodbye, John
Six million seven hundred thousand
And thirty-three lights on
You'd think someone could take the time
To sit down and listen to the words of my song
Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody
John Prine
A little over a year after Uncle Roger died, the coronavirus hit the United States. Many did not (or would not) understand the seriousness until it was too late. In the early stages, I had no connection to anyone who had COVID, which made it feel distant and out of reach. Then news came that John Prine had contracted the virus. He had recovered from cancer twice, so he was at high risk. Word spread that he went into the hospital, and the reports about his status were foreboding.
Though Fiona was at her husband's side when he died, she hadn't been allowed to be with him for much of his time in the hospital. Visitors were not allowed, not even family members, not even a wife, leaving a man loved by so many alone in a hospital bed. If all of John Prine's fans had been able to visit him, there would have been a line wrapping through the city blocks of Nashville and spreading out across the state of Tennessee. The line would have continued from there and woven back and forth across the borders of each of the United States. People traveling from all over the world would have come to stand in that line to have a few seconds to look into John Prine's eyes and say, "Hello in There" and "Thank you."
Well over six million seven hundred and thirty-three lights were dimmed by John Prine's death.
When people ask Leslie if anyone in her family had contracted COVID, she responds by saying, "Yes, John Prine died of COVID."
Our connection to John Prine had always been there, but now it had been cemented by our evening at the Chicago Theatre on April 27, 2018, where we enthusiastically, and sometimes clumsily, expressed our love for him throughout the night.
In a little over a year, we lost two great lights, two great souls, in Roger and John. Two men who brought hope, laughter, and understanding to the lives of people who desperately needed them. Two men for whom the mere mention of their names brought wide smiles and sparkled the eyes of those who knew them. One was famous to the larger world, while the other was famous to the people of the world he graced.
We miss John and Roger, and we will never truly get over their deaths, but they live on in pictures, in songs, and in the stories of the times we spent together.
Comments