It was back in July 1981 when I was on Hog Island for the first time, making new friends and having the adventure of a lifetime, when the tragic news of Harry Chapin’s passing reached across the narrows into paradise.
Story was he was heading for a charity gig driving down the Long Island Expressway when his car somehow went out of control and ended up under a semi in a grinding crash that claimed his life.
My new buddy Kevin from New Jersey heard the news first. We went searching on the island for a newspaper for confirmation. Sure enough, there was the story right there in the most recent New York Times somebody had left behind. Kevin went on in some detail about how horrendous traffic can be on that stretch of highway. We both had to sit for a few minutes, poring over the story, hoping somehow it wasn’t true. But it was.
I guess I feel the same way about Harry as I do about John Denver. Both men wrote songs that I not only liked and could sing, but could somehow relate to. Denver wrote about finding Colorado in his ‘twenty-seventh year.’ I did that, too. Then he wrote about wild Alaska, peace in the world, the beauty of kids, and loving a woman, all stuff I knew or dreamed about. He eventually even wrote about divorce, songs I cued up when I was going through my own.
Harry, on the other had, was more of a epic story teller. His protagonists were common men, one having given up his dream of being a pilot in order to make a living driving a taxi. Wouldn’t you believe one night he picked up a fare who turned out to be his first girlfriend. After smiles and brief stories were exchanged, Harry dropped her off in her ritzy neighborhood and did the only thing he could: he stuffed the big tip she left him in his shirt -- and drove off into the night into his own, less complicated life.
Or what about Mr. Tanner? Here was a dry cleaner from my hometown -- Dayton, Ohio -- who had a lovely voice and was encouraged by his friends to go to New York City for a stage that truly fit his gift. Reluctantly he went to perform, only to be skewered by a reviewer. Devastated, he returned home, went back to work, and gave up on singing -- even to himself. His great love had become his greater pain.
Or what about the speaker in ‘Dreams go by’ who has his best girl and a whole life in front of him to achieve his dream as an artist. What happens instead? Kids. Life. Work. Time spent doing stuff not all that important in the grand scheme of things. Conclusion? Dreams are to be lived when one is young. Where do broken dreams go? Indeed.
Harry Chapin was Everyman to me. He sang in my range, told storied I could relate to, and made some damn fine music. I saw him once in concert here at Memorial Hall. A couple of great sets. I didn’t know all his work like my old buddy John did, a musician in his own right. John loved Harry’s music. Both of these beautiful men would be dead at the age of 39.
Music is a powerful element in my life. I sang in a few bands in my day, happy to find musicians in search of a singer. It started with a small band of us making music for each other’s weddings and turned into a couple of groups over a couple of decades doing rock and roll at local parties.
My old buddy, John, too, was mighty significant in the music of my life. Poor guy had a lousy voice, but loved to play. He told stories of staying up late into the night after gigs just noodling a melody of, say, an Eagles song, trying to find the chords to share with the band. As a cousin to my first wife, John often played guitar at family gatherings, whether parties or funerals. More often than not I provided the solo. Ah, those were the days.
So here I am reflecting on my 60+ years of living, wondering what kinds of great songs Harry would be writing now. Sure, he wrote of being a grandpa when he was in his thirties, but now, by God, he’d be there. John Denver, too.
I wonder what those guys would be up to now? I know my old buddy John would still be playing -- and I’d still be singing. That much I know.
Today’s Elder Idea:
Oh, if a man tried
To take his time on Earth
And proved before he died
What one man’s life could be worth
I wonder what would happen to this world.
Inscribed on Harry’s headstone
lyric from his song, ‘I wonder what would happen to this world’
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