Eric Von Schmidt - A Remembrance On His 90th Birthday
Today would have been Eric Von Schmidt's 90th birthday. He was one of the original members of the late 50s-early 60s folk scene. While the main focus on the scene often seems to be on New York's Greenwich Village, there were other centers of activity, including Cambridge MA. Eric was instrumental in the operation of Club 47, the main folk club there. If he did nothing more than provide a place for travelling musicians to stay when they passed through, his place in history would have been assured. But of course, he did much, much more. He had put in a lot of time researching the blues at the Smithsonian Institution, and was a walking repository of knowledge in the genre. He was a personal friend of most of the key performers of the folk revival. And he was a dear friend and mentor of mine. (And yes - he played mandolin. )
For much of the mid-80s to the mid-90s I was playing in a jug band based in the New Haven CT area, Washboard Slim And The Blue Lights. Indeed, I hung that name on our fearless leader, as both parts of that moniker were obviously accurate - he was slim, and played washboard, as well as harmonica, and soon brought a small drum kit into the act as well. Also in the band were Howard H. Horn on washtub bass and jug, one of the few people I've worked with blessed with perfect pitch - a big plus when those loosey-goosey instruments are your task - the late great James Velvet on rhythm guitar and vocals, and the extraordinary Miss Dee on vocals and percussion. The estimable multi-instrumentalist Brooks Barnett would join the band a few years hence. Slim and HHH had been in another jug band previously, and wanted to start another one, with more of a concentration on blues than the usual novelty tunes. I got tapped because of my experience in that genre, as well as swing music, from my two previous bands. We soon became known throughout the Northeast, and were doing gigs all over the region. If someone wanted a jug band for their event - yes, it happened, including a couple of weddings - they pretty much had to call us.
Sometime in the late 80s Slim learned a few things about Eric: he was alive; he lived in Westport CT; he had a listed phone number. So he called him up, to see if he would like to do a few gigs with us. He had been semi-retired from music, devoting his time more to painting and illustrations, in a way carrying on his father's heritage, Harold Von Schmidt having been an accomplished illustrator for The Saturday Evening Post and other publications. But the notion of playing old-time style blues intrigued him, and he jumped at the chance. We had great fun together, and this turned into a much longer-lasting association than originally conceived, continuing for nearly a decade.
In addition to our gigs, we had several unusual experiences. We made an in-studio appearance on the Sunday night blues show on listener-supported WPKN in Bridgeport - which included fielding a call from Jerry Wexler (the one-and-only record producer and industry mogul, and apparently a personal friend of Eric's), who was listening in from his home on Long Island, to correct an erroneous statement. We played at the 1991 Winnipeg Folk Festival, where we opened the Friday night mainstage show. We also did a jug band workshop on Sunday afternoon with The Jug Band, everyone from the Jim Kweskin Jug Band (except Kweskin, who had renounced the "devil music") - Maria Muldaur, Geoff Muldaur, Fritz Richmond, Bill Keith, and Eric Weissberg as their utility man. We opened for Geoff and Fritz a few times, whenever their duo came around our area. We helped launch the Westport Blues Festival. We played the most extraordinary multi-cultural show of my life - a St. Patrick's Day gig at a Mexican restaurant. Imagine this - I was a Jewish guy with German/Hungarian roots, playing African-American-derived music on an instrument of French/Italian origin, backing a singer with Prussian ancestry, in a Mexican restaurant on a day honoring the patron saint of Ireland. So what did we do for dinner? Went to the Chinese restaurant next door. That's America!
Eric had spent time in New Hampshire, then Sarasota FL, and ended up in Westport, on a sprawling acre of land remarkably close to downtown. He rented out the big house and lived in his father's old studio, which he named Minglewood. He held musical hootenannies a few times a year, notably on New Year's Eve, which were wild, rambunctious affairs. He knew an astounding number and variety of musicians - his black book held the phone numbers of a who's who in the folk community - any of whom might show up. Rambling Jack Elliot came one time, for instance. And since Minglewood had an open-door policy, anyone might stop by without warning. I was visiting one afternoon when Peter Rowan walked in the door. My word, he was an imposing presence. I often stopped by on my way into or from New York, and if things ran late, I'd crash on the couch. We had a great many conversations over the years. He inspired me by virtue of his example and acquired wisdom, and became a de facto mentor. This friendship continued long after my time in the jug band had come to an end.
A few years later, I saw Lucinda Williams for the first time, at the Mercury Lounge in New York, 9/16/97. I talked with her for a bit after the show, and somehow mentioned Eric's name. I had seen autographed copies of her CDs sitting on his coffee table, and thought it would make a good conversation opener. His name made her eyes light up, and she called over her bass player Richard Price (they were a couple at the time too). I soon learned that Eric had been a mentor for him back in his Sarasota days, and helped steer him away from some pretty sketchy behavior and toward music. Also, an album Eric had been on ages ago ("The Blues Project" - the 1964 album, not the band; some of the people on it founded the band afterward) had been one of the first ones to introduce Lucinda to the blues. It was clear he meant a lot to both of them.
I had the brilliant idea to do what I could to get them together. This took a while, owing to scheduling difficulties and such. In the meantime I got to see lots of shows, as they were happy to guest-list me every time she came through the area - and believe me, I was willing to drive a ways, even if I couldn't get Eric to go. Back then I was a writer and editor of a small independent music monthly, and this was while "Car Wheels On A Gravel Road" was on its way to completion - exciting times indeed - so it was beneficial for me as well.
But finally, all the stars aligned, and we managed to get together, this night, 10/24/98, at the Tarrytown Music Hall. We had front row seats. Eric enjoyed the show immensely. In fact, the exuberant joy on his face and the way he cheered for her are memorable images I recall clearly to this day. After the show we went backstage and reunited mentor and mentee for the first time in over twenty years. And when Lucinda met Eric, the mutual admiration was palpable. I hadn't understood until then how much meeting him meant to her. It was equivalent to Bob Dylan meeting Woody Guthrie.
Before we left, she thanked me profusely. I hadn't really thought it was that big a deal. I just saw it as a possibility, as something that could and should be done, and I had it within my means to make it happen. But ever since then she has been ever so kind and generous to me, as if I had done her the greatest favor. I saw her at maybe 15 or 20 more shows, even after I moved to Key West to resume my musical career. She really opened up to me, more than I ever expected she would, more than I ever thought anyone of her stature would. And it all came to pass because of this simple act. This has been a source of pride and satisfaction for me, one time I really did just the right thing.
1) Yours Truly, Eric Von Schmidt, Richard Price, Thom Wolke; 2) Lucinda Williams, Eric Von Schmidt. Backstage at Tarrytown Music Hall, 10/24/98. Photos by Thom Wolke.
Thom Wolke was the promoter of this show, and through his posting these photos on his facebook page 13 years later I got to relive this magical moment. Thanks to him, to Richard for all he did to help bring this to pass, to Eric for all he did to inspire all of us with his music and life lessons, and to my gift for the obvious, for thinking that just because a thing is possible and good that it should be done. This is one time that everything worked out just right, and I am grateful and glad that this moment was recorded.
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This has gotten rather long, but I've got a couple more stories before I wind it up. In the late 90s, Eric developed throat cancer, and had to have a laryngectomy. This is a horribly cruel fate to bestow upon a singer, but it was necessary. He could still speak with the help of a device, but it was such a shame. On the upside, Eric was awarded the ASCAP Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award, with a ceremony held at Club Passim (which had formerly been Club 47) in Cambridge, MA, on 6/11/2000. Tom Rush was the MC, and among the performers honoring the great man were Geoff Muldaur, Maria Muldaur, Fritz Richmond, and - I daresay not by coincidence - Jim Kweskin with his new band, Samoa. At some point, someone suggested Kweskin play a few songs with the rest of his old band, and they did - for the first time in maybe 30 years! I don't know if it was planned, but it happened. And for the finale, Tom Rush invited everyone who wanted to come up on stage to sing, "Wasn't That a Mighty Storm." I just happened to have my mandolin with me, and joined them. I ended up right between Maria Muldaur and Tom Rush. Somewhere there are photos, maybe even film, of this occurrence.
[Due to length, the story continues and concludes below]
But that's just my opinion. I could be wrong. - Dennis Miller
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