Willie, And Jimmie Dale, And George, And Harry

I’m much more a word-y person than a tune-y person.

But doesn’t everyone who’s ever lived in Austin have a Willie Nelson story?

Mine is from a folding table at some fundraiser I was staffing at the really old Book People on South Lamar.

Folks were giving a dollar, maybe a little more, cash in the basket. Then a woman came up and wrote a check. It was a generous check. And she said…”I’m Willie Nelson’s wife.” Was shaking my head. Took the check, went to whatever cause I was that afternoon volunteering for. My Willie Nelson story.

Joyous human, Mr. Willie, and his family too. Only just 90, birthday events all over Austin. We all could be blessed to be so loved.

So Jimmie Dale. This morning I dug out of my closet an old poster from an Amnesty International benefit concert he played at Pauly’s Hotel, Albany, New York, where I met my husband. I still have the poster from that night. “Sagebrush Soul”, “Coming in Person”, “From Austin, Texas”, endorsed by Rolling Stone as the “new cool of country…a voice of such rarity and beauty.” Who could predict, a few years later I would hear him play live just one evening at the Cactus Cafe, University of Texas Union, and then, then, be volunteering for an Austin nonprofit and in the same meeting room with Jimmie Dale.

Oh and my then husband and I bought a small SUV in upstate New York from one of Jimmie Dales’ relatives. Or so we were told. That SUV (small) did make it to Texas.

George. I have streamed the carpool karaoke with James Corden and Paul McCartney more than a few times. Jump for joy.

But George. First day working at the Austin think tank I bought the CD (old tech) reissue of All Things Must Pass (and for my son some gamer thing) (old tech). I played that All Things Must Pass CD in my car across so many Texas roads. Now my Cat Oliver likes it streaming.

George. When we first were dating my later husband bought me the (old tech) Traveling Wilburys CD. “You will love it.” And I did and still do, stream still while cooking. Cat Oliver likes also.

Harry Belafonte. An earlier generation. I knew his name, do remember some, his music. I was pretty young then.

What I very much recall, when I got a little older. His courageous humanitarianism.