The weekend prior to Pete Seeger’s passing at the age of 94, an ironic, and in retrospect, provocative call came from Oscar Brand. This before I had any knowledge of Pete’s illness. “Hello Roger, this is Oscar. I’m calling to remind you, I want you to come over and record another radio show.” This request was for Folksong Festival – that 68-year-old, long-running marvel of the radio dial, “under yon municipal moon,” airing Saturday nights at ten on WNYC. I had been slow to work out a date for a reprise visit, complicated, as it required Roger, Oscar, and the engineer Jon Pickow, all being at Oscar’s Long Island home on the same day, at the same time.

Oscar was concerned, prodding me to accept while he is still recording programs. He has always been supportive, playing my songs on the air or writing such notes as, “Dear Roger, I love the song. I’ll sing it on the air the moment I find a hole. Oscar.” That’s one quote from a postcard mailed to me in 1986. Brand had long taken a, “What-can-I-do-for-you-kid?” attitude ever since I was a kid. Sending me tickets for sought after seats at his annual Cooper Union folk festivals and the like. I can’t recall how young I was when I first listened to his show, but I can tell you this; just about every folk singer I heard, I first listened to on Oscar’s radio show. And with me approaching Medicare age, that comprises a cavalcade of notable folk songs and artists.

On a number of occasions, Oscar made it clear that in his opinion, I did not promote myself enough, my music in particular. Many times he pressed me to push a bit more. I sort of took a go-with-the-flow attitude. I always thought of myself more as a writer, less as a songwriter and performer. Some giggles mark the trail. My favorite correspondence from Oscar is postmarked October 14, 1983. I again quote; “Dear Roger, I just found your letter dated 1976. Did I respond? Did you send me a tape? Did I play it on the air? I’m trying to clear up unfinished business. You are unfinished business. Oscar Brand.” Apparently this postcard got stuck in a drawer in George Gershwin’s writing desk, back when Oscar was curator of the Songwriters Hall of Fame Museum at One Times Square in NYC. During the years that followed, I performed many shows with Oscar, including annual concerts at The Nassau County Community College Folk Festival, an event founded by Brand. Year after year at this event, I would greet and chat with Oscar, his lovely wife Karen, and artful sideman John Foley. I even recall them all joining us in New Jersey for a Sing Out! benefit concert.

For a few years, Oscar aired concerts from the Closing Circle Coffeehouse, a monthly concert series I programmed for The Folk Music Society of Northern New Jersey. Oscar edited and broadcast these events on Folksong Festival, dedicating one monthly show to “Live from The Closing Circle.” The programs showcased newcomers with names like Larkin, Wheeler, Gorka, and Griffith. These were great musical programs, live on tape, with the audience joining in as well. One show, due to a slip of the pen on the guest sheet, I was introduced by Oscar as Geoff Bartley, and Geoff as me. The error did boost my credibility as a guitar player. I wonder how many gigs it cost Geoff?

So, back to the irony of the call the weekend of Pete’s passing. Oscar’s words to me were sobering, “Let’s get this done. I’m 93. I’m about to be 94 … and you know what that means.” I guess I did. Tempus fugit – time flies. One of us (I) was not a kid anymore. Given Oscar’s playful phone repartee, he still was full of young spunk. True, maybe not too many more shows would be recorded. “We shouldn’t put this off,” he chided, “I want to help you – support your CD and also speak with you about your book.” This next part took me aback, as it was a rare subject for an interview, “And, why don’t we talk about what you’ve given up to be a writer and performer? Then, also talk about what you’ve gained from doing what you do?” An interesting addition to the three songs he offered to play on the air, and a lot of air time (a half hour) promised. This was pretty heady stuff for a folk song Saturday night. It started me thinking … soul searching. Do I even dare think about all I might have lost or gained from a lifetime of folking around?

During that phone call, Oscar apologized repeatedly for the fact that my previous appearance had to be trimmed when the prerecorded show chanced to air after Doc Watson’s passing. Doc’s music was inserted. Oddly, it was on Oscar’s program I first heard cuts from the 1971 Vanguard double vinyl album, Doc Watson On Stage: Featuring Merle Watson. And because of Doc’s passing, I was now scheduled to follow three classic cuts from that very album, now juxtaposed with three examples of my dazzling guitar work. Calling Geoff Bartley! The program actually was a fine test for me, and I was pleased to be a part of it. After speaking with Oscar, a short time following the phone call, I was mourning the loss of Pete Seeger. A few of Pete’s lessons came back to console me.

Over the years, there was plenty of support from Pete as well; fatherly talks, cards and letters, resplendent with ideas and admonishments. These included suggestions and pointed critiques – praise about songs and writings. “You’ve got some great lyrics there, I hope you keep singing and writing lots of songs,” perhaps balanced with, “You might consider the possibility of rewriting this song. Keep the chorus, and make the verses more specific.” Or, “I just read the lyrics to ‘Dancing Sally,’ and write you this note of congratulations. You’ve got a lot of talent as a songwriter and a musician,” tempered with, as in suggestions for “‘The Common Man.’ You might consider the possibility of rewriting this song to be more specific,” explaining, “If you have too many quiet, thoughtful songs like this, people will complain, as they do with me, ‘I could have gotten this by going to church.’”

Pete was honest and self-effacing about his own work. He chided with a light touch. He was always encouraging. You know, “Keep on keeping on.” The talks and letters were genial, and constructive. Pete’s point of view was complementary to Oscar’s, and took a slightly different tack. That I should be less focused on promoting myself and my work, rather, I should let my songs and writings alone do that job for me. Well, that sounded easier anyway. Again, I remind you, I thought of myself more the writer than a songwriter and performer – but, I could not help myself – I furtively moved along both paths, cautiously. How was I to move along? That was the issue. Validating that dilemma, let me just point out that my first CD was released only two years ago.

We feel we know folks like Oscar and Pete, because they become a familiar part of our lives. I only know what I know from my limited experience. In the past few weeks I must have heard dozens of people refer to Pete as their close, dear friend. I have even heard that lists are circulating, concerning who the next Pete Seeger might be. Really? As if! That week after Pete’s death, I passed to Tom Paxton the following note, “We’re missing someone who has always been there in the background. Makes me feel empty and sad. I know it’s the same world – but then again … it really isn’t.” Tom responded, “Midge and I feel just as you do. That it’s the same world but the landscape has changed. A favorite old oak tree is missing.” I sought consolation in thinking about the countless musical acorns spread by our favorite old oak tree.

My last conversation with Pete feels like sunshine, because, we sat down to chat on a sunny summer day. I still sense the warmth of that day, as I am warmed by the memory of his honesty in confessing some secrets he chose to share. This session included his observations about “celebrity.” While discussing Sing Out!, and my column, Pete paused, rose, signed an autograph, and posed for a photo with a fan. One of those, “Oh Pete, we love you! You have made such a difference in our lives,” moments, he has relived again and again, with folks who truly admire the folk singer and activist.

Pete flopped back down into the folding chair like a sack of grain, and shook his head, side to side. Then he made eye contact with me confiding, “Roger, I’ll never understand that. I don’t like it, but I do it anyway. I don’t like signing autographs … or posing for pictures. It makes me uncomfortable. But, I never say no. I don’t understand why it is important for people to have a signature or a picture of me. I don’t get it, but, I just do it.” Humble and resigned, Pete elaborated for me, his take on life in his singular world.

I blushed. Hopefully, Seeger had long forgotten our first meeting. I hadn’t. Always, I carried with me the embarrassment of our initial correspondence back in the mid 1970s, which I will share with you. This autograph, photo-op detour, and Pete’s confession put me in mind of my nonredeemable sin, heralding the moment I launched myself into folk music land, worse foot forward. I began that journey with a misstep, with no less a personage as Pete Seeger. The letter I wrote to Pete years earlier, and that first note I received back. I was not in the humility business. I was in the “look at me” business.

l-r: Mark Moss, Pete Seeger & Roger Deitz at Sing Out!’s induction into the People’s Hall of Fame.

In 1973, I was writing a column about folk music for a counter-culture music newspaper called The Aquarian. Ironically one of the first topics I covered was Sing Out!. I had been reading SO! for a while, and it was having a life-altering influence on me. In my article, I called Sing Out! “a mail-order folk festival.” Ever so proud with that turn of phrase, this young pup was not pleased to find (I should have been pleased) that the quote was being used by Sing Out! without attribution to me, only to the newspaper (as well it should have been – as is the custom – especially with established journals and unknown journalists). Of course, Sing Out! did not have to mention my name. But, in a letter to Pete, I whined that I was not being credited for my words. Humility alert! Seeger responded in a handwritten letter, thusly;

“Dear Roger, I’ve sent your letter to Sing Out, urging that they print it, or acknowledge in some way that you authored that great quote. But maybe you will join the ranks of the greatest author’s club in the world. The Anonymous Club. Pete.” Wow, a banjo signature and words of wisdom. I still struggle with this. Do I show too much self-regard? Not enough? Is there a balance?

Tom Paxton, a much admired role model, recently affirmed that I do have difficulty, or conflict, in this area. Tom was kind enough to listen to my pre-released CD, and he gave me considered, track by track advice on my product, only after he hurled a dart at my conflicted ego, beginning his report, “Roger, You find it difficult to handle praise, so I’ll go easy on ya.’” Now he tells me!” It made me squirm. For Pete’s sake, have I simulated humble all these years – to my detriment? I have never been comfortable with this when to push forward, when to hold back thing. As extroverted as my public print and performances might suggest, I am unsure of myself. At a party, you are likely to notice me hiding in the corner, quietly avoiding eye-contact, nursing a drink.

So Dr. Freud, I am conflicted. And I guess that conflict is an essential part of who I am. You’ll find me walking the line between seemly and unseemly, between look at me – and aw, shucks, t’weren’t nothing. I’m glad, and thankful that Oscar Brand is Oscar, Tom Paxton is Tom, and Pete Seeger was Pete. Me, well, I guess I’m resigned to the fact that I am Roger. To answer the question Oscar will pose on the radio show – I have given up a lot to do what I do. But I also have good memories, and have made some contributions, and cherished friendships. Maybe one day I’ll come face to face with the answer to the questions here posed.

Now, on Oscar’s radio show, he’ll play a few of my tunes, we’ll wax philosophical, and I can let folks know that Ron Olesko and I are blogging away at the Sing Out! web site. That seems a fair thing to promote. With this new online column opportunity, I have renewed motivation to write, as well as appear on that show with Oscar. I’ll try to get the word out about blogs and columns, without sounding too self-important. As for what I have lost or gained by my life’s decisions? I’ll leave it to others to judge. And try to answer Oscar’s questions by air time. Knowing Oscar, Pete and Tom, helped me find some balance and direction. Can I say I have lost the need to have my name printed next to my quotable quotes? Well, I am still Roger.

Yet, I continue to attempt to come to grips with a way be creative, without being obnoxious. As Oscar prophetically suggested years ago; I am unfinished business. That includes whatever I might come up with in this bloggle space. Lord willing, if I too reach the age of 94, even if no one asks for an autograph, or to have a photo taken with me, I proudly remain a lifetime member of The Anonymous Club. You see, I was nominated for membership by none other than Pete Seeger. And, now that I look back over all that has transpired since nomination and induction, I must admit, that’s a high honor indeed.

© 2014 Roger Deitz / Sing Out!