Chesapeake Meanderings (formerly The Fisherfolk Philosopher)
Vol. 2, No. 1 -- July 3, 2004


PRELIMINARY THOUGHTS ON CELEBRATING INDEPENDENCE DAY, 2004
By Allan Roy Andrews


    KNOEBLE’S GROVE, Pa. -- It’s an unusual and welcomed side activity when one is camping with one’s family and is able to sit down and enjoy an evening concert of country music.  Of course, one must be something of a fan of country music.
    I am, and so is my brother-in-law, who with his family of five joined our family of six and another sister-in-law’s family of five for two nights of camping at this family amusement park in the historical coal-mining area of East-Central Pennsylvania.
    The skies had been gray all day, and the threatening rain would eventually pulverize us in our tents that night, but the weather held through the concert featuring “Jen and Len and the Sidekicks Band.”  Unfortunately for the performers, only a handful of people gathered in front of the structure patterned after a bandstand that one of the founding Knoebles had seen in Switzerland and duplicated in the grove.
    Tim, my brother-in-law, and I took a place in the front row a couple of empty seats away from a couple that looked like they’d left a hard life on the farm for a few nights of camping.  Tim described the pair as appearing to him like “hardened dirt farmers.”  I agreed.  The man's deep five-o’clock shadow and almost toothless mouth combined with his wife’s straight gray hair and subdued black and gray dress to hint that hard labor and hard times were their companions.  These are the bedrock of country music’s audience, I thought, and the evening served to support my supposition.
    The man beside us stood up several times and walked to the side of the grove.  At first, I thought he was politely moving himself in order to have a cigarette, but I didn’t see him light up.  I decided he was suffering from an ailment that prevented him from sitting too long on short-seated wooden benches.
    The Sidekicks Band consisted of a husband-and-wife singing duo, Jen and Len, and four backup musicians, two of whom appeared about half the age of Jen and Len, and two more who appeared about a quarter of the age of Jen and Len.  The youngest of the backup troupe played drums; the eldest danced his hands over a pedal-steel guitar.  Jen and Len did most of the singing; although, Joe, the bass player, acted as emcee and did at least one solo number (my favorite of the evening), a rendition of a Marty Robbins hit, “Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me.”
    The sparse audience, despite enthusiastic applause, sounded like about five people clapping in a massive concert hall.  The lack of faces didn’t dampen the musicians’ spirits, though, as they spoke warmly and candidly to those of us in the front rows as if they were entertaining us in their living room.
    At one point, Joe announced, “It’s time to give away a CD.”
To which Jen responded, “Do you have a question?”
    Clearly they had a little publicity contest in mind, I thought.  I also wondered if they were giving away recordings of their own music.
    After a few more songs, Joe asked the trivia question for a CD:  “Who is the king of country music?”
    After a few mumbles, someone shouted a name I didn’t hear.  I shouted, “Johnny Cash.”
    No, Joe said, adding, “And it’s not Hank Williams.”
    He then threw in a hint:  “This is an older feller; in fact, he just died last year.”
    Almost simultaneously, the hardened man next to me and I exclaimed, “Roy Acuff.”
    “You got it,” Joe announced, nodding at me.  I, in turn, nodded to the man beside me and told him to go up and get his CD.  We exchanged glances, and I waved him up to the stage.  Joe asked if we both said it at the same time, and I nodded.
    The man shuffled to the stage, exchanged a few words with Joe as he looked at two CD’s from which he was asked to choose, and meandered slowly back to his seat.  He came up to me and said, “He gave me two choices:  Diamond Rio or the Dixie Chicks.”
    “Which did you take?” I asked.
    “Diamond Rio.  I hate the Dixie Chicks.”
    From the stage Joe and Jen were telling the audience that the winner was a Vietnam veteran.  I figured I knew then why he’d walked slowly and had to stand frequently during the show.
    After a few more songs, the man beside me turned to me and said, “They should have asked who was the queen of country music.”
    I chuckled and nodded.
    “Who would you have said?” he asked.
    I pondered for a few seconds, then said, “Kitty Wells.”
    A smile like that of a boy who’d just been given a new bicycle lit up the man’s face.  “You got that right,” he said.  “Couldn’t be any other.”
    At that moment, our tiny bond built on knowledge of country singers became a friendship that I felt could have gone on forever, though I knew I’d never see this stranger again.
    As a closing number, the Sidekicks did a rendition of the Lee Greenwood patriotic song with the repeated line, “I’m Proud to be an American” (God Bless the U.S.A.).  The stranger beside me stood through the entire performance with his eyes fixed on the stage, which in preparation for the coming Fourth of July weekend was festooned with red, white and blue Stars and Stripes bunting.  At one point, I thought I saw the man salute the stage.
    The song ended and Joe the bass player-emcee bid us all a good night.
    Tim and I stood to leave, and the man came beside me and said, “That song has meant an awful lot to me.”  His eyes were watering, and in a gesture of friendship I patted his shoulder.  He patted my shoulder and said, “You all take care.”
    I’ve reflected on that evening several times in the past few days.  I am proud to be an American, but I have a heavy fear that pride may be one my country’s nagging problems.  
    I met a new friend in a stranger that evening, but I’d have to ask him at some point, were our friendship to progress, knowing that the singers in question have been critical of their country, “Why do you hate the Dixie Chicks?”
    Aren’t we supposed to be proud of our dissenters, too?



Allan Roy Andrews can be reached at arandrews@toadmail.com