Happy B-Day

Today is the day, Dad's 73 rd birthday, what a journey.
I think dad's recent letter said everything that need be said for now. His birthday does remind me of our first few road trips together.

Five or so years ago we reunited after many , many years apart. I would sit in the audience or off the wings of the stage and watch dad's shows. He had the usual stories of Big Bill, Mother Jones, little brother Brendan and Morraigan but then he would say " I traveled here with my oldest son Duncan, he's 43 and lives in Salt Lake" I used to say " what , that's all I get?" But the reality was that although we are father and son at that point in our lives we really didn't know that much about each other. Obviously a lot of water has passed under the trestle. It truly has been an amazing journey and I wouldn't change a thing.
Happy Birthday dad.

A Note From Utah

Dear Friends,

Utah here, with a rambling missive pandect and organon regarding my current reality. At no time should you suspect me of complaining (kvetching); I am simply grepsing (Yiddish word for describing the condition of that reality).

First, medical: My heart, which is enlarged and very weak, can’t pump enough blood to keep my body plunging forward at its usual 100 percent. It allows me about 25 to 30 percent, which means I don’t get around very much or very easily anymore. I’m sustained (i.e., kept alive) by a medication called Milrinone, which is contained in a pump that I carry around with me in a shoulder bag. The pump, which runs 24 hours a day, moves the medication through a long tube running into an implanted Groshong catheter that in turn runs directly into my heart. I’ll be keeping this pump for the rest of my life. I also take an extraordinary number of oral medications, of which many are electrolytes.

My body is weak but my will is strong, and I keep my disposition as sunny and humorous as I’m able. It’s hard enough being disabled without being cranky as well. Though I’m eating well, my weight has gone from 175 to 155 pounds. I look like a geriatric Fred Astaire.

We manage to get out a good bit, visiting the Ananda (a local spiritual village and retreat center) flower garden up on the San Juan Ridge and occasionally going to lunch at various places around town. The bag is always with me. Believe me, none of this would be possible without my wife Joanna. She has the deepest, most loving and caring heart one could ever imagine. She’s taken charge of all my medications and makes sure that I’m well fed and don’t fall into the slovenly ways of a derelict. She also has enormous physical beauty—I have never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. She is endowed with intelligence, deep insight, compassion, and a capacity for love that passes all understanding.

Heart disease aside, I find that I have a hernia that needs to be repaired. Someday I suppose I’ll become like Ernie Bierwagen, the old man who owned the orchards outside town. He said to me once, “I know that God wants me to say something, because the only thing I have left that works is my mouth.” But for now, I’m enjoying my life and can think of no good reason not to. Joanna and I both know that the chemical regimen I’m on can’t go on indefinitely. We take things a day at a time, deriving joy and solace from a solid, loving relationship.

I want to share with you something about where we live. If you’re reading this on the Internet, I’ve sent Duncan some photos to show you what it looks like. Our house is on a country lane right off Red Dog Road, about a mile from downtown Nevada City. Nevada City is an old gold-mining town in the Sierra foothills with a population of about 2,800. The old buildings are all still here, including the National Hotel, one of the oldest hotels in the West that’s still doing business. The town is a quirky, mystical sort of place, populated by poets, writers, artists, misfits, and just regular folks. When you drive down Berggren Lane where we live, you come to a brown house with green trim, lap-strake siding, a steel roof, and a high green fence around the front. The steel roof is there because we live in an ancient oak and cedar grove, which includes in the front yard a couple of towering poplar trees. Sometimes the wind coming down from the high Sierra breaks off tree limbs, and if it weren’t for the steel roof, we could well be eating our salad by the roots.

When we first moved in here, the house was tiny. Using her remarkable ingenuity and the prodigious skills of our friend Steven Goodfield, a fine independent carpenter, Joanna has added a hallway and two rooms going up the hill, which gives us a bedroom and bathroom, and me a study. The French doors in our bedroom open out onto a dappled hillside with hawthorns, cedars, pines, wild cherries, and oaks. The lot itself is quite narrow, the result of a bad survey many years ago. The old part of the house was built in 1912. When we bought it, there was a greenhouse along the southern wall. It was rotting out, so we replaced it with a new, insulated and thermo paned greenhouse so that we could remove the interior wall and make it almost part of the living room. Our house is a beautiful, comfortable place to live, absolutely surrounded by greenery.

Looking out the greenhouse windows now, I can see the huge poplars in front, already in full leaf. The front yard is Joanna’s flower garden, a great splash of color amid the green. As I look over my shoulder out the greenhouse door, which is also the front door to the house, I can see the hawthorn trees covered with cascades of white blossoms, as though their limbs were burdened with new snow. There’s a brick patio just outside the greenhouse with a fireplace and a small pond crowned with a bronze frog who emits a stream of water into the pond, which, when the weather is warm, we can hear from the bedroom when we’re going to sleep.

Opposite the greenhouse is the kitchen, with a wonderful early 1930s gas range, one of those with a two-lid firebox on one end. Outside the kitchen window is a railed porch built by our friend Kuddie, which overlooks another flower garden and an old apple tree, still bearing, that was probably planted when the house was built. The lot itself, narrow though it is, goes up the hill quite a way, where it levels off through the cedars and ends at a large open space that was a vegetable garden when I was still able to do that sort of thing.

The cedars are gigantic and quite an anomaly, a patch of forest that was never logged, probably because of the bad survey. It simply got missed. Walking in it now is like walking in the quiet of a much larger forest.

Walking up the hill, you pass three small outbuildings. One, called Marmlebog Hall (Joanna’s children call her Marmle), is where Kuddie ordered and maintained the CDs I used to travel with. It also contains a small labor library. The second building is a small barn on uneven stilts because of the hill. It’s there for storage. Don’t ask me what all is in it, but I do know it would drive an archaeologist mad. Among other things, it houses about 15 collapsing cardboard boxes that contain what academics have characterized as my personal archives, but are in fact a jumble of papers and objects, the detritus of over half a century. The University of California at Davis once said they wanted to accession my archives. I said, okay, if you hire somebody to come and plough through those boxes, because I’m not going to. They never called back.

The third building up there is an old shed, tiny, drafty, but a place where I spent many happy hours making things when I wasn’t traveling: wooden swords, bird feeders, and such. For the past few years the workshop has been a henhouse with a chicken-wire enclosure. Nothing fancy: five hens and a large rooster named Ralph (Rooster-Dooster). Ralph enjoys the good life. You could poke three holes in Ralph and go bowling with him. The hens all have names, but I forget what they are. They give us eggs, which I think was the idea to begin with.

Last winter a bear broke into the chicken yard and tore the door off the henhouse. The hens and Ralph managed to escape by hiding behind an old chest of drawers. The first hen to reappear showed up in our dog Bo’s mouth; she was uninjured, but that condition would not have lasted much longer. The others came out of hiding one at a time. Before our friend Che Greenwood could come over to fix the door, we feared the bear would return, plus a great storm was kicking up. So we set up a round of chicken wire in the greenhouse, which, as I say, is part of the living room, and installed the chickens there. Eventually, the smell was overpowering. How can chickens live with themselves? It was Friday evening and I’d turned on my small portable radio, as at this time the power was out, to listen to a station in Sacramento that broadcasts opera from 8:00 p.m. till midnight. That Friday one of the opera excerpts featured was an aria from Puccini’s Tosca sung by Maria Callas. That’s when Ralph decided he liked opera. As she sang, he began to crow along, so I got Tosca as a duet between Callas and Ralph. That’s when I said, these chickens have got to go back up the hill. I mean, it was Puccini, for God’s sake.

So. That’s domestic life here at our place.

A few words about me and the trade before I wind this up. When I hit a blacklist in Utah in 1969, I realized I had to leave Utah if I was going to make a living at all. I didn’t know anything abut this enormous folk music family spread out all over North America. All I had was an old VW bus, my guitar, $75, and a head full of songs, old- and new-made. Fortunately, at the behest of my old friend Rosalie Sorrels, I landed at Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs, New York. That seemed to be ground zero for folk music at the time. Lena Spencer, as she did with so many, took me in and taught me the ropes. It took me a solid two years to realize I was no longer an unemployed organizer, but a traveling folk singer and storyteller—which, in Utah at the time, would probably have been regarded as a criminal activity.

I spent a long time finding my way—couches, floors, big towns, small towns, marginal pay (folk wages). But I found that people seemed to like what I was doing. The folk music family took me in, carried me along, and taught me the value of song far beyond making a living. It taught me that I don’t need wealth, I don’t need power, and I don’t need fame. What I need is friends, and that’s what I found—everywhere—and not just among those on the stage, but among those in front of the stage as well.

Now I can no longer travel and perform; overnight our income vanished. But all of those I had sung for, sung with, or boarded with, hearing about my condition, stepped in and rescued us. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to be part of this great caring community that, for the most part, functions close to the ground at a sub-media level, a community that has always cared for its own. We will be forever grateful for your help during this hard time.

The future? I don’t know. But I have songs in a folder I’ve never paid attention to, and songs inside me waiting for me to bring them out. Through all of it, up and down, it’s the song. It’s always been the song.

Love and solidarity,

Utah

A note from Aurora Fox

Hi Everyone !
Thanks so much for helping to make this "healing blanket" for Utah Phillips!

I finished it last night and today we drove up to Nevada City (with
some friends) and gave the blanket toUtah. He was in good spirits,
talkative (as always) but seemed frail and easily tired. We stayed
quite awhile --he told stories, and Larry and Ray Bierl played and
sang a few songs. Utah also talked about some old songs and even sang
us a few. We all had a good time! and he loved the blanket and
admired it....


thanks are due to all the knitters:
Ceci Marker
Ceci's friend Laura (please pass this e-mail on to her Mike)
Kate Brislin
Kerry Parker
Debra Kalmon
Sharon Noel
Susan Weiss
Katie Hambly
Lisa Hubbell
Irene Herrmann
Marnie Potter

Many hugs to you all!
Aurora

Michigan Benefit

Brad up in Saugatuck MI. is interested in planing a benefit for Utah sometime in June at the Boathouse. If thee is anybody body in the area and you are interested in helping maybe you can contact Brad.

Brad Raffenaud
www.myspace.com/boathousebar

I know that I have not posted much lately, the truth is my dad and I have been playing phone tag the last couple of weeks. After seeing dad in the hospital during the month of Feb. I know first hand how quickly his health can turn and every time my phone rings my heart skips a beat. So when I don't talk to him for awhile I'm sure he is marching along, it's the old no news is good news thing.

When I do talk with dad on the phone it's some how different now. Our conversations are more meaningful, not in some deep philosophical way it's much more generic than that. In the past we always talked about our next road trip or some song one of the two of us was working. But now we talk at length about everyday boring stuff you know like getting your hair cut, mowing the lawn or the weather, it's odd we talk about stuff we never talked or even cared about before. It dawned on me the other day when I was driving around, we talk just to talk, just to hear each others voice. The truth is if we said nothing at all we would probably still sit there with the phone to our ear, it's the connection between two friends we enjoy. The reality is we linger on for so long because neither of us wants to say goodbye.
Duncan

May 6, Benefit

Tues. May 6
U Utah Phillips Benefit and Celebration
with
Laurie Lewis & Tom Rozum
Kate Brislin & Jody Stecher
Larry Hanks
Ray Bierl
Faith Petric
Eric & Suzy Thompson
at
Freight & Salvage
1111 Addison (near San Pablo)
Berkeley CA
Freight website: www.freightandsalvage.org

If anyone has more info on the show please send it to my e-mail or post it on the blog
Thanks
Duncan

May 3, Benefit

Sing Out for Utah!

Benefit Concert for Folk Legend Utah Phillips

May 3, 2008, 7:30 pm (Doors open at 6:45)

Bellingham Unitarian Fellowship, 1708 "I" Street

Seating limited to the first 200! Please order advance ticket.

Bruce "U. Utah" Phillips, legendary folksinger and storyteller won't be able to travel to Bellingham again. The concert in Bellingham's is the second such event Washington State.

A stage filled with professional musicians & entertainers will take part in this benefit. Please join us these friends of Utah's come to the aid of one of their own. Celebrate with us the life of Utah Phillips. Raise your voice with us. Attend and help raise funds for Utah's medical bills. Utah has always given so much. It's time to give something back. Join us. Come, celebrate, sing.

Performers in alphabetical order: Linda Allen, Artis the Spoonman, Marie Eaton & Janet Peterson, Joules Graves, Mike Marker, Tim McHugh, Geof Morgan, Mark Ross, Anna Schaad, Kevin Murphy (Emcee)

Advance Tickets $12 ($10 for seniors) / At the door $15 ($12 for seniors)

Ticket Outlets (all in Bellingham, WA)

Boundary Bay Brewery and Bistro 360-647-5593, FAX 671-5897or info@bbaybrewery.com

Community Food Co-Op (360) 734-8158

Everyday Music (360) 676-1404

Stuart’s at the Market 360-714--800

Village Books (360) 661-2626, FAX 734-2573 or orders@villagebooks.com

For info, email Steve (thoreau@serv.net) or phone him at 360-671-2111.

To donate directly to our concert-affiliated bank account, please deposit directly in ANY Washington state "Whidbey Island Bank" to this account: "Steve Tornblom - Utah Phillips Benefit." If you wish to be credited in the evening's program, please Steve or send check to Steve Tornblom -- Utah Phillips Benefit, 1001 22nd St. #3 Bellinghan, WA. 98225. (Please write checks to "Steve Tornblom - Utah Phillips Benefit" for easier handling.

We ask that if you can't make this benefit in Bellingham or contribute to Utah's bank account here, please attend a Utah Phillips benefit in your area.

Chicago Benefit

UTAH PHILLIPS BENEFIT.  STAND UP CHICAGO.

We are having a benefit for Utah Phillips on Saturday June 14th at the
Heartland Café  9:00 – 1:00 pm.

A fellow named Sparrow who is one of my My Space friends said it best,
"Utah was there for us, let's be there for him now".

For the last several decades Utah has traveled the country with a
guitar, a story and a desire to leave our lives a little bit better
for knowing him, I don't know who sang it Steve Goodman or Jim Post or
Fred Holstein, but I got hooked on "Larimer Street". I found that Utah
had written the song, It took me a little while to find a vinyl copy
of  "El Capitan" . For a while I played it every day before I went to
work and every night when I got home. It took a while before I finally
saw the man in person the first time at Holsteins. We talked after the
show and as those of you who are lucky enough to have spoke a word or
two with him know, he is always more interested in what you had to say
rather than feed a performer's ego. He has an inspiring curiosity
about darn near everything. He became the closest thing to a mentor
that I've ever had. I've been learning from him for thirty years.
Now a bum ticker has left him home bound. I hear tell that he is
writing his memoirs but that isn't paying the bills yet. He can't show
up on our doorstep so we can't pay to be entertained for an evening.
We can still buy the CD,s and Utah wishes you would. It is tough
transforming yourself at this stage of the game. As with any other
friend, it is time for us to step up and help him make it through.

I'm not an impresario of any sort. I just see a need and when no one
steps up, I do. I've bugged most performers that I know and a lot of
people who know other people to put together a show. HEARTLAND CAFÉ
and MICHAEL JAMES were there from the start.
They turned over a Saturday night to us. I can inflict my MIKE FELTEN
caterwauling on you for a bit, but I wanted this to be a collective
effort in the spirit of what Utah preaches. We are working on a lot of
promises and maybes and hope they all bear fruit.
So far we have KATHY GREENHOLDT and the EDSELS and we have some
incarnation of M.O.T.O. confirmed. Brandy over at TONY MARGHERITA
MANAGEMENT got JEFF TWEEDY boys from WILCO to donate several
autographed photos and posters to raffle off. Talked to some of the
folks at the I.W.W. and they are behind it. MIKE  MATIKA (pardon my
phonetic spelling) from the Laborers Union is behind this effort too.
It always amazes me when people step up like this.
There are a lot of great things and people unconfirmed. It's not my
intent to put anyone on the spot here. I've asked before for other
causes and frankly, I'm tired of doing benefits for musicians too. We
just have to do these things when there is no other  way.

Anyway you can help would be appreciated. Anything that you can do for Utah
 he'd appreciate. It is time to STAND UP CHICAGO .  Mike Felten
mike@recordemporium.com