Last week, my dad and I were working alone in the shop. I was painstakingly shaping the braces I had just glued onto the top of the guitar I was working on. I tapped, listened for a C note, shaved a little more wood off with my chisel, tapped again and listened again. After several tries I was feeling satisfied, thinking ahead to the day when Doc Watson would play it and say that it had a lovely clear tone. Then the phone rang. I saw that it was Gerald, one of my dad's good friends, so I answered it. "I guess you heard about Doc, right?" He asked after a few seconds of small talk. I felt that spurt of adrenaline that shoots through you when something exciting or scary is on the horizon and you know it is coming. "...No." I said, pretty sure I didn't want to know what he was going to say next. And I was correct, I didn't. After a lengthy surgery he is still in critical condition after an impacted colon threatened his life.
When I was about six years old, I remember my dad played a show with Doc. I don't remember the venue, but I remember the floors-they were vast and wooden. Lots of dancing space, and running-wild space. Those things are very important to a six year old the likes of me. Anyway, after the show that I am sure I didn't listen to, I remember my dad asking, "Jayne? Do you remember Doc? He is my friend." I remember him being kind of intimidating, because he couldn't see me and I wasn't sure where to stand so his face was tilted my way. He was very nice to me though, and gave me a hug before we left. As we were walking away, my dad said, "Do you know how lucky you are? Doc doesn't give hugs to just anybody." I didn't know. I just knew he was important, because there were a lot of folks around him all the time, and that he smiled at me and hugged me.
|My favorite picture I took of Doc.|
|Daddy, Doc, and me|