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Show RIVER Three years later I came around the point that dark night in the rowboat, I could see that progress had come to the marina at Helena. They'd hauled away the burnt-out wrecks and half a dozen cabin cruisers were now tied to a new covered dock. A small office now sat out over the water. Opposite the marina was a house trailer and I went to ask if it was OK to sleep on the dock. A friendly, easy-going guy named Bill lived in the trailer and acted as caretaker. He said I could sleep anyplace I wanted, except on the cabin cruisers. He invited me inside, gave me a beer, and we watched some TV. The next day was pretty unremarkable. I bought forty dollars worth of groceries (which in those days would last a long time), cleaned up the boat, reorganized my gear, wrote letters, and wandered around town. That night I called my brother and told him not to worry if he didn't hear from me for a while. During the evening some of the local high society came down to the docks, including Porter C. Young, who owned part of the marina and the newspaper besides. They were very friendly and a little drunk, and without much persuasion they got me to sing some songs for them. I'm still a lousy guitar player, but back then I was truly rotten. I sang old cowboy songs like "Jesse James" and "Blue Mountain," and they actually appeared to enjoy it. After a while I sang some of the new songs I'd written about the river. It was the first time that I was able to entertain people with my music, and it felt good. I suppose Porter must have liked my songs because he wrote me up in his column, "Taming the Mississippi," right next to an article by his brother, General C. M. Young, Jr., USAF Retired, called "The Tragedy of the Titanic." I don't like being called "boy" any more than the next guy, but I'm not going to criticize the -201- |
