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Show BILL MONROE ... amemo1r Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass Music, died on September 9th, 1996, just four days short of his 85th birthday. The following memoir was written by Mary Yeomans, a longtime friend of Bill and his family . It gives a much more personal picture than the usual biographical sketches which appeared following his death. We appreciate her allowing us to print it here. -bit As I review my 14 years of rich bluegrass memories, I'd like to share with all of you some special glimpses I had of Mr. Bill Monroe,the human being, the friend . Bill Monroe ... many of us think of his wonderful legacy of lyrics and tunes, his voice so strong and powerful in its use of the "ancient tones" he often referred to, the high lonesome sound he is credited for, and his finely-chiseled face (I always thought it would be perfect carved in stone on Mt. Rushmore!), strong and proud. In my memory, I envision Bill not on the stage, but on his farm, a lovely, peaceful respite just a few miles outside of Nashville, with rolling hills, a simple cabin home surrounded by cleared fields and bountiful woods; not at all unlike the terrain of his beloved homeplace in Rosine, KY. Bill felt a powerful connection with the earth, the soil, and he felt a special tenderness for children and animals, those that love unconditionally. Bill would walk slowly to the area where he kept his chickens, Domineckers and various breeds he knew the names of ... he' d proudly show off his chicks and check to see they had ample feed, stooping to pick up walnuts that had fallen in the yard, going to a special place behind his cabin where he'd pile them and say what good eating they were. Bill seemed to save everything ... he grew up in a time when there wasn't alot of extra food or goods to be wasted. Bill would often be found in his last years sitting in his rocker on the porch watching the birds and farm creatures, picking out the sounds and rhythms of the country with his keen ears. Listen closely to his music and you'll understand why Mr. Monroe towers high above most other musicians of any genre. He had that knack for translating the sounds, the patterns, the textures and the tones of his simple country life - gleaning them from his true life experience, sifting them through his soul, sending them out through his fingers with his impeccable timing for us to feel as he had, singing from the heart with his plaintive voice the ancient sounds of his ancestors. Special thanks go to Miss Julia Labella, a long-time ,friend of Bill's, who stayed at the farm during Bill's final years, caring for him 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Though her gift to the bluegrass world has largely gone unheralded, I would like to state my immense gratitude and appreciation to her for enabling so many of us to get to know the man behind the music. She ensured his country cabin home was full of great country cooking, good friends, and people to pick with. She would respond to his desire to get out and shake and howdy with friends and fans by taking ·him regularly to the Station Inn to sit in with the Sidemen, Ralph Stanley, and various bands. She took him to the Long Hollow Jamboree on Tuesdays and the Bell Cove on Wednesdays. Bill liked to "help out" his friends who owned clubs by putting in regular appearances whenever he was in town. Bill was fond of delighting his friends and fans with his signature songs, always pausing to give a quarter to a saucer-eyed child, hug a pretty lady, sign an autograph, or pose for a picture. Julia was largely responsible for encouraging Monroe to "mend fences" with some people he'd had disputes or uncomfortable moments with years earlier. .. Earl Scruggs, Kenny Baker, Jimmy Martin. It was very difficult for this prideful man to again join hands with these people, but he clearly knew that his work on this earth was not done, and he could not move on, until he did so, and he genuinely wanted to rebuild his bridges. It was beautiful to see Bill and Earl seated next to each other outside Bill's cabin on September 13, 1994, surrounded by hundreds of Bill's friends and colleagues, celebrating Bill's 83rd birthday with fellowship, food and song. Julia helped so many of the "younger generation" of bluegrass pickers in Nashville gain access to Mr. Monroe ... the McCoury boys, Mike Compton, Mike Bub, Jason Carter ... to name a few. Julia opened his world up to his friends and the Nashville pickers. From time to time, Julia would call up the McCourys, Mike Bub, Mike Compton, the Bluegrass Boys and others and invite them out for a picking. In the warm months it would be outside in the yard, George Chestnut frying catfish, the likes of Del McCoury sitting hunkered over in a metal folding chair singing his guts out with Big Mon. In the winter, the Christmas tree sending forth a cheerful light into the room, fireplace ablaze, we fortunate few would be entranced with the sounds of Monroe and McCoury reliving some old moments in song, Tex Logan sitting nearby as "Christmas Time's AComin" was sung in the warmth of the old log cabin's walls. Wow. Bill, as many know, was a very spiritual man. When you'd have dinner with him, he would always ask everyone to join hands and pray. Sometimes he'd offer the prayer, other times he'd ask someone at the table to say grace. I swear, the pulse that would pass through the hands of the people gathered at the table was akin to an electrical shock of some magnitude. At least that was my experience! On several occasions, sitting quietly at his kitchen table in the waning hours of the evening, Bill, who had been dozing or picking at a spot of dirt on the tablecloth, would softly commence singing a gospel song. He'd have this far away, glazed look on his face, and I'd feel as if he were halfway over on the other side, or at least a million miles away. Continued on page 4 INTERMOUNTAIN ACOUSTIC MUSICIAN, OCTOBER 1996 |
