Good Bye Pete

Sometimes I hadda work late into the a.m. baby sitting a demo or a special operation.  I usually had to run to catch the last train out of Grand Central, which was about 1:00am.  If I’d miss it I would have to spend the night on the cold stone floor of the terminal until the first train in the morning around 5:00 o’clock.  This one night I was especially tired and just set foot on the train as the doors were closing.  I found a three-seater and curled up to try to get a little bit of sleep while the local hit every stop from GCT to Beacon.  The fluorescent lights and the announcements made it nearly impossible to rest but I was so tired I fell asleep before we’d hit 125^th street. 

I was awakened by a racket coming from a group of three guys in the four-seater up by the door at the end of the car.  They were hooping and partying to beat the band.  I tried to ignore it but I just couldn’t get back to sleep so I sat up, ready to kill, and, to my surprise, I saw that it was “the band”.  There sat Pete Seeger and a couple of his buddies louder then hell and having a great ol’ time. 

You see famous people all the time in New York City.  I am not the type to go after autographs or intrude in a famous person’s personal space.  I just wanted to go back to sleep.  I laid back down to try one more time.  The party rolled on and I found sleep impossible.  I suppose that laying on the seat they might not have even known I was there-the car was almost empty and blowing off a little steam must have seemed a natural thing for Pete and his buddies probably after a show. 

Finally I stood up and pointed straight at Pete.  He saw me and looked me in the eye.  I said, “Guy works all day and can’t even catch a little nap on Metro North at 1:00am!  Shame on you Pete!”  I was half mad and half joking.  He was a perceptive man.  The car was silent.  He said, “Sorry about that!  Come on over here.”  I shimmied down the narrow aisle.  When I got there he stood up and offered me his hand.  Same for his friends.  Smiles all around.  He asked me my name then he offered me a seat.  I wished I coulda been better company and taken part in the hullabaloo but after 18 hours of work I was beat.   I declined, not wanting to crash the party. 

He reached into a bag and pulled out a book.  “I got this book,” he says, “haven’t read it yet but a fellow banjo player said it was a pretty good one.”  It was “Country-the Twisted Roots of Rock and Roll” and he opened it up to the title page and wrote, “For Randy! Pete Seeger” and drew a little picture of a banjo.  I thanked him and I went back to my seat and curled back up into a ball.  The party proceeded at a quieter level and I even got a few minutes of sleep! At Peekskill I said good by to the three of them by the door as I left. 

I still have the book.  And the memory.  And his music.  Rest in peace, Pete.