John Jackson (1925-2002)

My very first old cat, and in may ways, my favorite.

I picked up a guitar immediately after hearing John Jackson play a couple tunes in the middle of a Mike Seeger concert in 1967, when I was 15. I'd played something all my life, but what John did with a guitar really turned my head.

He was a man of such strength, kindness, and grace: a remarkable combination given that he was raised in the Jim Crow era in northern Virginia. 

He received his cancer diagnosis in the fall of 2002, around Thanksgiving. 

He played New Year's and we had a gig scheduled the second weekend in January together in southside Virginia. He was due to start chemo the Tuesday before that weekend gig, but fully intended to come. Trish Byerly, his longtime manager-agent wrote me an email on January 2nd to tell me that he was looking forward to seeing me and playing with me. (I found it just the other day.)

We were each going to play a set and then play some together. 

But, it snowed that weekend. Just an inch and a half, but enough to bring everything in Virginia to a halt. 

The gig was rescheduled for the following week, but by midweek it was becoming clear that John was too ill to make it. The promoter called me.

"I don't think John is going to be able to make the show," she said. I said I'd heard that, too. 

"What would it take," she asked, "for you to play both sets?"

I thought for only a second and said, "Pay John his fee. I'll play both sets."

Now, in the music business, if you don't show up, or if you show up late, you don't get paid. You have to be present in a timely way. Those are the rules we play by.

But, she thought for just a second, and said, "Good."

So, that Friday night I climbed onto the stage and had to announce to the audience that John was being treated for cancer and was currently too sick to be with us. They groaned. 

"But," I said, "you may take comfort in the fact that half of your ticket price is going to go to John in his hour of need and we're going to celebrate his life and music tonight." 

And we did.

John died that Sunday. There was a remarkable full-page obituary in The Washington Post and people came from all over the nation to attend. I was booked elsewhere and could not break the engagement, so I wept over him alone, and sang and played in his honor and memory.

This photograph turned up this week in a text from 'Fast' Eddie Gavin, a harmonica player who'd run across it and shot a quick cell phone photo of the photograph. He then sent me an email with the full-size image of the image. 

It is the only photograph I have of John and me together. And as goofy as I look here, I was clearly really happy. This was 1990 or 91, I think. I was around 39 years old.

I still miss him so.

Here's a link to one of his performances on YouTube.com:

 

This performance was from 1970, just two and a half years after I first heard him. You'll see why I started playing! Get inspired. Play!!

There is a wonderful story about John from his time hosting music parties and going to parties around his northern Virginia home.

One afternoon of music making, surrounded by some young hippies and aficionados, John played a particularly hopping little ragtime guitar piece. As he set the guitar aside, someone in the group asked John if he'd ever played the banjo and passed him a five-string.

He proceeded to play the exact same thing on the banjo that he'd just played on the guitar. One of the kids said, "That's amazing!"

John said, "What?"

"You just played the same thing on the banjo that you played on the guitar."

"Well, I know that piece," John replied.

And the kid said, "But they're tuned differently."

And John said:

"They are?"

This story causes my brain to spin around a little bit, but I dearly love it. Music has a way of being made. We make it sound the way we want it to sound. So be it.

Blessings on John's memory. He was like a black Buddha with hands and strings of steel. Many of us loved him and we miss him. My gratitude for his friendship is boundless.

God rest his soul.

Thanks for being here,

Scott Ainslie

https://Patreon.com/ScottAinslie

https://CattailMusic.com