My First Dance at Greenfield
After I posted my remembrance of David Kaynor (link at bottom
of page) I realized that I had mentioned my first trip to
his dance in Greenfield. Then I decided that it was an event
of such magnitude that it deserves more than a passing
reference. It was a sea change. Or maybe a tectonic shift.
It was big, is what I'm saying. And now the story can be
told.
This happened in 1986. For context, the "Two A.M. Under the
Overpass" incident (link at bottom of page) happened in
January of 1985. It had precipitated a growth spurt in my
playing that stretched through most of the year.
Also, 1985 was when I started getting invitations to play.
Dance callers and organizers knew me by this time and I
started hearing from them. And I was still going to all the
festivals as usual. Some of the festivals were asking me to
play for afternoon events during their weekends. I was getting
more and more stage time and experience that year. And I
was starting to get a handle on the whole playing for dances
thing, with a lot of help from some experienced people who
were very patient with me.
In early 1986 my employer wanted me to schedule a week-long
class and gave me my choice of locations and times. I chose
Boston in the spring. I'd met some people from the area and
figured I could mix business and music business while I was
there.
I also contacted David Kaynor and he assured me I could stay
at his home and come to the dance. I do not recall specifically,
but I think I was scheduled to be the "featured guest" that
night. At David's Greenfield dance there was always the
house band and a featured guest, plus anyone who wanted to
sit in.
My week in Boston went as expected. The course I took was
intense and wore me out. I stayed in the luxurious Parker
House (the rolls are legendary) right in the middle of
downtown. I made my way over to Cambridge for the Thursday
night dance. I only knew one person in the room - the fiddle
player - but I managed to have a good time.
At the end of the week I rented a car. I found my way to the
dance hall in Greenfield where I met Stuart and Mary Cay,
the house band. We had time to go over some tunes and found
that we were all on the same wavelength. I don't recall much
about the dance, specifically. Stuart and Mary Cay had a few
years of playing together and were very much in sync. By
the end of the evening we had established a pretty righteous
groove.
We all went back to David's house and sat up well into the
night, playing tunes. Some time in the wee hours a thunderstorm
blew through and we made the obligatory "playing up a storm"
jokes as we watched it rumble off into the distance,
After a few hours of sleep we found Saturday to be the first
hot day of the year. This was in mid-June and the locals were
caught flat-footed by the sudden change in weather. We did
what anyone would do: we got a blender, some ice cream, orange
juice, and crushed ice. We spent the afternoon trying to find
the magic combination for the perfect hot-weather cooler.
The cool beverages helped us make it through the day. I think
there was a dance nearby that night. On Sunday I made my way
to the airport and headed for home. But not before making
some plans to return. David agreed to find a convenient
weekend in the fall and schedule some dates for us.
October rolled around, as it so often does, and I made my
return. We had a Friday night dance, in Northfield I think,
and my flight was late. Mary Cay met me at the airport
and we missed the first half. We got to the dance at the
break and found that David had corralled a few people into
filling in for us. I learned a valuable lesson about scheduling
my travel that day.
The main thing I recall from that trip was the Saturday night
date. We were booked at a college in eastern Massachusetts
and the Red Sox were in the World Series. Attendance at our
event was in low single digits. Seriously. We sat around with
the few people who showed up and played some tunes for them.
I think one of them had a radio with the ball game on. But
the drive back to David's house, late at night under clear
skies and a bright full moon, is something I can still close
my eyes and see.
I believe we played for some sort of private affair on Sunday
afternoon, maybe a wedding reception. I don't recall any
specifics. I must have flown home on Monday. We probably
had already chosen dates for my next trip, too.
That was the first of many return trips. Over the next few
years I was flying back and forth to New England every two
or three months, until I finally knuckled under and moved.
To save on plane fare.
True story.
Suggested reading:
David Kaynor 1948 - 2021
Two A.M. Under the Overpass
More tales of my adventures playing for dances:
I Can Quit Whenever I Want To
In which I kick the coffee habit. Until about lunch time.
Full Moon Over
Peterborough
In which Bob shows the dancers what he's made of.
Perhaps Samuel Butler was right
In which I learn that "on the job training" is not always the
best choice.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen... Grab yer
partners!
Caller Bernie Chalk came not to bury Caesar but to do-si-do
with him.
Some experience required.
You never forget your first time.
Time Travel!
Return to those days of yesteryear
The $20 Fiddle Tune
We're not in it for the money, but neither do we turn it
down.
Is That Guy Okay?
A case of mistaken identity.
Every Fiddle Has a Story...
... but they can't talk.
Mmm, Ham...
In which Pete and I rely on the kindness of strangers.
Not Sure Who Won But I Can Tell You Who
Lost
In which I wind up with farm fresh historically accurate
Colonial-era egg on my face.
Happy New Year
In which the New Year creeps in on little cat feet.