Indian Writing

Pete Seeger, 87 years old, sitting by the river singing a song.

“I went out west with Woody,” says Seeger. “He taught me how to sing in saloons, how to hitch-hike, how to ride freight trains. Then I went out on my own.” Guthrie, he says, taught him how to busk. “He’d say put the banjo on your back, go into a bar and buy a nickel beer and sip it as slow as you can. Sooner or later, someone will say, ‘Kid, can you play that thing?’ Don’t be too eager, just say, ‘Maybe, a little.’ Keep on sipping beer. Sooner or later, someone will say, ‘Kid, I’ve got a quarter for you if you pick us a tune.’ Then you play your best song.”

His influence among the young was so pervasive that it brought forth this thought: When you see a kid with Adam’s apple wildly bobbing and banjo held chest-high, you know that Pete Seeger, like Kilroy, was there…. Before we hoist one for Pete, let’s also remember that he’s one of the best choirmasters in the country. He may not have the technique of Robert Shaw, but the result is just as explosive. Imagine an audience of thousands as Pete sings, say, “Wimoweh.” As Pete waves his arms gently, the audience reacts as a professional choir might. I’ve seen a wizened little man, who obviously is somebody’s bookkeeper, at the command of Pete become a basso profundo, reaching two octaves lower than Chaliapin. This is the nature of Pete Seeger, who reaches out toward the further shores more effectively and more exhilaratedly than anyone I’ve ever run into.

Hail Pete, at 86, still the boy with that touch of hope in the midst of bleakness. There ain’t no one like him.