One Shoe On.

When I was fifteen, I was cast in a play called DON'T DRINK THE WATER by Woody Allen.  It's a very funny play, and is still done today because a Jersey family trapped in an Iron Curtain Embassy just never stops being funny.  But when we did it, there was still an Iron Curtain, and Embassies didn't regularly get gutted and their occupants murdered. 

Cuz that would kill the comedy.

I can remember very few of the cast of that show, but I do remember this one guy; tall, gangly kinda fellow, with a distinctive voice and something in his eye that indicated a knowledge that just plumb eluded me.

In the first read through of this play, I remember he had this line; he was playing the Embassy chef, and he had this one, ranting line about how he was a former chef for the Queen of England, and the former Chef to the President of France, and the former Chef to the Maharajah of Shashneesh....and before that, he did very little cooking.

He did it.  And I lost it.  Funniest line reading.  Ever.

And the director.....made him CHANGE IT.

And it was never as funny after that.

Well, I grew up, and so did that tall, gangly lookin' dude who had the look that indicated blah blah blah.

I became an actor, a teacher, and these days a kind of communications expert.

He became this really cool musician.

Joe Henry has done eight or nine albums, produced God knows how many more, has performed all over the wide world and knows pretty much everybody worth knowing.  His lyrics are to be sought after and read and sung and savored, and in some cases, painted on the subway walls.  His voice is a thousand others, and his own at the same time.....cool and longing and pained and content.

And yes, he's still funny.

I first saw Joe do a show in a high school cafeteria in the spring of 1978; and I saw him again last Tuesday night, in a cool little club in downtown Minneapolis; I was in the company of his Sister, Cathy, on whom I first crushed all those years ago, and am now exceedingly happy to have her as a friend-of-many-tales. 

Of the show, I will say this; I have been, for several decades now, been searching for a time when I could attend one of Joe's shows.  Never could.  But it was kind of this full-circle bucket-list kinda thing with me.  I was there during the early days when he was singing other people's songs, and I wanted to be there to hear him sing HIS songs.

It was glorious.  It was like being stretched through time; both feet planted in the present, and everything else shot into the past.

I had several hours with which to catch up with Cathy; to first tell the stories of there-to-here, and then dancing back in time for a bit......we ate grilled cheese sandwiches and tater tots.  I kid you not.

We ordered drinks, and sat at a table overlooking the small stage, and for the two hours that time simultaneously moved quickly and not, I gobbled up every single nuance; I heard old songs a new way, and new songs in an old way.  I laughed at the comments and admired the quick wit as Joe bantered with an audience that not only knew his work, but knew him, as well.

Seriously, somebody gave him Birthday greetings.

When it was over, and we sat at a table waiting for Joe to finish his signature obligations, I met a few other, great witted and charming people, and in the instant Joe came to the table, the thought struck me.

I have been a fan of his since before the first album; but for the love of GOD, I knew this guy, cumulatively, for about 20 minutes back in the 1970's!  What the HELL was I doing there?

He remembered me.  Which was remarkable.

He invited me to join them for dinner, which was even more remarkable.  The three of us talked about a thousand things, of home, and family and art and music and travel and how I wound up in a frozen wasteland and became a DHS spy.

And in the end, both Joe and Cathy hugged me.  He put his arm around my shoulder, and together we took the worst picture in the known world.  Apparently, we both smiled just before, and just after the picture was taken.

I traveled to the venue leading a snowstorm; and the following day I traveled back into the teeth of that storm.  And I was fine with it, and would do it again in a heartbeat.

Because some things are absolutely necessary.

And this was like forty of them.

And all day today, as the car died from frostbite and my eyesight finally faded enough to provoke action, I sang softly to myself...

Take me back to your house
And turn on the lights;
Everyone must pass this way
Tonight......