I said, “I like the way you play that guitar with your fingers! Sounds soft, and you can hear it a long ways off. All of these three hills was just ringing out with your guitar, and all of these people were listening to you sing.”
“I saw them listening,” one sister said.
“I saw them, too,” the other sister said.
“I play with a flat celluloid pick. I’ve to be loud, because I play in saloons and, well, I just make it my job to make more noise than they make, and they’re sorry for me and give me nickels and pennies.” - “The Telegram That Never Came” from “Bound for Glory”
I left the crush of the press at the historical society with thoughts of lunch. Earlier I’d noticed a Mexican restaurant two doors down from the Woody Guthrie statue. I don’t recall this restaurant being there during my visit in March, so I took it as a sign that my Guthrie tribute/al pastor streak was meant to continue.
I crossed the street by the Crystal Theater, with its “Welcome to Woodyfest” marquee, giving a small nod to the busker sitting on the sidewalk. His can held a sign reading, “Traveling broke but happy.”
This is why I’m not a real reporter: I got all the way across the street before I considered that perhaps I should visit with this fellow.