A County Lineman Nighthawk

Vol. 135, January 14th, 2025 Published a day early online

Celebrating Elvis

Nurses are hard to startle. But I’m talented.

I leaned on the counter, trying to compose myself. “Do you know where the party is?” She looked alarmed. “Probably on the third floor.”

“Cool, thanks, I’m the entertainer.”

Elvis’ 90th birthday found me running down a long hall, then dragging a cartload of DJ gear up to a waiting room of friends. A wire got crossed somewhere, and I almost missed the Elvis party.

They were patient, I connected speakers frantically. The king’s voice filled the room. A stray plastic flower latched onto the borrowed Activities dept. cart. I waved it around. “Brought you a bouquet. Thanks for waiting.”

We sat around, picking out songs from the records and singing along. Where would we be without Elvis?

The king seems certain, American as Chevy or rock ‘n roll, dependable as a partly cloudy sky in the winter. But he almost flunked his audition at Sun records. If it weren’t for the careful attention of bossman Sam Phillips, we wouldn’t have Elvis.

Ordinary people, working together, making the extraordinary happen. So the question becomes: Where would we be without each other? I cherish the “everyday”, especially when it means listening to records with patient friends.

What a blessing.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Stout (strong). “He never was very stout.”

Happy Birthday, Clarinet

J. Cristoph Denner invents this mellow fellow today in Nurnberg, Germany, 1690.

Song of the Week

“Stranger on the Shore” (Acker Bilk, 1962)

A perfect way to celebrate the birthday of the clarinet. Dig the tone, man!

A Winter Wonderland

Ice coated the trees across the land. The highway to Richmond looked fantastical last week on the way to River City.

Quote of the Week

“Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.”

–Philippians 4:8 NLT

Write to Us!

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #220)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: Lineman for the County

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Those poor pine trees. Last week, we talked about ‘em right here, how they keep the winter woods green. This week, limbs came crashing down, splintering, filling the air with that piney fresh, the remaining branches drooping dejectedly. They sure were having a Monday in every sense of the word. Winter storm Blair dealt the ice, and dealt it hard.

It caught, coated, suffocated. I crunched through the grass to check on the beehives, freeing their entrances from the glaze. The trees looked titanium when the sun hit right, and when it went down too early, the ground seemed as hard as that silvery metal. And the power went out.

“Should have got that generator hooked up” I muttered, winterizing my house, then heading over to the folks’. They have a wood stove. (I plan to.) It got colder.

Outside, the snowplows rumbled, and the power crews got underway. Five thousand workers from seven states worked ‘round the clock to fix the grid, the yellow lights on the big line trucks blinking through the night–and day–and night. And the boys brought it back. Of course they did. Hallelujah.

You’ll rarely hear me say this, but cue Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration”. Thanks to those guys, we’ve got electricity for the record players (and lights).

Things nowadays work so good, it’s easy to forget that people work overtime in the cold to keep the world running. When I was a soundman for bands back in the day, the successful gigs meant nobody turned around to look at me. The only “fame” I got was when I did something wrong. A good soundman is invisible. So is clean water, lights, and clear roads–our infrastructure. But the invisible becomes easy to forget, and worse, take for granted. Ice storms always check me.

A long time ago, I took a train to NYC, watching out the window on a Sunday evening. The crumbling bricks and abandoned factories rolled by with a sad air. The ghosts of the workers and a million unseen hands seemed to wave from the ruins with a plea. “Don’t forget us.”

But we have real linemen and snow plow drivers to thank, and a working civilization to appreciate. Ain’t it grand? So give ‘em a wave, and a cup of coffee. They sure could use one after this storm. They, in turn, can be thankful that I’m not on the crew. “Fellas, fellas, play some Glenn Campbell. How ‘bout ‘Wichita Lineman?’ It’s the theme song, man.”

Catch you on the flip side,

Josh

Send 70’s records and postcards to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588

or on X @RealJoshUrban