Vol. 123, October 22nd, 2024 Published a day early online
On The Road Again
Someone near Richmond requested it, so I spun the tune. Willie Nelson’s voice filled the room. On the road again...
Today is a quiet morning: the sounds of the coffee pot, a blue jay greeting the early sun, and a baroque record on the turntable. But tomorrow it’s as Willie says, off to make music with my friends.
Being a traveling DJ and “lecturer” isn’t as strange a combination as you’d think. I get to find and share nifty stuff. Sometimes I bring the guitar, too. Willie’s got it right: with my friends. That’s what it’s about.
Last week, a WWII vet enjoyed a Johnny Mercer tune, a retired coach imparted leadership advice, and a long lost buddy helped pack up at a place I haven’t played since COVID. To the west, Carol (of Appalachian Word) and her pals regaled me with tales of the 60’s.
The green signs and white dashes fly by. Day turns into night, and the road becomes a canvas, splashed with the blue and orange paint of the streetlights. There’s another record to spin up around the bend, another song to play, and another story to hear.
But for all the miles, we might miss each other in the hall, and that’s why letters are good, too, a paper version of the highway. Drop a line, I’d love to hear from you.
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
Song of the Week
“On The Road Again” (Willie Nelson, 1980)
Written on the back of a “barf bag” on an airplane, it’s probably Nelson’s most iconic tune. It even won him a Grammy.
Thanks, But No Thanks
Jean-Paul Sartre is awarded, but declines, the Nobel Prize for literature, this day, 1964.
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
Britches (Trousers). “Change those britches before we go into town.”
Catching October Rays
A tiny frog, perched on a pokeberry leaf, relishes the autumn morning sun.
Quote of the Week
“The most necessary learning is that which unlearns evil.”
–Antisthenes
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #208)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: The Lanterns
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! If you're just “tuning in”, it's a newspaper version of a late night radio broadcast. Picture this: all the world's asleep. A train whistles in the distance. You turn the dial on the old radio, and the static crackles. The quirky DJ talks between records, with a story here, an idea there, something to keep you company during the wee hours. This evening's tale is about lanterns. I'll be your DJ.
I've done a bit of real radio work, broadcasting from a basement studio on a college station. It was my favorite place in the world. Surrounded by the shelves of music, posters from forgotten bands, and blinking audio gear, I'd spin the tunes, hours flying by in solitude. Every three minutes or so, I'd put a new track on, and maybe say something, then back to the music. DJs always sound like extroverts (I am), but it's a lonely job. Still, the lamp was always burning, and once in a while a visitor would wander by for a chat. Once, a cop walked in, and I thought he meant trouble. Turns out he had a public service announcement to broadcast. Cool dude. (I ended up buying two wind-up victrolas from him a few weeks later.) He went on his way, and it was back to me and the music, keeping the watch.
I'd imagine the same goes for train engineers, long-distance bus drivers, truckers, and especially snowplow operators. There are a lot of people involved, but we don't see 'em. We know that they're around, though, and our job is to get them home safe.
Come to think of it, doesn't this go for all of us?
I like to picture that we're holding lanterns along a dark road somewhere, lighting the way for our fellow traveler. We've all been on the other side of this, too.
How many times have we stumbled along, and when the path seemed darkest, suddenly found a light, and a friend standing by?
Sometimes it's cashier with a smile, or a stranger who seems familiar, offering that vital advice. There's a boxer at my gym like this. During a hard day, I happened to run into him (figuratively). He showed me how to hit the speed bag with deadly precision, then preached the Good News with a quiet joy. That's a lantern, man.
Flip on the TV, and everyone's a weatherman nowadays, forecasting rain and darkness. Bad news is so in style, it's cliché. The question won't let me alone: what can we do about it?
I like this picture of holding a lantern. It gives me two jobs: keep the flame bright (live as right as possible), and help my fellow travelers when they show up along my little section of road.
It's something to do right here, right now. I keep seeing people living this: a pal in a nursing home who looks beyond his own suffering to pray with his friends. Another helping her neighbors to their appointments. “I have legs” she told me. “I do what I can.” A boss with a quiet bit of encouragement, a friend granting grace about a political disagreement, all little sparks when they're needed most. It's more than being nice. Sometimes it's a lot harder than that. The way isn't always easy, and sometimes we light a rocky part. It's about doing our job as people when opportunity knocks.
So hold that lantern high. I'll do the same for you.
Catch you on the flip side,
Josh
Send stories and postcards to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or on X @RealJoshUrban