I promised Meat last time out that I'd stick to writing about the big stuff. So here goes.
Eastern Kentucky and the entire mountain region lost a giant this week.
Almost 25 years ago, after a divorce and a layoff, I landed in Pike to recover for a couple of weeks and come up with a plan.
On the first day home, I found a radio station on the far left end of the dial that seemed to go from banjos to blaring guitars with ease. The dj's sounded like regular people. It sounded home grown, so I left it there.
On the second day, I met my brother for lunch and ran into an old college instructor who'd become president of Pikeville College. He offered me a job in the public affairs office on the spot.
That afternoon driving back to Elkhorn, I heard a voice on the little station that sounded a bit more polished than the others, but was still...different.
My half hour trip home became a three hour road trip. The guy on the air played polkas and Bob Dylan, read headlines from the Weekly World News and challenged the listeners to "ESP him" their vote on which article they wanted to hear, and talked about something called the "Hillbilly Nation". The show was called Riding Around Listening to the radio and I couldn't turn it off.
This was my introduction to Wiley Quixote. Little did I know at the time he would change my life.
Over the next couple of months, I settled into the college, but continued to send resumes out into the world to find another high paying career job. I also kept my radio on WMMT.
One day I heard a promo for a gathering of songwriters and wannabes over in Whitesburg at Appalshop. I'd dabbled in songwriting so thought I'd check it out.
I called Wiley for directions. He asked me where I was from and gave me the lowdown. He said he'd be there, too, just ask for Jim Webb if I got lost. When I asked who that was he snorted and said "you're talking to him."
I showed up to Appalshop the next Saturday. I was a little late, so a guy ambled up to me when I came in the door. He was wearing a pink t-shirt and purple high top Chuck Taylors.
"You look like you're from Pike county," said the guy with the coal black hair and salt and pepper beard. "I'm Jim Webb."
I shook his hand and joined the group, feeling intimidated. I was a dabbler and some of these folks were Nashville quality songsmiths. I passed on my first opportunity to do one in front of the group.
On the second time around, I was feeling a little more comfortable. Jim encouraged me to play, so I tried one I'd written called "Breaks of the Big Sandy". I had to read the words from paper, which he held for me.
To my astonishment, he seemed to like the song. During a break he pulled me to the radio on-air room. "Ever done radio? You should think about doing a show."
I told him I was probably a short timer, that I was looking for a job in Lexington or Cincinnati and would be out of there soon.
Jim looked directly at me and said, "No, no, we need more people like you around here. You really should stay."
Before too long, I had my own radio show. The job offer I ended up taking was at the Appalshop. I have never come close to moving away.
There's no way to describe the impact Jim Webb has had on many lives in central Appalachia. Mine was only one of hundreds. You could not find a single person who loved the mountains and the people of the mountains more than he.
Jim passed this week from pancreatic cancer. It took him so fast that few of us really got the opportunity to say goodbye. I'm thankful I did.
There's not enough space in this newspaper to tell his story, so all I can do is tell what he did for me. Wiley introduced me to Ridin Around Listening to the Radio.
I have been blessed ever since.