Read no. 15

Greetings!

I am just back from a wonderful women in bluegrassweekend with Katie Laur (and her dog Hoosier) in Cincinnati, and I feel re-energized! Katie and I, along with CarolElizabeth Jones, Judith Edelman, and Terry Boswell, put ona women in bluegrass workshop at the Appalachian Festivalthere and drew a standing-room-only crowd. Since none ofus had worked together before (we barely knew each other!),we had no pre-conceived plans for the workshop. And tryingto come up with familiar songs that all of us knew was quitea challenge, since a standard women-in-bluegrass repertoryhas not yet evolved. For instance, we couldn’t simply openthe show by flogging a couple of bluegrass standards in thekey of G like the guys can. So, at Carol Elizabeth’s suggestion, we settled on My Home’s Across the Blue RidgeMountains.

For our second number, Terry and Judith and I, on leadguitars and banjo, played Salt Creek. Do you realize how rareit is in bluegrass to find women who can and will take leadguitar breaks? Terry, as I found out, will jump in and try abreak on almost anything. I heartily applaud her attitude.And Judith Edelman, who was sitting right next to me, is anabsolute hoss on rhythm guitar!

As a tribute to our foremothers Sara and Maybelle Carter,Carol Elizabeth sang Will You Miss Me? in E. No onecomplained about the choice of key. We all jumped in on thechorus, and Katie Laur surprised us by singing bass: “Missme when I’m gone.” Judith sang an original song from herupcoming CD, Terry and Katie sang Dream a Little Dreamof Me while I marveled at all the complex chords Terry wasplaying, and I sang M&M Blues. We closed out with arousing version of Banjo Picking Girl. I was proud to be onstage with such a talented group of women who were so easyto work with. On a more somber note, this has been a rough winter forwomen in bluegrass and country music. Most of you know ofthe deaths of Tammy Wynette and Rose Maddox, but a lot ofyou may not know that we also lost a very influential womanin bluegrass, Ingrid Herman Reese (whom most of us knewas Ingrid Fowler), on February 21. Many women and men inbluegrass feel this loss personally, as I do, because Ingrid wasa friend to so many musicians. Several friends have been kindenough to share their memories of Ingrid with us. Since therehas been very little written about Ingrid’s life, I have devotedmuch of this issue to her story.

She Was A Friend Of Mine

Ingrid holds an important spot in my own bluegrass lifebecause she was the first woman, and for a long time the onlywoman, that I ever jammed with who also played a leadinstrument. She played the fiddle. (The exception was myfirst band leader, Betty Fisher, who played a simple country-style lead guitar.) There were few enough women aroundplaying rhythm guitar or bass. Can you imagine playing foryears and years and never encountering another womanplaying a lead instrument in a jam session? That’s the waybluegrass was when Ingrid and I started playing.

Although Ingrid was not very confident of her own fiddleplaying, she was very generous in her praise of others. OnceRed and I stayed overnight with her in Nashville, and I waspassing time by playing the banjo while Ingrid was putteringaround in the kitchen. All of a sudden, she stopped what shewas doing and came over to me and said, “I like the way youplay the banjo. I like to hear you play.” I was bowled over.She was actually listening to me. And she was enjoying it.And she made a point of telling me. I have never forgottenhow good, how proud, and how warm her words made mefeel. But Ingrid was like that.

This past summer, after a long hiatus when Ingrid wasback in California settling up her father’s estate, I hooked upwith her again in Nashville one afternoon at an all-femalepicking party at Sally Wingate’s house. It was Sally on lowbanjo (14-inch head), my daughter Casey on regular banjo,Gloria Belle on mandolin, myself on guitar, and Ingrid onelectric bass. We played for several hours almost non-stop,and had a raucous, rousing good time. Ingrid kept us institches with her quick, dry humor. At one point my stomachhurt from laughing so much. Shortly after this, Sally e-mailed me with the news that Ingrid’s cancer had returned.I had not known that Ingrid had survived a bout with breastcancer. I immediately called her, and she was very positivethat she was going to whip this thing. As far as I could tell,she remained so right up until her death. Her upbeat attitudeled me to believe that things weren’t as bad as they were.When I was in Nashville after Christmas, I visited Ingrid inthe hospital, hoping to get an interview. Alas! It was too late.She was as cheery as ever, but high doses of medication hadmade it difficult for her to focus for long periods of time. I gotjust a snippet of her talking on tape when she ran out of steam.Some of our last words were that this tape would be “a start,”a long-term project that would be continued each time we saweach other. The fates deemed otherwise, for that was the lasttime I saw Ingrid. Inside, I have put together Ingrid’s story as best I could.Join with me in remembering a wonderful woman who, byher own example, quietly inspired other women to

becomeplayers in a bluegrass world that was, at the time, almostcompletely dominated by men.

—Murphy Henry

FRIENDS REMEMBER INGRID

Barry Brower: Salt of the Earth

I first discovered bluegrass one night on Union Street inSan Francisco, at a place called the Drinking Gourd. I wentin there occasionally to see what was happening and, on thisparticular evening, was captivated by a band called Styx RiverFerry. It was a group fronted by a husband-and-wife team.Bob and Ingrid Fowler. Bob played guitar, sang lead, andemceed. Ingrid was the fiddler and provided mostly harmonies. Gene Tortora was the dobro player, Robbie MacDonaldplayed banjo, and Mark Brooks played bass. Bob, lanky anddark-haired, with a broad, angular southern face, had a waywith country material in bluegrass. His somewhat stoopedstage presence reminded me a bit of Hank Williams. It was notsurprising, therefore, to learn thathe originally came from Montgomery, Alabama—Hank’s home. Hiswife, medium-height, blonde, pony-tailed, cute, and outgoing, was thedaughter of legendary band leaderWoody Herman. It was fun stuff they were playing, and I remember turning to abearded young man sitting next tome, who seemed to know the group, and asking him about themusic. “It’s called bluegrass,” he said in a deep southernaccent. “Bluegrass?” “Yes,” he said, “it’s a music that wasstarted by a fellow named Bill Monroe.” “Oh? Who’s he?”Little did I know what a life-changing turn of events thesubsequent discussion would engender for me. I had been a fan of rock and roll and had purchased acouple of hundred records. Within two weeks of hearing myfirst bluegrass group. I was down at Tam Junction in MillValley, by the side of the road, hawking every last one of theserecords for a buck a piece. I used that money to purchase myfirst guitar.

I soon learned that much of the San Francisco bluegrassscene revolved around jam sessions at the Fowler’s home onShell Road in Mill Valley. It was a large, two-story home, andthere were other musicians living with them including Geneand Karen (Walter) Tortora, Ed Dye, Ned Geary, and possiblyRobbie MacDonald, if memory serves me correctly. Bob andIngrid were playing several nights a week at Paul’s Saloon,along with other groups (there were some nights I sat in thereat the only occupied table), and at other gigs around the city—the Drinking Gourd, Mooney’s Irish Pub, and other places Ihave forgotten. Often these late night gigs would be followedby a gathering at the Fowler’s place and would last untilsunrise. Bob and Ingrid would sleep most of the day, havedinner, and then head off to another job.

And so, many fine evenings of music came to pass at 50Shell Road. About 1972, Bob and Ingrid moved to Nashville along with many other fine Bay Area musicians: Pat Enright,John Hedgecoth, Marty Lanham, Bruce Nemerov, LonnieFeiner, Ed Dye, and others I have probably forgotten. In thesummer of 1973,1 came to visit the Fowlers. Bob had secureda job with Bill Monroe that only lasted about six months. “Ifired the mandolin player” was Bob’s response when I askedhim why he left theband. Ingrid and Bobhad helped to openthe Station Inn, andshe had landed a position in a band playing out at the recentlyopened Opryland.One night the threeof us went down tothe Station Inn to hearHubert Davis and theSeason Travelers.

Ingrid was a greatperson—full of lifeand friendly to everyone. She was like asecond mom to manypickers who alwayswere welcome for conversation, a meal, or a place to stay.“Just come on in and make yourself at home, and pick up thatinstrument and play us a tune while you’re at it.” Sheencouraged everyone. And she always had a good word forothers. I remember her telling me how much she liked, aspeople, the Buck White family. Salt of the earth.

She loved bluegrass. When we were driving aroundNashville one day she said to me, “When it is played right,bluegrass is the most beautiful music in the world.” Thiscoming from the mouth of the daughter of a famous jazzmusician. It was probably the last conversation I had withIngrid as our lives went separate ways after I left Nashville.But those prophetic words have stuck with me and remain afitting tribute to her.

Ginger Boatwright: She played hard, loved hard, lived hard

For those of us who knew Ingrid and loved her, there is anempty place that will never fill, but a memory that will bringlaughter for the rest of our days. Ingrid, Susie Monick and I,along with Kathy Chiavola and April Barrows (the Bushwhackers) rode the roads together singing, playing, andlaughing outrageously.

Ingrid and I officially met in 1980 when she and SusieMonick came to the Old Time Pickin’ Party on 2nd andBroadway in Nashville to discuss with me an “all-girl” band.Susie had been a founder of Buffalo Gals, and Ingrid hadinherited a fiddle. That’s how it started. Ingrid’s grandmother had left her a violin, and she said that if that womanthought enough about her to give her the instrument, shecared enough to learn to play it. She had been playing with herthen-husband, the great Bob Fowler. The Bushwhackersstarted playing as the “house band” at the Pickin’ Parlor. Weirreverently said we were looking for a weed eater. Commentsfrom guys prompted that statement, I suppose. When I closedthe Pickin’ Parlor, we went on the road.

We toured Texas quite a bit, and Ingrid would crochetwhile we drove. She’d tell jokes of a ribald flavor, and crackus all up with her very, very off-the-wall remarks aboutanything and everything. (She and Jimbo Reese had married,and he would sit in with us when we played in or aroundNashville.) In Amarillo, she madeus all sit down and taught us tocrochet. It was a ragtag mess, butshe was always so positive: “thenext one will be better.” We sangand rehearsed, and she had a wonderful ear for music and arrangements. We may not have been thebest musical band in the world, butNOBODY had a more splendidtime together making music thanwe did.

Ingrid would tell stories of her father and what aninfluence he had been on her. She would laugh and regale uswith stories of how her mother would dress her in ruffles andpink dresses trying to make her be, well, not quite so Ingrid.

Never in my life have I met anyone so full of the sheer joyof living. She didn’t exist, she experienced and relished everywaking moment of her life. If she made a mistake, she laughedand moved forward from it, leaving it totally to yesterday. Ifthings got tight, she found a way to hang on until they werebetter. She loved her children, her friends, her sweethearts,and her music. Music was like breath to Ingrid. Many nightsI stayed at her house picking and grinning. We came in off theroad one night about 2:00 a.m. We decided lobster was inorder, but Kroger wouldn’t sell us any—the seafood department was CLOSED!! So Inger and I wore the manager downby saying, “This will be your biggest sale tonight!” To get usout of the store, he sold us seven lobsters. Ingrid had the potboiling before we left, and we feasted till the morning light.

She played hard, loved hard, and lived hard. She wantedto do a lot of things, and she did them. She opened her houseto any musician who needed a place to stay. She gave advice,she mentored, she fed us. All with a huge grin and a big laugh.She may be the most intelligent person I have ever known, andwas certainly one of the most original. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, she called mefrom California to tell me that no matter how bad today was“the next one will be better.” While I was recuperating frombreast cancer, it was John Hartford and Ingrid Reese whocalled me nearly every night to check on me. Ingrid had justgone through similar surgery and was my guide throughtough times. She was my guru. She told me what to expectfrom my body. There, too, she has left a legacy, because I tryto give back some of what my friend Ingrid gave me. Hope!!

When Ingrid got sick, Susie Monick called me. I got intouch with Ingrid, and we talked for a long time. I had seenher in Nashville not a month before, and she complained ofheadaches. God love her, she wanted to talk about Charley(Buffington) more than

about herself. She told me how sheloved him and how they shared such a wonderful life together.She told me, too, of the pride she felt in Alex and Tom, hertwo children. She was playing jazz with Charley and Susie,and they were having rehearsals. She was loving it! She gotinvolved in a local church, and took comfort there.

Susie has all the pictures from our Bushwhacker crazydays. An old man gave me a mink coat, which we all tookturns wearing for pictures. We made meat wads for dinner.We scooped up dirt and put green peas on it for Christmas.Susie went on a green diet, eating only things that were green.We Bushwhacked down the road eating raw asparagus. Wemade an album with Ingrid’s dad, Woody Herman—not verygood, but Bushwhacker style! She made Alan O’Bryant anhonorary woman so he could fill in for Susie at Legion StreetBluegrass. Times were great.

I’ll miss Ingrid every day for the rest of my life. Those ofus who had the pleasure of knowing her, with her wickedsense of humor, her sense of the absurd, her delight in music,will forever be grateful that she graced our world. There hasnever been a woman with a heartier laugh, a love for a joke,time for a party, a shoulder for a friend, a love for all kindsof music, and an enjoyment of life that had no bounds, evenas she met its end. There are not words enough to express the love sheshared, there are not enough tears to blot out the sunshine ofher life. And I never could beat her at Scrabble. She was thebest! God bless you, Ingrid, and carry our love home with you!

INGRID

[Some of the following information about Ingrid’s life was gleaned from the book Leader of the Band: The Life of Woody Herman by Gene Lees, Oxford Univ. Press, 1995.] Ingrid Herman, born September 3, 1941, in Los Angeles,California, was the only child of big band leader WoodyHerman and his wife Charlotte. She was described as beingan “exquisitely pretty blonde little girl, quite Nordic.” As youmight imagine, Ingrid did not grow up like the rest of us. Forone thing, she was reared in a home inHollywood that once belonged toHumphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.She attended private schools, had ananny, went on ocean cruises, and sawher mother receive fur coats for Christmas. But, because her father was on theroad with his band up to forty weeks ayear, and her mother was living herfather’s schedule, Ingrid admits shehad a lonely childhood. She used to putdresses on her dog and drag him around.

Ingrid had little interest in the jazzmusic that her father played. She likedcountry guitar. Her father wanted herto take classical piano, which she did,but she describes her playing as “verymediocre.” Piano playing simply didn’tring any bells for Ingrid. In her last

yearof high school, 1957-1958, she startedattending a coffee house called TheUnicorn that had opened in Los Angeles. “It was the first time I had ever seenbeatniks or anything like that. Thewaitresses had long straight hair andbig theatrical makeup and wore allblack, and the guys had beards andwore all black turtlenecks. I thoughtthis was the sexiest, far-out bunch of people I had ever laideyes on. I was totally enamored. The doorman had a littleclassical guitar, and he played folk stuff like John Henry. AndI just thought this was like seeing God.”

When I interviewed Ingrid in the hospital just a few weeksbefore she died, she still recalled her love affair with theguitar. She mentioned that the folk music she first heard madeher feel good. She said she “never got over it.” And, ofcourse, the folk music she was hearing at the coffee houseswas almost all guitar. She started playing herself because shewanted “to play that style of guitar. I have been driven byguitar for a long time. From that first time I ever saw one. Wayback to childhood—ten or eleven years of age.” When Imentioned that guitar was a good instrument to play becauseit was easy to sing while playing one, Ingrid said, “Yeah,although I never considered myself a singer. I just lovedguitars. I was just moved by guitars. I always wanted to play.”When I mentioned that I knew her as a fiddle player, she said“that was years later.” After graduating from high school, Ingrid attended theUniversity of California at Riverside, but dropped out after ayear to marry Tom Littlefield in 1959. They had two children:Tommy, born in 1960, and Alexandra, born in 1961. But by1962, Ingrid had divorced and moved to San Francisco whereshe met and married bluegrass guitar player and singer BobFowler, originally from Montgomery, Alabama. (Bob playedwith Bill Monroe in 1973.) By this time,she was really into folk and hillbillymusic and had taken a few lessons onguitar, learning folk songs such as I GaveMy Love A Cherry and Where Have AllThe Flowers Gone. Bob introduced herto bluegrass through the music of theFlatt and Scruggs records that he broughtto California from his home in Alabama.In our interview Ingrid said, “ I just sortof fell in love with it pretty fast.” According to Ingrid, when she met Bob, “he hadbeen working on guitar for quite a while.”And because Ingrid had seen men andwomen split up over not playing together,she said, “I really didn’t want that tohappen. So I was determined that thatwas not going to happen. Plus, I wasfascinated [with the guitar], I wanted topursue it. And I did. And, really, I would,like, clunk along afterwards, and insistthat I was going to get my two cents orwhatever it was. It kept me in there.”

In the book, Ingrid elaborated: “I hada real fear of being a music widow... I wasdriven by fear of being left out as much asby the desire to play.” With her candidness Ingrid went on to say, “I was drivenall the time. I panicked. I would practice and then cry if itdidn’t go really well. I practically resented the kids becauseI didn't have enough time to practice. I

was just sure that,since I had not grown up playing, I had a congenital lack oftalent and would never be able to play, never be able to keepup.”

Ingrid’s maternal grandfather, Martin Neste, was a fiddleand sax player who played in a western swing band. When hedied, Ingrid’s grandmother gave her his fiddle. As Ingrid saidin the book, “It turned out to be a very good fiddle, a GeorgeGemunder...I decided to learn one song on it for my grandmother for Christmas. Why I thought this would please her,as critical as she was, I have no idea.” Ingrid went on to say,“I found the instrument in some ways so much more imposing than the guitar. I had always felt behind the eight-ball.And here I had this big loud fiddle. I took that sucker andmade it my own!”

It was as a fiddle player that I knew Ingrid. However,Ingrid never had much confidence in her fiddle playing. Iheard her express that thought several times, and she spokebluntly about her fiddling in the book. “To this day I don’t usethe bow well. In fact, I’ve been thinking of taking somelessons, because all my fears are, well, who cares now? Iwould get people to show me things, but I was afraid that theywould think I was too slow. If it wasn’t something I couldgrasp right away, or if it seemed too elementary, I was afraidto ask. Like, how the hell do you get the bow to go straight,instead of sliding all over the place? I wouldn’t ask. I was tooproud. It’s too bad, really. I could have learned so much more.Since I didn’t have a whole lot of talent, and since I startedlate in life, my father probably thought I was insane.”

In San Francisco, Bob and Ingrid, along with Ed Dye, whowas also from Montgomery, started a group called Styx RiverFerry. According to Ed, the first incarnation of the groupconsisted of all three of them playing guitars. Ed said, “Ididn’t even know how to play—I just jumped around.”Something must have been working, though. They played attwo open mikes and immediately landed two jobs. Sometimeafterward, in the summer of 1967, they were joined by BruceNemerov on banjo and Ed Neff on fiddle and mandolin.Chuck Wiley, on bass, came in not too long after that. Theyplayed at places such as the Drinking Gourd where bandswere paid forty dollars, whether there was one person or fifty.They also landed an eight-month gig at the Red Barn, a hugeredneck bar where they played five sets a night, four nightsa week. Somewhere along here, Ed Dye dropped out of themix, but remained on good terms with the band.

One of the more interesting and influential things thathappened to the band about this time was seeing Flatt andScruggs at the hungry i. Ed Dye struck up a conversation withJosh and pretty soon was introducing him to Bob and Ingrid.And, as Ed said, “Ingrid hits it off with everybody.” Sheimmediately invited Josh and Johnny Johnson to come

overto their house after the show. Which they did. According toEd, after hanging around Josh for a while, the “level of theband jumped 300-400 percent.”

One other result of this meeting was that, in 1969, Jakeand Josh flew out to San Francisco to record an album withStyx River Ferry. According to Bruce Nemerov, the ownersof the Pacific High Recording studio, one of the first 16-trackstudios in San Francisco, fronted the band some studio time,and they put down twelve finished tracks. One of the numberswas Sunny Side of the Mountain on which Ingrid playedguitar and sang. Unfortunately, in the process of beingshopped around, the two-track master disappeared, and hasnot been seen since. What a loss!

Bruce also provided some insights into Ingrid’s guitarplaying. She took some lessons from two excellent pickers,Richard Guerin and Dan Crary, and learned to do some flatpicking. Bruce said almost every set would feature a specialtynumber on which Ingrid would flatpick a guitar tune such asSalt Creek. I had no idea that Ingrid could flatpick the guitar.He also said that Bob and Ingrid dug out some of the oldermale-female country duets and used them in their show. Thiswas novel material for Northern California bluegrass audiences. Bruce also revealed another fascinating tidbit aboutthe band’s repertory. He said that Ed and Ingrid used to“gleefully abuse” the audience by singing I Didn’t Know GodMade Honky-Tonk Angels (Ed) and It Wasn’t God Who MadeHonky-Tonk Angels (Ingrid) back to back. Audiences hardlyknew what to think. Ed and Ingrid were very compatible witheach other when it came to doing things like this to anaudience, Bruce said. Or, as Ed put it, “Outrageous didn’tbother us!”

Sometime in early 1969, Bruce and Ed Neff left the bandto join High Country. A later incarnation of Styx River Ferryincluded Mark Brooks on bass and Robbie McDonald onbanjo. Ingrid may have been playing fiddle on stage at thispoint. According to Bruce, she had been “fooling with it athome” when he was in the band, and she had gotten someinformal lessons from Ed Neff. Also about this time, StyxRiver Ferry became the first band to play at Paul’s Saloon inSan Francisco. This was probably in 1969 or 1970, after PaulLampert bought and renovated the bar. When Robbie left, inearly 1970 or late 1969, Marty Lanham took his place.

Ingrid and Bob lived in San Francisco from 1962 until theend of August 1972, when they moved to Nashville. There,in the fall of 1974, with three other couples—Birdie and RedSmith, Charmaine, and Marty Lanham, and Wilma and JimBomstein—they started the Station Inn, originally located at28th Avenue North and West End Blvd., near VanderbiltUniversity.

According to Charmaine Lanham, who along with herhusband Marty moved to Nashville from California only twoweeks after Bob and Ingrid, the Station Inn was born out ofthe need for a place to play. It was patterned after—guesswhat?—the format of Paul’s Saloon in San Francisco. Shedescribes the “founding couples” as West—Ingrid, Bob,Charmaine and Marty—meets East—Birdie, Red, Wilma,and Jim. The newcomers from California got along well withthe old guard from Nashville, Charmaine said. And RolandWhite, also from California, was “woven throughout like athread.”

At the time the Station opened, Ingrid was playing atOpryland in the Country Music USA show, so she was not apart of the “official” Station Inn house band. She played atOpryland for two years. Although the stage of the Station Innwas open to whatever pickers showed up, the band that wason call for performing or backing up other musicians whowould stroll in consisted of Bob Fowler on guitar, MartyLanham on banjo, Birdie Smith on bass, Red Smith orCharmaine Lanham on guitar, and Jim Bornstein on mandolin. Like other musicians, Ingrid would often join the musicat the Station after her Opryland gig. As noted in an articlein Acoustic Musician, after the show at the Station Inn, Ingridwould often invite folks over to her house for an all-night jam.In 1975, Woody Herman and his band played at the Station.

Charmaine had this to say about Ingrid: “If you take allthe women from the South out of the equation, because theygrew up on the music, I would credit Ingrid for getting womenon stage [in bluegrass] more than any other person.” Shewent on to say that, out in California, although women couldsee that Rose Maddox and Patsy Montana were performinghillbilly music, they were thought to be “flukes” mainlybecause they were women who were raised in the music. Thenalong came Ingrid who did not pick up a stringed instrumentuntil she was almost twenty. She became an inspiration toother women who had not grown up hearing bluegrass butwho wanted to play. Laurie Lewis has cited Ingrid as aninfluence on her own playing. Charmaine was most impressed by Ingrid’s determination and her grit. She describesIngrid as “an incredible beauty with an attitude—and thatwas before that word ‘attitude’ was coined.” Charmaine alsosaid that Ingrid always seemed to be “making up for whatevershe lacked.” Perhaps Ingrid keenly felt that she lackedauthentic hillbilly roots and had a lot of catching up to do.Charmaine credits Ingrid and Bob, with their wacky sense ofhumor and Bob’s eye for talent, for the sense of musicalfreedom that everyone around them felt. It was like “if youwanna do this, come on. We’ll pick all night.” According toCharmaine, Ingrid “opened the door for all women, not forjust Southern women.”

Ed Dye added these thoughts. “Her brain power wasastounding. And what I used to marvel at, she was alwaysIngrid—no b.s. Ingrid.” He went on to say that “Ingrid” wassuch an exotic name in Nashville that 80 percent of the peoplecouldn’t pronounce it.

Ingrid’s friends were quick to pick upon this fact and run with it. They called her “England” orused the Southern pronunciation of Ingrid: “Inger.”

Other groups that Ingrid played fiddle with while she wasin Nashville included Hubert Davis and the Season Travelerswith Gene Bush on dobro in the early ’70s; High andLonesome with Pat Enright, Bob Fowler, John Hedgecoth,and Larry Moore; the Shinbone Alley All Stars with Ed Dye,John Hedgecoth, Lynn Hayes, and Billy and Terry Smith; andthe Bushwhackers with Ginger Boatwright, April Barrows,Susie Monick, and Kathy Chiavola.

Of course, while living in Nashville, Ingrid had her kidswith her. Ingrid addresses the mother-versus-bluegrass-musician issue in the book, again with her searing honesty. Thekids spent the summer months with their grandmother,Charlotte, in California. “It was great for me,” she says,“since I was not crazy about being a mother, and it gave methree months of vacation.” But “it was kind of weird forthem,” she says, “because they’d have three months of theyear with a lot of material largesse, and a lot of attention, andthen nine months when the electricity was being turned offevery other week and nobody paid any attention to them. Thatwas hard on them.”

Passages in the book such as the one above caused authorGene Lees, who was a friend of Woody Herman’s, to comment on what he called Ingrid’s “bizarre honesty.” He askedher if she’d ever been in analysis. She said no. He told her shetalked as if she had been. Ingrid’s candid reply was, “Itprevents the hurt. If I tell you that I was a rotten mother, itstops you saying it to me.” Then she laughed, as Ingrid wasalways doing. But the author, being honest himself andobviously very sensitive, says, “I realized how much painthere was in her laughter.”

Sometime along the way, Ingrid’s mother, Charlotte,developed breast cancer, which Ingrid was also to have.When Charlotte’s condition got bad, Ingrid returned toCalifornia where her mother died in 1982. Ingrid wouldremain there until she moved back to Nashville in 1997.

On her decision to leave Nashville for good, author GeneLees recounts Ingrid saying “with that odd and self-scathinghonesty of hers”: “I was really tired of what I was doing inNashville, and knew I wasn’t going to get any further. I hadreached my glass ceiling. And deservedly so.” [Oh, Ingrid,that is so not-true!] She stayed in California to help her dadfight to hold onto his house, which the IRS was trying to takeaway for back taxes. He was also old and in poor health. Ingriddecided he needed someone to travel with him and tapped hergood friend Ed Dye. Woody Herman died October 29, 1987.

After Woody’s death, Ingrid stayed in California and setup her own business called As You Like It Computer Service,doing manuscript work for a variety of clients. But, like hermother, Ingrid developed breast cancer. I was not aware ofthis. Perhaps, like her father, she “had a way of keepingthings to herself.” Or perhaps she was simply, by now, out ofthe larger bluegrass loop. She apparently beat the beast for awhile, but in the summer of 1997, it resurfaced. She vowedto fight it till the end, and she did. Ingrid died on February 21, 1998, at the young age of 56.Of all the songs in the classic bluegrass repertory, the one Ifind most comforting was done by the Stanley Brothers. Iquote it now in memory of Ingrid.

I’ll not be a stranger when I get to that city,

I’m acquainted with folks over there;

There’ll be friends there to greet me,

There’ll be loved ones to meet me

At the gates of that city four-square.

Through the years, through the tears,

They've gone one by one;

But they’ll wait at the gate

Until my race is run.

I’ll not be a stranger when I get to that city,

I’m acquainted with folks over there.

—Murphy Henry

What’s In A Name?

Nancy Pate

After a year of playing as a single, I find myself in animpromptu band situation. I'm part of a three-piece bluegrassgroup which has just played one job and has two more jobsbooked, if we can make it until October. Even such a fledglinggroup needs a name, and since I booked the first job, I took thatrole upon myself. About twelve years ago, I came up with whatI thought was a great name for a band, if the group of womenI was then jamming with had ever gotten any paying jobs—the Supper Dogs. But I find I have outgrown that name; in fact,it’s hard to remember what was so appealing about it to beginwith, given the many unpleasant connotations between dogsand women. Still, it does roll rather nicely off the tongue.Maybe it’s a twenty-something kind of name. I’ll turn fortythis year; a band name with a little more dignity is needed.

Naah! We’re going with a name I dreamed up three yearsago. In my mind, I always see it in lights—the SissyMountain Boys! Just typing the words brings a big smile to myface. I figure if I’m ever going to use the name, I had betterdig it out now, even if it just lasts for three gigs. I originallyenvisioned it as a name for an all-women band, but there areeven deeper shades of meaning for our current situation oftwo women and a man. After all, what do little boys callanother boy who plays with girls all the time? So far the multi-talented Barry Palmer has been a good sport about the name(I didn’t consult him first). Anyway, he has another outlet ina group of hard-core North Georgia pickers with the classyname of the Tunesmiths.

My sister Argen Hicks is our bass player, and I did run thename by her over the telephone. She said she thought it wasgreat. It turns out, though, that she heard me incorrectly; shethought I said the Prissy Mountain Boys! Not the same thingat all! She’s a little disappointed. Barry, on the other hand,is probably relieved.

Our second job is coming up. It’s for a small arts festivaldown the road in Buford, Ga., where I know many of theresidents. Flyers with the band name have gone up. An insertwas prepared for our church bulletin since many of the areachurches are providing a food court for the festivities. Thechurch secretary called me before she typed it up. “I told themthis name couldn’t be right,” she said. I admitted that, yes,it was, and launched into the explanation I have made severaltimes since then, about how many all-male bluegrass groupsare billed as the Some Place Mountain Boys, and that theSissy Mountain Boys is a playful take-off on that fact. Thatsatisfied the church secretary, but subsequently that story wasmet with a blank look (by someone uncultured in bluegrasslore). I just added, “Well, my sister plays with me in theband.” Enough said. Down South in the land of “Bubba”and “Sissy” that reason is comprehended. I have felt one moment of supreme satisfaction since theSissy Mountain Boys’ debut. A friend from my church choirsaid, “I saw the name of your band in the bulletin.” I steeledmyself to answer yet another query. He looked me in the eyeand said, “That’s perfect” My feeling exactly.

Roni Stoneman Rules!

Roni Stoneman occupies aunique place in the history ofwomen in bluegrass. She wasthe first woman to playScruggs-style banjo on an album. She recorded

LonesomeRoad Blues in 1956 for analbum Mike Seeger was doingcalled American BanjoScruggs Style. I consider herthe first woman bluegrassbanjo player. When I found out Roniwas going to be playing atWinchester’s Apple BlossomBluegrass Festival on May 3, I thought it would be fitting to recreate that recording with notone, but

SIX women playing the banjo. So I tapped LynnMorris, Lee Ann Lenker Baber (formerly of the Buffalo Chip Kickers and the ValleyDolls), Amy Carlson (my 15-year-old prodigy, currentlyplaying with Girls Nite Out),Casey Henry, myself, andRoni to do just that. Ronigraciously allowed us to invade her set, and we gave theaudience a version of Lonesome Road Blues they won’tsoon forget.

After that number, Ronihad another good half hourto go in her set, and she hadno trouble filling it with comedy and singing. For her lastnumber, Rocky Top, she invited all the women back on stageto play. Lynn was getting ready for her own set and couldn'tmake it, and Casey was back on bass, but here we are! WIB

Casey Henry—Ratifications

For this issue of WIB I washaving trouble thinking of something to write about. Murphy suggested I write about playing withRoni Stoneman, but there reallyisn’t too much to say about that.Roni got on stage at our AppleBlossom Bluegrass Festival in ashort red dress, hose with a seamup the back, and two-inch heelsand entertained the crowd for anhour by talking about outhouses. She was amazing and great and the audience was about to busta gut laughing, but that was all there was to it. [See page 7for more on Roni.] I have played a couple of gigs lately, andthose usually make excellent fodder for articles, but thesewere actually good gigs. The audience listened to us, it wasn’tblazing hot or freezing cold, and there was plenty of food.Although these qualities are rare in themselves at our gigs,they aren’t exciting to write about.

So I did what I always do when I am in need ofexcitement—I came to Nashville. My real excuse is that I amgoing to interview Larry Perkins for an article I plan to write.I arrived Saturday and figured, since I was in the neighborhood, I would stick around until Tuesday and see the Sidemenplay. But, although they are always exciting, I wrote aboutthem in the last issue, and it wouldn’t do at all to use themtwice in a row. So I was sitting around here Sunday morning,waiting for something to happen, when suddenly it did. Thatsomething was the Nashville Jug Band.

My uncle, John Hedgecoth, who I am staying with, is amember of said band. Its membership is fairly fluid, the onlyconstant being Ed Dye. They perform very occasionally,maybe not even as often as once a year, so each show is a bigevent. Their 1998 appearance is (was, depending on whenyou read this) May 23, down at the Station Inn. They aren’texactly sticklers about practice, but this morning, as I washoping for something to do, John mentioned he had jug bandpractice, so I tagged along. They gathered at the home of Jill Klein, who sings withthe band. She lives on Rodney Street in Nashville, the samestreet where Jerry Douglas and Bela Fleck live. As we pulledinto her driveway, I saw her metal tiger-shark yard art andrealized that this would

not be an average house. One of thefirst things I noticed when I walked in was a sideboard withshelves. That wasn’t interesting in itself, but on top of theshelves was a big tennis shoe at least three feet long, one anda half feet high, shiny, and fire-engine red. That wasn’t theonly unusual piece of art. She had a wicker lounge chairshaped like a fish, a huge wooden head hanging on the wall,and a great variety of lamps with wild bases and shades. Herliving room walls were painted a lovely shade of yellow, andthat was where the Jug Band gathered.

John played the banjo and the jug, which he used onsurprisingly few songs. The bass player was Too Slim fromRiders in the Sky, and a skinny guy named Fats

playedaccordion, fiddle, and dobro, though not at the same time.Also present were a harmonica player and a guitar picker. Isat on the couch and took it all in while they practiced up astorm.

They started off with Titanic. They said they were cashingin on the current craze. It wasn’t the regular Titanic which weall know and love, though. It was a loud, raucous version, likemany of the Jug Band’s songs, and the chorus went “Farethee. Titanic, fare thee well.” Most choruses are groupaffairs, and everyone sings or yells out something or other.

Jug band music is so different from bluegrass and sodifferent from any music that is around today, that I didn’trecognize any of the songs that they played. They were allgood, but I had never heard them before. Some were reminiscent of swing-band music, something that you could do theCharleston to, while others were spiced-up versions of morefamiliar songs like Frankie and Johnny Were Lovers. (Okay,I did recognize that one.) As exciting as the music was at thispractice, it will become incredible when Ed Dye is present. Asif to make up for his absence (Ed does not need to practice todo his thing) or to anticipate his presence, every musicianthere had an Ed Dye impression—which usually consisted ofyelling out weird things in the middle of songs. No one playedthe bones, which would have been a great impression, butthey couldn’t possibly have played them as well as Ed.

Jill sang some beautiful numbers in a smooth jazzy styleincluding My Own Bayou and Crazy Blues. They playedinstrumentals like Dallas Rag, Twelfth Street Rag, and Tico Tico. Most of the songs had complicated chord structures,more complicated, at least, than bluegrass, which doesn’ttake much. They had patterns though, and they wouldn’t beso hard to learn if you put your mind to it. It would be reallyfun to play music like that, especially if you had that caliberof musicians to play it with.

They practiced for about two and a half hours, each personproposing and singing songs. The only requisite for a suitablesong is that one person know it. That person teaches it to therest of the group, and they are off and running. It didn’t takeany more than fifteen minutes even for the most complicatedsong, which was in D minor. I was very impressed with thewhole band, and I wish that I could be here for the performance to see Ed Dye in action, but I guess I can’t haveeverything. Until next time, this is your on-the-spotreporter, Casey Henry, Nashville, Tennessee.

Station Inn Celebrates Ingrid’s Life

MaryE Yeomans

A memorial celebration of Ingrid Fowler’s short butintriguing life was held on March 2 at the Station Inn inNashville, Tennessee. When I arrived, moments before theevent was to begin, the room was dark and buzzing with hermany friends remembering significant and often amusingmoments in her all-too-short life. Folkswere gathered around the bar laughingand embracing, and there was a feeling ofelectricity and excitement in the air. Ingrid’s son Tommy Littlefield andher daughter Alex opened the night’sfestivities, observing Ingrid’s gift fortouching and changing many lives inmeaningful and positive ways. They spokeof how she’d be remembered for her love,her forgiveness, her courage, and always,no matter what, for her highly developedand wonderful sense of humor, and herability to find laughter in everything.Tommy read a very touching piece he’dwritten about his mom.

Kathy Chiavola recalled the Bushwhackers, the Nashville band that she and Ingrid and Ginger Boatwright played with in the 1980s.Kathy then sang with grace and compassion a song calledHome, which was one Ingrid loved to sing. Kathy was joinedby the wonderful harmony voice of Alan O’Bryant, anotherlong-time friend of Ingrid’s. The audience was quiet, attentive, and visibly touched by Kathy and Alan’s stirringdelivery of the song.

Everybody in attendance was dressed casually, as is theway of the Station Inn, and there was no smoking until afterthe first intermission, a fact which was appreciated by manyin the room. Some of the people I recognized among thecrowd were Pat Enright, Ed and Charlene Dye, Billy andTerry Smith, John and Lynn Hedgecoth, Mark and SallyWingate, Alan O’Bryant, Ranger Doug of Riders in the Sky,George Gruhn, Gene Wooten, J.T. Gray, Roland White (oneof the greatest friends, supporters, and performers of blue-grass ever!), Randy Howard, and others too numerous tomention here.

Kathy Chiavola read a letter from Ginger Boatwright toIngrid—a very touching letter that only a dear friend couldwrite to another, personal and warm. How Ingrid must’veenjoyed that wonderful letter in her last days. Kathy wasovercome with tears while reading and had to pause for amoment or two; we all paused with her.

Blaine Sprouse talked about how Ingrid was known toplay a savage game of Scrabble, remembering how she’dlaugh with that big grin of hers. Others talked of “what abright beacon Ingrid had been in a dreary world,” and howAlex and Tom were lucky to have a mom like her. Tommybeing especially rich for inheriting Ingrid’s maniacal laugh. Alan O’Bryant took the stage with his banjo and sang avery heart-felt and emotional Last Timeon the Road, stopping once to regainhis composure, teetering wet-eyed onthe edge of his obvious sense of loss. Hecalled up Billy and Terry Smith, PatEnright, and Blaine Sprouse, and theylaunched into some mighty fine picking and singing. Belle Terry from near MuscleShoals, Alabama, got up and sang, andshe was really something to behold. Noyoungster, she sure traveled a longdistance to honor her long-time friend.She sang Can't You Hear Me Calling—real hard and intense like Monroe would’ve—with O’Bryant tenoringher, Sprouse on fiddle, Enright on guitar, Gene Libbea on bass, John Hedgecoth on banjo, and Roland White playing the mandolin. This was a piercing, right-to-the-soul duet. On the edge.Whew! Really fine! And who said women can't sing bluegrass? Y’all need to check out Belle Terry. Roland then sangI Don’t Care, with Enright tenoring him, and the incrediblelineup of musicians then launched into Angeline the Baker.

Jimbo Reese, Charley Buffington, and Susie Monick, ondrums, along with Ed Dye on dobro, got up and played somemusic—one tune I recall was Waiting For A Train. Ed thenintroduced Gene Bush and Cindy Sinclair who also performed. Next April Barrows, a woman with an incredible,rich voice, sang a slow jazz song.

The smoking had commenced by then, and I was tired,and couldn’t imagine that the night’s events could possiblycontinue to lift me any higher into the heavenly heights ofmusic that I’d already experienced, so I packed my thingsand, saying good night to many of Ingrid’s (and my) roomfulof friends, headed my truck homeward. I never met Ingrid,unfortunately, though I’m close to many of her dearestfriends. Hearing so many talk of her that evening, seeing somuch raucous laughter mixed with sorrowful tears, I regretthat our paths never crossed, for she must’ve been an unusualand remarkable woman. Still, it seemed I got a sense of heressence from the words, the songs, and the

remembrances ofthose she left behind who came forward to share a piece

ofthemselves and their lives.

SHORT STUFF

Hazel Dickens, Carol Elizabeth Jones, and Ginny Hawkerhave been working on a new CD which is now all finishedexcept for the mixing. Lynnn Morris played clawhammer banjoon the Molly O’Day number Coming Down From God (“Better get in that number that no man can number...”). I heardLynn practicing this one, and her playing was outstanding.Other songs include a new song from Hazel, I Can’t Find YourLove Anymore, a song Rose Maddox did, Love Me or LeaveMe Alone, and some ballads and “obscure stuff” such as OldRiver, Times Are Not What They Used to Be, Lay Me to Rest,Time’s A-Winding Up, Faded Pressed Rose, and The Forsaken Lover. There is also an original from Carol Elizabeth,Let Me Go, that offers a view of death from the perspective ofsomeone speaking from the tomb. Look for this CD inOctober. And even though this isn’t bluegrass, I just had to tell youabout seeing Patti LaBelle in concert on TV a few months ago.Patti turned fifty in 1994 and is still singing her butt off. I wasmost impressed with what she told the audience at thebeginning of the concert. She was wearing some kind of short,tight-knit dress (l never mastered the names of material), andshe announced right up front, “I just want you to know that Iam not holding my stomach in!" Then she turned sideways soeverybody could see. Way to go, Patti!!! WIB