Who Was Lotus Dickey? (excerpt from chapter 22)

We started the new millenium packing our stuff, selling our house and heading south, not far enough to lose all the snow, but nevertheless south. We weren't entirely prepared, however, to adapt to life in Bedford, a small, rural town, although close to Bloomington with Indiana University.

Once we settled into a new home in a country subdivision, I made friends with the news editor who played guitar. In fact, this compact, marathon running, married-without-kids friend shared many lifestyle similarities with me. We got together to play music a few times and I dusted off some of my original songs as well as favorites by the Eagles, CSN&Y, the Beatles and others. He could play guitar well and introduced me to the music of Lyle Lovett and some folk/country songs. Then he started telling me about a group of local musicians dedicated to Lotus Dickey and other bluegrass artists. "Lotus Who?" I asked. I knew nothing about bluegrass music but was about to step into a world that seemed to emanate from nearby Paoli, Indiana.

One weekend, Bedford was hosting a small festival on the grounds of the county courthouse about a half block from the newspaper. My new editor pal told me that the Lotus Dickey people would perform. "I'm bringing my guitar, bring yours, too," he said. But I wasn't quite ready to sit in on a bluegrass session with an audience. I needed to hear the music and declined to take my guitar. When the Lotus Dickey Reunion Band took the small stage, it was like nothing I had seen or heard live before -- a half dozen players with acoustic guitars, banjos, mandolins, violins, even an old guy in bib overalls playing the spoons!

The newness to my ears was foot-stomping contagious. My friend, along with the publisher of the paper, knew the people in the band and the words to most of the songs. They requested tunes such as "I'll Fly Away," "I Want To Sing That Rock n' Roll," and some Lotus Dickey originals. Kids danced on the courthouse lawn and people chomped on apple fritters. it resembled those family picnics of my distant past, little sugar-filled cousins bouncing to Slovak melodies. De-ja Vu!