Banjo Man

Another good man crossed the great divide: Banjo Larry Thompson, a dear, sweet man and a fine, fine musician. He could pick with the best of them, pick along with anything, and he kept a good, steady rhythm. He sang everything with gusto, humor and feeling in a surprisingly tuneful voice. Sometimes he'd break into a falsetto. And songs! Lord, he knew so many songs.  He died and took the song about the D'eautremont Brothers and the Train Robbery at Tunnel 13 with him. I'll never learn it now.

Many of his old pals gathered at the Pioneer Hall in Lithia Park to send him off. We sang a few songs, told a few stories, ate some food; you know, the things you do when the good ones go.  Afterwards, some of his friends went over to his house on Oak Street. I didn't go, but a couple of days later, I received this photograph of the banjo man in front of Banjo Larry's house.

I don't know when Larry had the banjo man carved out of the tree stump in front of his house, but it was decades ago. When we started hanging around his house in the 90s, it was completely covered in ivy. No-one had seen it in years. After the memorial, some of his friends and family went back to the house, cut back the bushes and found the banjo man still standing tall. He rose again.  Larry would approve.