MUSIC IN THE MEMOIR
From Chapter: The Rock Island Line
From Chapter: The Rock Island Line
From the Memoir:
We were revisiting the crossroads of Art’s history.
On this tour, the two gigs in New York and this one in Chicago were the most important. Art was playing at a legendary club, the Jazz Showcase in the Loop. John Snyder had gotten a room for us at a Holiday Inn or Howard Johnson’s on some bombed-out edge of the town. From our window, we looked out on gray, grass-patched, dirt acres showing the exposed, chewed-down foundations of old buildings and their lopped-off concrete stoops. John had put us near the Methadone clinic where Art could get his daily dose.
On the first or second day, while Art rested or, unbeknownst to me, went out in search of drugs, I took a walk from the hotel hiking toward what seemed to be the city. Eventually, I reached a dilapidated old building that had been a railroad station. I climbed its splintered stairs, walked in through its opened doors, and saw an old hand-lettered sign. It said “Rock Island Line.” Stunned and silly and covered with goosebumps, I stood there in my backpack all alone in this big echoing place and sang Leadbelly’s song, like a hymn to the sign.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is a mighty good road.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is the road to ride.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is a mighty good road.
If you want to ride it,
got to ride it like you find it.
Buy your ticket at the station
on the Rock Island Line.
We were revisiting the crossroads of Art’s history.
On this tour, the two gigs in New York and this one in Chicago were the most important. Art was playing at a legendary club, the Jazz Showcase in the Loop. John Snyder had gotten a room for us at a Holiday Inn or Howard Johnson’s on some bombed-out edge of the town. From our window, we looked out on gray, grass-patched, dirt acres showing the exposed, chewed-down foundations of old buildings and their lopped-off concrete stoops. John had put us near the Methadone clinic where Art could get his daily dose.
On the first or second day, while Art rested or, unbeknownst to me, went out in search of drugs, I took a walk from the hotel hiking toward what seemed to be the city. Eventually, I reached a dilapidated old building that had been a railroad station. I climbed its splintered stairs, walked in through its opened doors, and saw an old hand-lettered sign. It said “Rock Island Line.” Stunned and silly and covered with goosebumps, I stood there in my backpack all alone in this big echoing place and sang Leadbelly’s song, like a hymn to the sign.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is a mighty good road.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is the road to ride.
Oh, the Rock Island Line
is a mighty good road.
If you want to ride it,
got to ride it like you find it.
Buy your ticket at the station
on the Rock Island Line.