Caffeinated Politics

Do we find happiness, or does happiness find us?

On Saturday, I was sitting in the middle of our lawn with a variety of wooden outdoor furniture in need of staining. With brush in hand and my head turned down to make sure the ridges of the wood were properly coated, I heard the voice of a woman say, “Oh, Helen, you don’t hear harmony like that anymore.“ I looked up and saw two women on the sidewalk, appearing to be in their 70s, and making reference to the music from my CD player. The Statler Brothers were singing songs I had compiled years ago when creating a series of recordings featuring a wide array of singers and groups that make for pleasant times when working on projects like staining.

I looked at the woman who had made the comment and told her she looked like someone who probably had read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It took a moment for her to think about that, and then her eyes twinkled, and she said, “I’m not gonna fall for that painting is so much fun line.“ I was in a particularly good mood that day as the weather was perfect with ideal spring temperatures, and only a small smattering of clouds in the sky. I knew that evening, James and I were going to a house concert on the isthmus where the music would be splendid.

The reason we came to know the people hosting the event was because on another Saturday, over a decade ago, our front doorbell rang.  Standing on the stoop was a college associate of James, along with a man we did not know. He was introduced as Brooks Katzman and held out a copy of my book, which had recently been published, while he asked for it to be signed.  Admittedly, that was an ego booster, but what really struck me was when I asked where he lived. “Nashville, Tennessee” was his response. That was the most interesting answer that could be offered. I have had a long love affair with Music City since a boy, and here at our front door was a man with my book from that city.  In my mind, that seemed like a message of sorts.  Exactly what it meant, I was not sure.

Over the years, Brooks has been a returning visitor to the isthmus, having graduated from the University of Madison.  He proves to be a constantly engaging, talkative, and highly interesting personality. Our politics align, and our views of issues, both domestic and international, are usually on the same side of the divide; the only difference that occurs is sometimes how we believe electoral politics can best land us at our desired destination.  But where Brooks truly shines, in my way of explaining it, is when he is the binder ingredient for the recipe of friendships. His ability is to bring people together with shared interests, who before had never set eyes on each other. As a result, new relationships are formed.  In this time of rancor and discord, that is no small thing to recognize.  

Last October, thanks to Brooks, and again this April, both times at a local Sunday Brunch, James and I started on a journey of meeting several new people. One couple we met is well known for their house concerts that occur outside on the lawn in good weather and inside when the weather either does not cooperate or turns cold. On Saturday night, we had tickets to see Tim Grimm and Sergio Webb at one of those shows at the home of Anne Katz and David Wallner.  No pun intended from how this post started, but I cannot paint with words the perfection of the backyard as some chairs were set up while ticket holders, such as us, brought their own. A woman named Darlene had baked chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies, which placed the sugar level just at the correct spot. The sun was starting to set in the west, casting a beautiful hue across the neighborhood as it promoted the perfect definition of what constitutes a weekend night in Madison when musical entertainment is only minutes away.

Tim Grimm was the featured artist who has long demonstrated himself to be a fantastic songwriter. I assumed he was joking when telling the audience how he often creates songs while driving long distances between performances. His wife is a good left-handed driver, as the story goes, so he can write lines when they pop into his head, as she steers them on their way. However, he writes the songs; they prove to be meaningful, each with melodies that enhance the words.  One song in particular almost literally jumped out and demanded to be not only heard but understood.  From his opening line, “I was walking in Ashville on a cold winter’s day…Heard bits of music slowly coming my way…

During the show, Sergio Webb sang a song that was the one I used in a tribute to what many in the Humphrey Family Tree would call a matriarch. Sally Scheurell died in 2024, and I felt “Till I’m Too Old To Die Young” was a most fitting music selection.  Webb told the audience that the song’s writer, John Hadley, had been a good friend.  After the show was over, I walked up to Sergio and commented that the song he sang was not only heard but, more importantly, felt. Sergio spoke kindly about the songwriter, and it was then that the soft-spoken electric guitar player, dobro, and banjo player, whom I had heard about over the years, came into sharper focus.

As we walked across the lawn while he gathered his electronics and instruments and packed them into the van that would later that evening head to southern Indiana for the next performance, he spoke about his twenty years in Nashville and connection to the Grand Ole Opry.  I asked what he felt when, as a part of the band for Gail Davies on the famed stage, she turned and asked him to sing a song. The words and tone of Webb spoke to the emotion as he talked about standing in the spot where Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, and countless others had performed. We laughed with fondness over Martha White Flour, one of the famous advertisers of the radio broadcasts over the years.  At one point, as he was stowing his gear, he looked at me and asked if I knew the song Cross the Brazos at Waco? “Billy Walker”, I said, and he smiled, knowing he was talking with someone who felt about the music as he did.  That is when, softly, he sang one line of the song in perfect tune.

“She was waiting and he kept the promise
He’d made such a long time ago”

During the half-way break in the performance, Anne came up to me and said, “You are staying after the show, right? I had no idea what she was speaking of, and my face surely reflected that.  She continued, “A small group of us are eating together after the performers get packed up.  You and James are invited.“

Nine of us sat around a table in a relaxed and wonderfully comfortable home, and just to make this circle of a story complete, the home much reflected that of the lake cabin Sally and Bob Scheurell had near Wautoma. A place where, after the county fair or on a pleasant weekend, family members would retreat and splash out on the lake, and, in some ways, a mini-family reunion would take place.

Muriel Anderson was mentioned that night as I asked Tim where he learned to play guitar. He was mostly self-taught; he said his finger styling had improved significantly after just a few days with Anderson, whom he found to be most engaging and personable. He has proven through his music to be a verbal man with a creative mind for phrasing words.

There at the table was the soft-spoken Sergio, a most unassuming man.  While looking at him, it struck me how he seemed utterly content.  Not only about the moment.  But with life itself.  That is how I read him.  If one did not know who he was, one would probably not guess the musical talent he had or the skills he possessed when performing. Or his impressive background. A studio musician, or on stage with George Jones, or working alongside the famed Jimmy Capps from the Opry staff band. There are people with a certain presence, a certain aura that, when walking into a room, it is undeniable that the individual is notable. Then some have that calm surface that doesn’t alert anyone to what lies beneath. It is that latter which seems best to describe Sergio.

As the evening ended, I recalled how we both had talked about George Jones, though a musical legend, he was not a tall man. That was the same impression I had of Sergio, sitting in his chair at the table, looking so self-composed and too small in stature for who he was.

Upon reflection on that night, I am not sure in our walk-through life if the things we want to find land in front of us because we make them happen, or because they materialize at the moment when we meet them. In other words, do we find happiness, or does happiness find us?

I guess it all depends on whether you open your door when the buzzer rings on a Saturday morning.