You were one hell of a sidekick, John.
Your music kept me company on long dark nights in the Fire Department when I couldn’t sleep, grieving for a child that had just died in my arms.
You drove with me through rolling hills of Iowa when I would pop your cassette into the tape player on my VW bug as we went circuit riding through tiny Iowa towns as a lawyer for poor people.
You sang to me on my Walkman during long overnight passages as I sat in the cockpit of our sailboat and steered by the stars in Mexico.
We walked the halls at night together, singing quietly together to a sick baby in our house in Honduras.
And as I ran 20 milers on Saturday mornings in Maryland, preparing for a marathon, you introduced me to people and places which I treasure still.
Godspeed, John. I miss you, and I love you.
This is another John Prine song I sang as a lullaby for baby Elizabeth because I couldn’t remember any real lullabies. Plus I was still pissed off at how the war in Viet Nam had broken my brother Bill.
Rest in Peace, Bill.