[FAR-West] Remembering Utah Phillips

[Bruce Hayden]

A big voice stilled: Remembering Utah Phillips

Last weekend, I found myself reflecting on a larger-than-life character
named after one of the fifty states who was known for his trademark fedora
and his courage in the face of long odds. Of course, so were millions of
other Americans. 

The difference is that they were standing in line to see Indiana Jones. 

Me, I was thinking about Utah Phillips.

Maybe in an alternative world where labor unions are still mighty, where
hopping freight trains is a legitimate way to travel, where vagabonds still
believe they can bring down fascism with an old beat-up guitar -- maybe in
that world, the death of singer/songwriter/storyteller Bruce "Utah" Phillips
would have been an occasion for a national day of mourning and reflection.

But in this world, the news of Utah's passing at the age of 73 of congestive
heart failure got lost somewhere in the news cycle. In a country aware of
its heritage of political defiance and class struggle, Utah would have at
least stood a chance against Indy. But, let's face it, in a time of YouTube
and "American Idol," Phillips remained a subculture figure, a throwback to a
more progressive era when images of Americana weren't so denuded of
political meaning. He was a man in a class that today holds very few
survivors: Studs Terkel, Pete Seeger, Arlo Guthrie. 

I had the privilege to interview Utah twice over the years, once in person,
once by phone from his home in Nevada City, the beautiful mountain community
where he will cast a long shadow for years to come. 

The second time I interviewed him, it was just after the Fourth of July and
he was bragging about burning an American flag. It was just hours before the
annual Independence Day parade in Nevada City, a parade at which he would
serve as radio commentator. He found one of those tiny plastic flags in a
local restaurant and saw, stamped on the back of it, that familiar phrase
"Made in China." Later, during the broadcast, Utah expressed his outrage
that American flags, of all things, were being imported from China "" a
"workers' nightmare" "" and then, he set the thing on fire, himself alight
with the brand of patriotism you don't run across much anymore.

Of course, conservatives would turn green at the thought that a flag burner
might be hailed as an American hero, but no one can deny that Phillips
earned every ounce of his love of country, from his stint serving in the
Army during the Korean War, to quixotic runs for the U.S. Senate and the
White House.

He road the rails and he knew what it was like to be homeless. He had a deep
and wide love of history, both large-scale and small-scale, and he mentored
a bunch of wonderful musicians of all spirits, from the soulful Kate Wolf to
the feisty Ani DiFranco.

The Utah Phillips brand of patriotism was a physical, intimate thing. "I'm
tremendously loyal to this country," he told me. "I've crawled across its
belly. I've slept under its bridges. I have a passionate love affair with
this country. I just don't have any particular use for its government."

I didn't know the man on an intimate basis, but that doesn't matter too much
anyway. What's important is that in his absence, he will inspire the rest of
us to pick up where he left off. That, in death as in life, he provides an
example of how to live in a world of fickle values. Be authentic. Service
always, servitude never. Be a friend to the truth, even when it's unpopular.

Equal parts Mark Twain, Joe Hill and Kurt Vonnegut, Utah Phillips was among
the last of a breed and not because he talk about the Wobblies and wore
suspenders. He was proud of his role as a citizen and, in the political
realm, he insisted that he be treated as an adult. And in an age when our
largest institutions increasingly look at us as children to be coddled or
threatened, it would be the only tribute that Utah would want if we grew up
and took responsibility for our nation, our lives and our fate.

He certainly did. The last time I interviewed him, almost a decade ago now,
he was already dealing with the heart disease that would ultimately kill
him. But he treated death with the same world-weary skepticism he bestowed
on the federal government.

"My friend, I have no patience with death at all," he said. "I tend to walk
away from it and just go on being alive. What's going to happen is going to
happen. Over is over. I just know that one day, my ashes are going to be put
in the nose cone of a rocket ship, which is going to explode all over Nevada
City. Then, people will have to put up with me forever."

Contact Wallace Baine at  <mailto:wbaine at santacruzsentinel.com>
wbaine at santacruzsentinel.com.

 

 

Bruce Hayden

P O Box 125

Garden Valley, Ca. 95633

http://www.myspace.com/folkmuse1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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