One of the first LPs I purchased without thought or care about who else in my musical circle liked it was The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?” in 1973 or thereabouts. I was a “theatre person,” a dancer, a poet, and not by any stretch a fan of Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee” (although I was very fond of Johnny Cash). And bluegrass didn’t really fit in with that picture.
Most of what was on those three records I have forgotten, I guess. To see what-all was on the set, I’d have to go pull the vinyl off the giant five-foot square of LPs Timothy and I placed at the center of what we called the music room. This cozy, dark-green, book-lined room was where he and Charlie hung out and practiced and drank red wine, while I worked on stories or photographs in the sky-lit sunroom next door. But the title track has never left my heart. I suspect even Tim had a soft spot for it and those other righteous protest songs of his teens and twenties.
It comes back to me now for two reasons. Of course, as I write, it is a centerpiece of Ken Burns’ Country Music documentary. You might be able to see it if you go to PBS’s website; skip to 1:44:10, virtually the end of the episode titled “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” There, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, with Mother Maybelle and Roy Acuff, plunge into the glorious heartland of Appalachian song, and rip out five minutes and thirty seconds of truth.
We sang the songs of childhood
Hymns of faith that made
us strong
Ones that Mother Maybelle
taught us
Hear the angels sing along
Will the circle be unbroken
By and by, lord, by and by
There’s a better home a-waiting
In the sky, lord, in the sky
It was also one of the songs we sang for Timothy in his room in Virginia Mason’s critical care floor, that last Saturday before the equinox in 2018: one year and a day ago. A few tunes we sang more than once, including “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” which was the song we sang as he left us, in the darkest hours of September 23rd, long before sunrise. We sang the Circle song only once: even though I loved it, I thought he would hear it and think we were too morose.
After all, the nurses had pointed out how to read Tim’s heart and respiratory monitors, and smiled to point out a little bump up: “Look there, he can hear you, he knows you’re singing and talking to him.” They kept popping in on other pretexts, but I think it was mostly to listen to us sing or join in quietly from the back of the spacious room. And so, we kept singing to my darling, or reminiscing aloud, or just sitting quietly keeping watch, all through the long hours of Saturday into Sunday night. When he was ready, he took flight on the breath of our songs, and flew away.
One day, I will sing it for my own dear mother, out on the windswept meadows of White Eagle. And someday, I’ll fly away, too. And I hope someone will think to sing the Circle song for me, as I sang it for them.