Music

House Concerts

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Decades ago, there was a connection and an area wide idea. House concerts with well known folk artists who played acoustically. Mostly these concerts were actually in homes of people who listen to those types of things. Many, if not most of these singer/songwriters were well known from the popular radio show, ‘The prairie Home Companion’. This radio show was hosted by local personality and writer, Garrison Keillor.

I knew these performers from my immersion in the folk music scene back in the early 70’s. I toured with a few of them and they all played at the New Riverside Café in Minneapolis. It was good music and an outgrowth of the beat generation ( Jerry Garcia, Joan Baez, Carolyn Hester, Utah Phillips and Woody Guthrie to name a few) It was the musical time of the singer-songwriters and very popular when I was in the Navy overseas. I even ordered a classy Martin D12-20 to be mailed overseas to my ship. Never arrived. “Lost in transit” as so many of us were as well. Middle sixties, lots of war everywhere.

When I got back home, I went to Schmidt music to ask about that Martin guitar they shipped. No delivered notice received by them. They still had my 400 dollars on account and pointed to the wall display of guitars and asked me which one I would like to have. I picked a Brazilian rosewood D28. Still have it, It’s worth has increased over the years.

I went to Junior college and transferred to another after a short stint in my Mother’s basement after discharge. A common experience for vets at that time. Focus is a common experience issue for vets. You miss all your buddies but you don’t miss the rest of it. Authority rebellion occurred with me as well. I tuned in and dropped out as the saying of the 60’s went. Long hair and an attitude of hippies and old beatniks began for me. The wars were not popular with anyone.

After a year in Mom’s basement, I moved into an upstairs apartment in a somewhat unfashionable part of town and met my lifelong friend, Bruce, at the yellow cab stand at the airport. They became roommates at the crummy apartment. It worked. I practiced painting on the walls of the apartment doing reproductions of art seen on the Beetles albums. Acrylic paints left over from my Minneapolis School of Art classes.

After a short time with Bruce he and I began playing country blues together. Advertised as 16 string blues (Math issue) , they went under the stage name of ‘Actual Mexicans’

Before we met, Bruce spent half a year on China Beach, Danang, after getting blown up in a PSY OPS truck. After a month or so, Bruce’s skin got lighter, I said “I thought you were a black guy.” Bruce then replied, after his distinctive laugh, ” Heck no, I’m a dark Norwegian with curly black hair. ” It became the subject of many humorous conversations. He is gone now and I miss him a lot. You know how it is. We grieve. Not lament. I still hear his merriment laughter when I screw up.

We got a bit antsy and Bruce knew some people who lived in Berkeley. Why not ditch this joint, get some cool motorcycles, strap our guitars on the back of them, and go west? A long story in the archives here under ‘ motorcycle pilgrimage 1-6. After the pilgrimage we came back to Minneapolis and I wound up on the west bank and got involved at the New Riverside Café. Music, my real life focus’ became the catalyst for the next few years. I joined the Riverside staff.

It was glorious for Bruce and I to be playing on the stage where famous musicians and poets came. I got a money to perform, bit none of the of the cafe workers did. Record contacts helped for some of us and we had a good friend at KQRS radio that did some recording of myself and Bruce. Alan Stone was his radio identity.

Remember records? We never made one although we did some reel to reel stuff at the radio station. Tony Glover worked there as a DJ at those times too. Tony was already well known from recordings of Koerner Ray and Glover. (I just had contact with John Koerner late last year for a funeral for one of my good friends, another 12 string folk artist, kyell. He also had a distinctive laugh.) How many times friends and their laughs are remembered!

I finally tired of the poverty of the café, and I started track labor with the railroad. Upon urging from Bruce, I moved up to Trade Lake a half a mile from him. That was in 1976. Bruce lived just down the road from my 30 acre homestead. It was a good introduction to the rural life. Frozen pipes, racoons, gigs with country western bands and lots of new friends. Wood heat. Chain saws and splitting mauls. The railroad work got me fit enough to endure the northern life. It felt right and the air was clean and the noise of the freeways was gone. Highways 35 and 94 surround that area.

Through Bruce and and my music connections, we continued to visit the West Bank. It was grand times and upon meeting a radio star at a party, he and I got loaded on some of my homemade wine. First and last time they ever got together. I dropped the name of his good friend that performed on that show to get in the door. She was the fiddler for the Powder Milk Biscuit Band.

I was still friends with a lot of the West Bank performers from the café days. They were usually broke and I offered ‘House Concerts’ up north of Highway 8 in Wisconsin for them. Actual money was made, not much, but gas and housing guaranteed. Advertising of those concerts found it’s way into the St.Paul Pioneer Press. Turn outs were large enough to get a scramble for usable chairs, baked treats and front row seats. It was grand for a time and my musical friends became a rumor and a quaint source of amusement for the locals. Most of the ones attending were radio fans. Old hippies that had graduated to organic gardeners and ford 8N tractors. Those times are gone now. Radio shows are passé with U tube, CD,s Television and the internet. Television is actually now supplanted with Netflix and other streaming computer web sites. Wireless internet? Lots of wires otherwise!

We are not the better for computer transition. It is not nostalgia perse, but the loss of good fellowship and neighborly entertainment. Except for a very occasional pricey large venue concert, there is little to replace this loss.

There is one platform where some of these musicians still play however. It is not billed as entertainment. Some of these ‘old timers’ can still be seen and heard locally. It’s in the churches and it abounds. Old hymns, gospel and up tempo worship songs. The music just starts getting in the groove of a team playing off one another and way to soon, it’s over. Older pickers, strummers and such. It’s called worship music.

One of the greatest fiddlers I heard, quit the stage and it’s acclimation and applause. We all thought it was a tragedy for us. At that time it did not make sense to me. Later, much later, I discovered why he went on to play for Jesus. The applause from Jesus moves me and it moves my spirit and the joy is stunning. It often causes the me to stop playing and just stand, overwhelmed with the Joy. Jesus loves the worship. After all, the man after God’s own heart was a musician. He loved to dance for Him too. David. It’s the best music. Jack Gator

Memories With Strings

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It seems like a few weeks ago when I was playing on the worship team at New Life Church. We just climbed up to the stage before and I plugged in my wireless to my belt pack. Jeff began the song softly and Soren got a soft mallet accompaniment going on his drum kit.

We began with a beautiful favorite and my old mandolin started playing, seemingly by itself. My fiddle hanging on the music tray with it’s mini XLR waiting for the next song. We dove into the present song and I exploded way up on my frets and began a fast tremolo that sequenced down about four frets before ending to chords. Jeff looked my way and smiled. I switched for the next song to the violin and we started the second song. I am not skilled enough to go beyond second position but it was adequate for that song. We completed the set and we all unplugged and began to set our instruments aside to Tony’s dive into scripture.

Jeff said; “ I thought you were way up the fret board on your viola.” As I was walking down the short stairs to the main floor a young boy walked up to me and simply said ; “ I like your violin”

Later, ,Jeff told me he laughs inside when I play the high tremolos on my mandolin. I will never forget the simple things like that. I was and am fulfilled with that memory. It’s a small church, maybe a hundred or more seats. Doesn’t matter about size. Neither does eternity when I think about those things. Timeless. God was there with us and he danced for us as David danced before the Ark with the tambourines and string players. We played good songs and had a good time, we got to touch eternity.

I miss those things that happened. The high notes on my fiddle that Jeff thought was my viola beyond second position. What a band, what joy. I transitioned to production at huge multi campus church 75 miles away and was satisfied with telling camera operators what was coming next from our control room. That small voice that came through on their headsets as one of them, Fred, told me. Another gentle laugh from worship involvement.

I ran cameras later and I understood those things. A quick ‘nice shot five’ from the director to a hand-held operator and the upcoming shots for each camera also coming in on the one earphone in our right ears. It was nice to hear the lead electric guitar player tell me that Jeff was his guitar teacher. A connection between huge and little church. No differences. The people always come about 5 minutes before worship and leave just as quickly. A good laugh and puzzlement for me.

I like coming early and leaving late. Just me, rushing is a waste of time, not a gain.

It was challenging and fulfilling but not as much as having Jeff laugh inside when I played mandolin. I miss those times and treasure them as musicians do. If you play ensemble with an audience you know what that is. Timeless, eternal joy to Jesus who dances and laughs when those things just happen for Him. He is the best teacher of all these things.

It’s pretty good, Jack

The Streetcar The Dentist and a Violin

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was in the middle of the last century that as a preteen I was given the task of taking streetcars to the family dentist. I know, it’s sounds like a long time ago. It was. Streetcars were the way to get around town. Everyone knew where they went. As the buses that replaced them, there were placards in front telling destination and the routes were memorized by all. There were transfer tickets, if you asked for one, that enabled the ride to go further in a different direction.

I was five or six years old when I went by myself downtown and further. There, of course, were young kids that would roll a big snowball onto the tracks. Harmless fun as the trolly would plow through them easily. The bigger kids would do those sorts of things. I never did it but saw it done by boys quite older than I. Older by a year or two! Usual seniority of life in public school.

We all would throw a penny off the top of the Foshay tower downtown. It was the tallest building in town and is still there. Now it’s the smallest tall building in town. Word was if the penny hit someone it would go right through them! Terminal velocity of a coin that weighs the same as a hummingbird.

The elevator was free but you had to use a coin to use the telescopes. It was a Nickle which could buy candy as well. A conundrum to a young anti-social Asperger genius. Three Musketeers or a Butterfinger. Tough choice. I thought the splitting of the Musketeer bar was a nice image of comradery. Too messy, no one ever did it.

So, onto the trolley (which had to switch the electric pickup mast when a change of tracks had to be done) the conductors had neat uniforms and a coin box with a little chrome handle that he would constantly twirl to sort out the coins dropped in. I Still remember the sound. Right hand, kachinka, clatter, kaching, etc. I would Get off on Hennepin avenue and walk down about six blocks to Washington avenue. There was a news stand on the corner and they always had the latest science fiction magazines. Later they hawked Mad magazines along with newspapers from all over the country. The next trolley would take me to the family dentist. Great, fun trip.

The streetcars are long gone, along with their tangle of electric power wires overhead. The tracks are gone and recently, tracks got put back in for fast and quiet streetcars. Metro transit. Every one misses the ding ding bell and the rattle of the glass and chrome change hopper. At least people my age do.

It was much later in the end of the century that I was shopping for my first fiddle and a friend in the string instrument world steered me to that family dentist! It seemed the delicate skill sets were just the thing for fine wood work. Oliver G. Olafson was the dentist/violin maker. He made 26 of them in the 1950’s The auction houses of today know of him and list his violin work as ‘inconsistent’ mine must be a consistent one.

I bought one and my friend bought one too! We called them by special names and they aged well. Since the dentists name was Olafson, mine became Olie.

My dentist was known in Mineapolis’ instrument players circles and the choice was good and neither of us needed dental care at that time. There was no Novocain for us either. The bow cost was even higher. It’s good advice from fiddle pros to spend more on your bow than on the fiddle itself. A local shop had a one star N.R. Pfretzschner bow for a few hundred dollars. The bow is now worth 3 to 6 thousand. It’s a nice bow. Musical instruments get better when they get older. Just like us.

That fiddle of mine is so loud that a microphone is usually not needed in small rooms. It’s a beauty. I am not aware of what it is worth. With age comes wisdom. Sometimes. So far I have not been listed as an antique writer but who knows. I can imagine the antique road show now. “We’ve got an 80 year old Swedish model that is a little careworn. Still has hair of sorts and speaks pretty good.” A lot of miles left on this one!”

Actually I have already been bought and the price was impossible to imagine. You know the buyer, at least I pray that you do. He was a master carpenter and worked with wood . He is known throughout the world. Ask me if you are curious and I can introduce you to Him. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Faithful lovers of Music

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

What a gift to have met and then be offered friendship with the beautiful ones. Living in the Forty Acres of musicians neighborhood, I found myself with room mates that still astonish decades later.

Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson took me under their wing and taught me well about music and love. The romance of Kismet. Poets with guitars and a mandolin, Coleridge and Tennyson did not anticipate these two.

A gentleness with much laughter and brilliance. Together they astonished people coast to coast. The little coffee houses, the folk music cafe’s. Platforms and postage stamp stages. It was the same show every time. The musical score was different from place to place, but the humor and duet solidity was always the same. They got invited back all the time. It was a dance with romance that never grew old, for all of us and them too.

I was invited along on a road trip with them, way back in the early 70’s. That’s a bit over 50 years ago in the last century if you like doing math while reading. Small town colleges were a significant place to perform on the trip. From Indiana to Pennsylvania and then way up in northern New York state to finish off. Four of us in the old four door. Myself, Mike Cass and Bill and Judy. The trunk had a few small packs of personal “stage clothing” (no cowboy hats) and a few changes of underwear. The rest of the trunk was instrument cases lined up. Fender to fender with guitars, mandolins, a dobro, several fiddles and a pedal steel.

We ate at Campus’ lunchrooms (Whittenberg in Ohio was the best) and made do with sleeping quarters. Often the sleeping bags were used on the living room floors of the friendly families that arranged the bookings. No extra money for a motel. Air B&B was not even a concept and hotels had good water pressure with room costs to match.

It was a grand time and music poured out like anointed oil upon this rag-tag quartet. Gas was cheap and the car didn’t use any oil either. There were tips from impromptu sidewalk venues and generous amounts of coffee and sandwiches from club owners. We ate well and for the most part, played well. Plenty of obscure folk and country blues songs that resonated with us and the young folks that go to those sorts of places.

There were ‘green rooms’ at some of the clubs which was a luxury. We shared one with Louden Wainwright in upstate New York. Louden kept playing the jukebox when we were tuning up. At least it had a bathroom with a door.

Travel had it’s moments. Stopped by the New York state troopers we needed ID’s. I had lost my wallet in Ohio but did have a student guest pass for the lunchroom. “I’d hate to tell you what to do with that piece of paper sir” I always remember my military number and that did the trick. We were asked if we had any weapons or knives and Cass offered up his military can opener.He said it was a P38. Holsters were unsnapped and pistols from the troopers were at hand when it came out of Mikes pocket. It wasn’t a Walther 9mm pistol much to everyone’s relief. Mike was and still is world class with his music but at that time we had a slightly different opinion of him.

When Bill was dying at the VA (he was a military translator, fluent in Japanese. Hush hush stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Lohr Gibson with gold tuners and a Bill Monroe banjo with holy spirit resonator. We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together with the original music Trio. A Father Son with the best comms in the Universe. Holy Spirit.

Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Gain or Output

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s complex but it makes sense if you look at the end result. Everyone has seen those controls where music or vocal amplification is used. In small rooms or huge auditoriums there is a place where a technician operates the sound and sets it so that it can be heard well. It is a learning curve to get it right so everyone can hear well. On stage included. In big rooms there is a booth that is called front of house. Many control panels for the lights and screens and video as well.

Mistakes are made seldom but one of the worst ones is called feedback. You may have heard that screeching sound that in the sound controllers humor is called a sound engineers solo. People in the audience swivel their heads and look back instinctively to the sound booth. Oops. Turn a knob or push down the volume or even mute the microphone that could be causing that. It is technically called a sound loop where the speakers are feeding their output into the mikes.

There are two controls that can be set wrongly to cause this. Gain and output. Makes sense. What is coming in or what is going out. This is what happens when in a conversation between two or more people goes awry. We don’t really notice it except when feedback occurs and two people are talking at the same time. Confusing and a mess to comprehend. This is usually caused by us thinking of something to say about what is being said and just blurting it out. Very rude and mostly not thought of as such by the speakers involved. Mostly, not always.

I have noticed the same mistake when I am alone with my thoughts! I interfere with what I am observing or hearing and put my own spin into the experience. When I ask our Lord a question and He gives me His response, I get impatient and say to myself what I anticipate he will say. Staying silent and listening can be developed but it takes a bit of awareness about my anxiety. I am learning to listen to people who speak to me and listen alone. You know how to do this. The facial expressions, nodding and smiling result from communication. A brief flash of your car lights when a tractor-trailer is passing is sometimes returned with a brief flash of his rear running lights. Thank you for paying attention is the message. Now it’s your turn to travel along the road knowing that others are listening to you and your acknowledgment of them. Gain is good for clarity. It’s output that needs attention.

Watch, listen and pray. Turn down your output and turn up the gain.

The photo is from Wellspring House of Prayer our family built around ten years ago in Frederic, Wisconsin. Toby, Soren, Julie and I worshiping on our usual Thursday night. We got to touch eternity for four years in that glorious prayer room. It’s all gone now and that room is a tattoo parlor. Main street Frederic Wisconsin. The Lord keeps those years in His treasury of joy. Beautiful, precious. Wellspring indeed!

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

With thanks to the professionals at Eagle Brook

Forty Years of Touring

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A musical career that started around 1962 when I hung around with a four piece right out of high school. The Fables. We lived right down the block from The Trash Men and it seemed like a good path to follow. I just played bongos at that time even though keys were my strength. The Trash Men’s big hit was ‘The bird is the word’

In basic training, San Diego, I joined the Blue jackets Choir and marched and sang with them all through basic. I then taught radio at the A school in San Diego. Sort of musical with morse code. One has to have a certain ‘swing’ and it is called ‘ A good fist’.

Next I was fresh out of the service and played at the Minneapolis YMCA for a youth gathering a few times a week. That time with my brand new Martin D-28 doing folk music. Peter Paul and Mary, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez songs. Got engaged for a brief time too! I was disengaged abruptly due to the Guthrie Theater. Another story.

Soon afterwards I met a 12 string guitar player and toured to the west coast and back. We were calling ourselves “Actual Mexicans” and I wound up living in my truck out in the bay area and playing on the street. Mostly in front of my favorite Safeway grocery store.

Back in Minneapolis I did a few folk gigs on the West Bank at the Riverside Cafe and then toured with Hinkley and Larsen and Mike Cass through the upper Midwest and up the east coast to NY state. We played obscure tunes, some of them a bit risque. Bob Frank, Fraser and DeBolt, and homemade ones. Mostly blues and folk style.

In the famous jams with Peter Ostrushko, Stephan Grapelli and the Grateful Dead. I was offered a guitar job by Jerry Garcia. He liked my odd rhythm chops. The bay area summer of love bands are all dead, heroin. I declined his surprising and tempting offer. Read Motorcycle Pilgrimage 4 and 5 for more details

Off to live in Wisconsin on 30 acres and began playing with a country Western band, Dandelion Wine. Singing classics and playing guitar and fiddle. Bars, clubs, dances and weddings. It was 1976 when I moved to Trade Lake.

Years afterwards with that little farm and a delightful family I toured with Duck for the Oyster, a square dance band for years and even played in my own wedding with Bill Hinkley, Kevin McMullin, and Mary Dushane with our four fiddles for the wedding march. Fantastic wedding in Lewis, Wisconsin, at Seven Pines lodge where Julie and I worked serving meals and acting in mystery dinners. Similar to Colonel Mustard in the parlor with the candlestick sort of mysteries. Guests loved it.

I was on our families worship team, Well Spring and we went and played on the National Mall, sang at Times Square church, Madison, Milwaukee, Superior, and local church events as well as in our own created house of prayer in Frederic for four years every Thursday night.

There was a terrific guitar player, Jeff Warren, I played with at a local church, New life, for several years. Fiddle, Viola and Mandolin with him. And that was about it. I play a little at home and try to keep my ears and fingers working and adding our Cabinet grand to worship in our living room. That’s it for now as I am aging a bit after Otto Uno times around the sun.

I sing along with songs from my PC right next the piano and am satisfied with 40 years of touring. I now work for Eagle Brook Church in Video production and it is satisfying. Often I wonder why I do not get asked to play with some of the groups that I still come in contact with, impromptu gigs as well as posted ones in local coffee houses and the small town newspaper nearby. Protection from my Father. There is no room for old folk musicians that thrived on Bologna sandwiches, beer and applause. Good.

I believe it is the Lord and his Holy paint caravan showing me once again, A fool on the road to redemption (title of my upcoming book)1stprinting 1stbook for sale for $25,000 printing costs and editing costs

As usual, It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of Bill and Judy with thanks to The Prairie Home Companion

Photo below of Bruce Berglund, founder of Actual Mexicans band and my best friend

Musicians of Eternal Sound and Sight

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There I was, Camera 2 on a tripod mounted at Front of House. Instructed over my head com to push in with the lens and get a closer view of the electric guitar on the left side of the platform.

What a sound! The number 4 camera got a really nice shot and the director kept that shot on the side screens and lobby screens for a LONG time as Troy played the song. ..” I see creatures all around you, thunders and lightnings” of the Revelation song. It was loud, wicked and over the top” You could see troy with his famous grin, enjoying the worship with a heart filled with adoration. He was having too much fun.

The steam powered Bigsby bar sound coupled with a metal finger slide brought the house down and suddenly, there was a loud scream from the front of the room: “I’ve been washed!”

She was dancing and leaping about and kept her hand over her heart and security just stood there amazed, stunned and reassured that the Holy Spirit was in full force in the room and in them. A thousand people or more just filled with Joy they never experienced nor expected.

We got it all and the simulcast went all over the world. Things began to happen in England, Poland, Australia and other places too fast to type down off the internet feed. It was glorious. The room began a conga line up and down the aisles, laughing and enjoying the joy that spread throughout…everywhere. “Holy, Holy is the Lord God almighty” was heard six times every second around the world. The speed of light is like that. Fast.

There was a sea of glass in all skies, blazing and the man with eyes of fire replaced the sun and moon and called us to join him in rapture. Forever. It was pretty good! Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

  • Many thanks to Mitch Teemley for capturing the picture of the guitar

Touring With Really Nice Crazy Musicians

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On through the midwest, avoiding Chicago. Touring to and fro. Coffee houses, clubs and university auditoriums with basketball courts.

Broken strings and lost flat picks. Hangnails from metal fingerpicks. Tuning in bathrooms.

Sweet harmonies with one another, appearing polished at the next gig. Rough working mens songs, love missed and lost, broken people and police cold metal racks and bars.

Canning workers in the far North West coast. Looking for women that a laborer can afford.

Poetry with country blues chords and the twang of a Dobro and Banjo dueling with one another as I tried to keep up with improvised keys and balky capos. Beautiful and these things understood by others that have travelled the D’ Adario paths. Poetry and country blues.

Sleeping on or in whatever was given. Green rooms with running water for the toilet and the good ones that had sinks. Now and then a real green room in the nicer venues.

Meals from the college cafes or with the student cafeteria on metal trays. Road food late at night on the highway to the next gig. Hot dogs on eternal greasy heated rollers and nicely wrapped things. Molten lava coffee or southern pop. Sweets that are in boxes of ten and small ones

aren’t on display. We didn’t need them either, they were icky and sticky and stale to boot.

Stopped by the highway patrol wary as they walked with unfastened pistol straps, out of state plates and a car full of musicians. Bright Mag lites through the windows on our sleepy faces.

Wallets with drivers licenses and enough cash to make it to the gas station and on to the next lucky town, waiting with baited breath for their music and stories.

Adventure, the time of our lives when that siren call pulls us to the Ionian sea for the horizon and it’s promise of interesting people and revelation of meaning to our lives.

I miss it or reminisce it as my left finger callouses fall away and I sit in my comfy living room chair. Praying for many things over my horizon that reveal real joy and eternal life. Life with listening and hearing. Harmonies from heaven this time. It’s pretty good. Norm/Jack

Three Eternal Notes of Music

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There it was, three sung notes that flooded memories and several dreams a few days later. The singer was featured as the closing song of a broadcast from Eagle Brook Church. It was Easter Sunday and I had seen the performance earlier in the week at my job at the Blaine campus.

At the Easter Sunday broadcast I was stunned by the song ‘Because He Lives’ sung at the closing. The woman singing was at a live performance I was at several years earlier. It was held at a new Eagle Brook campus in Downtown Minneapolis, close to Christmas. A Jazzy Christmas.

Eagle Brook church Minneapolis Campus

I was an usher at that time and I requested to pray for the music team and the production crew. I stated by telling them that this concert is the Magna Carta of one of the attending people maybe all of them! Looking upon these teams sitting in the seats in front of the stage I began to do a simple prayer that our Lord would guide them to shine out His glory to those people. Especially the ones that were going to be moved in their spirit for the first time in their lives.

After all, it was billed as Jazzy and that is a draw for a lot of music fans. And it was in the big city. It felt good and right to pray for them. At that time I was on the prayer team at the main campus in Lino lakes. Obviously, I love to pray. Anywhere, anytime Jesus tells me to do so.

At the end of that concert, I went up to the third floor balcony to see if the sound was as good as I expected it to be. I listened through the open door and an usher asked me if I would like to have a seat. I hesitated and he said there was one seat and I went in to see that seat. It was right where I sat before with a perfect view and a young woman scooted over so I sat at the very end of the pew that overlooked the whole room. The sound was magnificent and well done.

I was overcome with tears at one of the last songs as it was the song at another concert years before at a church near our home. (that I was reluctant to attend that night) that instantly sank into me at that time and I was convinced that Jesus created all things and me.Mary did you know is the song. “ Mary did you know those tiny hands flung the stars into the sky?” Yes I knew it was so. I always wondered how the universe came about. The big bang didn’t make sense. The song was spoken by one of the choir members and his face was directly facing me.

I have never been the same since. I understand now that is called a testimonial moment.

There I was at this Jazzy concert, years later, crying and holding my hands as high as I can, worshiping Jesus. The woman sitting next to me offered a Kleenex as she was weeping too. I got up to leave and thought I had caught her in my Pendelton shirt somehow and looked down to my left and she was holding my elbow. She said: “ My Father died on this date last year and I felt he was sitting next to me now” I did not know what to say and smiled and said “thank you!” as I left to help distribute hot cocoa to the crowd that was leaving.

I went down soon afterwards, the cocoa volunteers had everything under control, so I walked down to the stage as the crew was taking things down and I told the singers what had happened. Angie and T, just sat down on the stage, folded up in a way, and I thanked them for doing so well that night.

A few weeks later at the pre-service huddle at Lino Lakes, by Front of house booth I saw T there and again thanked her for her being there at the jazzy concert and singing that beautiful song. She said, “The whole concert was for you and what happened there” I did not know what to say. It was another moment I have never forgotten.

This year when I saw her sing at that simulcast I knew it was her. She had been through a lot of physical medical issues that were shown to us before that last song in a short video. I listened closely.

It was her. Those last three notes of the song she sang were almost similar in pitch and spirit as that concert three years ago. Operatic and powerful. I hardly moved off of my chair when the broadcast was over and the room began to mingle and talk. Chatting was impossible for me. Even afterwards when we all ate a wonderful prime rib dinner prepared by one of the members of that group, Dale, I could not speak. What would I say?

I dreamed about it that night and the next and decided to write this column. It’s a Very personal experience and tenderly unforgettable. One of the most significant things I have been gifted with by Jesus. His gifts are like that often, unexpected, perfect and beautiful.

It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson and the Gator

Discovering Friends

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It would seem like a natural event. Developing a friendship with someone that attracts your attention. Usual things. “It is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste” A. As usual, these things occur as a chosen event.

Examining friends of my past, I wonder about these things. What was it about Bruce for example that brought us together? Being the only veterans at an after hours beer joint?

It seemed so at the beginning when I offered him a shabby room to ‘crash’ where I lived in the other shabby room. A run down neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks. A dump really. Bruce drove a really nice Austin Healy and I had my grandfathers old Buick. Ah yes, it was that both of us played guitar! You would think so, I did.

We both had things to teach one another and that was not obvious to either of us. It seems to me he had more to teach me but that isn’t the point at all. Neither of us had a clue about what to do with our lives and how to do it. Wine, women and song had been tried and found wanting.

Laughing a lot with the ‘Park Lanes” he smuggled in from Viet Nam in his stereo. We played music and found jobs with a third rate mobster that knew we had nothing to loose and had made our bones in the military. He spent six months at China Beach recovering from a near miss and I spent six months at hard labor paying for another near miss in Spain. Blown out of the military and we were brothers almost instantly. “you too! I thought I was the only one” B.

We traded the two cars for motorcycles and headed out on the highway, lookin’ for adventure. The song by Steppenwolf fit perfectly. We indeed, were born to be wild. We listened to that record along with Cream and other early metal music. Those songs were the ones that Bruce played while he drove through the ‘viles’ in Vietnam. Top volume on a loudspeaker on the roof of his 6×6. He would stop and show movies as part of the Psyops program while I was across the world in a top secret room getting messages from the CNO about our little war.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Big guns and missiles, or automatic weapons and people that were the unfriendly kind. Take your pick, no choice really.

My columns ‘motorcycle pilgrimage’ have the details but what is more amazing is the arranged coincidences that enabled Bruce and I to meet and listen to one another.

We had adventure, whatever came and that was at the same time that Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper acted in Easy Rider. 1968. Bikes with kick starters and sleeping bags. Our guitars strapped on ‘sissy bars’. Not custom choppers like the movie, just an old Enfield and a BMW.

Death threats, lost highways off of route 66, Angels appearing and a Senator in the desert. Adventure we went on willingly, not the adventures we had in the military. We were in control and that is another great illusion of life.As music itself touches us in the deep parts, timeless music that goes beyond the spoken word or even the words of a song, the arrangement of the eternal music draws us closer to life.

All of our lives are parts in the everlasting orchestra and the conductor has set us for His pleasure in the first chair. Chosen by Him.

Bruce was and is my closest friend. And still is as time streams by so fast. He died years ago and I did not even know he was ill. That happens a lot to me. There is so much I do not know about these things. Why am I the survivor? It would seem many wondrous things have since come about, and I write about the blessings and struggles of life that we all know.

The conductor and author of the grand symphony has the score and we watch and pray as he once again, raises His baton and puts life before us. We indeed, are His instruments of the beauty we get a view of now and then. The love and hatred, losses and treasures. Pain and health all allowed and known on that narrow, beautiful road we all walk. It’s pretty good. Norm

A.& B. C.S. Lewis The problem of Pain

Bruce and his wife Cindy with me at their home in Minneapolis