Pete Seeger’s
passing gives me pause. That surprised
me. After all he, was 94, pushing the time limits of a life
span as he unstintingly raised his voice against the forces of hate and privilege
and forced them to cower. I always respected Pete Seeger and stopped to listen
when he spoke or sang. But, in a sense,
he was not really my cup of tea. The
stumbling block for me was not the singer himself but the core optimism and
affirmation of folk music. There may be
two groups of Seeger fans: the “We Shall Overcome” choir, and the “Knee Deep in
the Big Muddy” contingent. I was not
immune to the joy, courage, and determination of the choir. My natural affinity, however, was for the
defiance and the in-your-face condemnation of “Knee Deep in the Big Muddy.”
Seeger wrote the song in the late 60s. A
contretemps ensued when he was scheduled to sing it on the Smothers Brothers TV
show. CBS forbade it. Though the song
originated from an episode in WW II, and the Vietnam War and President Johnson
were never named in the verse, it was widely perceived to be an anti-war
song. It was, but it was also broader
than that. Seeger tells the story himself
in a short piece he wrote for an exhibit at the Peace Museum in Chicago in the
80s. It's worth a read.
http://www.peteseeger.net/givepeacechance.htm
In the
beginning I enjoyed the Weavers with whom Seeger sang in the 50s. Over the years I sang along with all the
others who would intone the refrains of anthem and dirge, from “If I had a Hammer,”
to “This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land” to “We shall Overcome.” Those songs nested in your brain if you grew
up in the 60s. They’ve proved to be
powerful evocations of a social ideal, equality of opportunity, fairness and
justice served, egalitarianism triumphant.
More deeply embedded in my
mind was a song with none of those uplifting qualities or features of salty social
critique. “Good Night, Irene,” was a hit
by the Weavers in the 50s. It is still performed in contexts sad and
comic, from departure to satire. I loved
this song from the get-go. In it there
is a sweet and sour savor. Verses have
been added and altered, and no one objects.
It can serve as an anchor point on one’s moral compass. That is, if someone—anyone—tells you to push on when you’re “knee deep in the Big Muddy,”
and you’ve already done your best or exhausted your patience, step forward,
look them full in the face, and tell them “Good Night, Irene!”
Among other more noble purposes,
“Good Night, Irene” can also serve as a “kiss-off” song. I used it at the end of an association with a
“special” class at a school for gifted kids where I taught for many years. The students were a group plucked from the entering
class for their potential in an integrated humanities curriculum. They were about to enter their senior year
when their faculty-diva was loosed to greener pastures by the bosses, leaving the select cohort
without any English faculty ready or willing to step in for two semesters
of “capstone courses.” When the
principal stated to the English team, “I need someone to take this on, as an
overload assignment” he was met with averted glances and silence. So I said, “I’ll do it but it’s gonna cost
ya.” He replied, “I figured it would,
Mike.” So we privately worked out a
compensation schedule that placed some additional jangle in my jeans to compensate
for what I knew would be the aggravation of teaching a group of students who
had been groomed as prima donnas.
Their inflated idea of their own capacities was not their fault. It was inculcated by the diva and her cohorts
who had a vested interest in bestowing specialness. So we had some challenges. For example, the class was genuinely shocked
when I told them what mediocre writers they were. We refocused their efforts in that domain. They got better. We soon established and sustained a necessary
and cordial rapprochement.
By the end of the year I was
ready to be rid of the group. No
surprise that. Every teacher at the end
of a full year is delighted to be done.
In my case, I found a quiet satisfaction in putting “Good Night, Irene”
on replay in my car as I drove to and from campus. I also signed off each final grade and
assessment report by quoting the title.
I certainly did not wish any of them ill, but the complementary close was a gentle kiss-off; it carried just a tinge of “don’t let
the door hit your ass on the way out.”
So what’s the take-away
here. Just this. Don’t give up. Don’t take no “morphine and die,” Don’t “jump in the river and drown.” Just “stop your rambling, your gambling, stop
staying out all night long.” Go home to your wife and family, stay there by
your fireside bright.” Then bid Irene
goodnight. And the voice of Pete. Good Night,
Pete. We’ll hear you in our dreams.
Instructor:
Michael Casey, M.A. 
