This music blog often focuses on the lyrics of songs that have been life-changing for me. Ever since I started paying attention to pop music, at around 10 years old, I’ve studied the words to my favorite songs, analyzing them to help me make sense of what often seems like a confusing world. I believe that’s why I ended up as a writer, having long appreciated how the right words express exactly what I mean. But a song is more than words, and in order for it to reveal its full message I have to feel its melody. Today’s blog is about a singer who gave us both thoughtful words and enjoyable melodies. It’s also about a friend who showed me how to feel that singer’s music.
John Denver became hugely popular during an era when a guitar and a voice were all you needed to make hit songs. His lyrics were often about the natural world and his homespun melodies welcomed me into that world. John’s singing sounded like I was sitting with a good friend in front of a campfire.
I met one those good friends when I was in college. Like many taking their first steps away from home, I was itching to say goodbye to my youth and become a grownup. It was a time of self-discovery, and because we often learn through observation, I paid close attention to those I chanced to meet on my college campus. That certainly happened when I became friends with Bob.
After attending the same class and getting to know each other at some extracurricular activities, Bob decided I would be a good person to fill a vacant room in the house he and a few of his friends rented. At first, it seemed unlikely that our friendship had potential. Bob was athletic, while I had always thought of myself as uncoordinated and inept at sports. Deep down, though, I longed to experience the joys of being physically active, so when I saw Bob doing just that I knew I’d found the right role model.
It helped that all sports were fair game to Bob and he never played them competitively. He’d head out for a jog or to shoot some hoops simply because it was fun. The fact that he always had a smile on his face wasn’t lost on me, so when he asked if I’d join him for a round of tennis or a swim in the lake, I disregarded my childhood hang-ups and followed him out our apartment door.
Along with his obvious joy for sports, I noticed that Bob loved life in other ways. He seemed to fully embrace every experience. I’d see him first thing in the morning, grabbing an apple from the fridge on the way out to an early class, his smile as broad as his outstretched arms, inviting us all in for a hug. How Bob lived each day was unlike anything I’d ever seen.
Or heard. Bob also appreciated life with every fiber of his being by singing. He’d break out in song whenever he felt like it, his rich baritone filling our world with his favorite songs. More often than not, they would be John Denver tunes. Here’s his favorite:
“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high…”
Much like I’d never thought of myself as an athlete, I never imagined I could sing until I met Bob. Soon he’d coaxed me into harmonizing on John Denver ballads. We’d be out for a jog and he’d break into “Rocky Mountain High.” He’d be cooking dinner and the kitchen would reverberate with “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” Once he’d invited me, it felt natural to join in. And it felt good.
Bob and I stayed in touch for a while after college. Though he traveled halfway around the world when he signed up for the Peace Corps, he found a way to be one of the ushers in my wedding. Then, as friends sometimes do, we headed in different directions and years went by with only an occasional letter and an even rarer phone call. One day, out of the blue, Bob contacted me to ask if he could visit, and we spent a weekend talking about old times. When he got ready to leave, he handed me a shopping bag. “I thought you might like this,” he said. It was an album of John Denver’s greatest hits.
Bob’s gift reminded me of our once close friendship and I decided it was important to stay in touch. A few months later I called him to plan for another get together. There was silence when I asked the person answering the phone if I could speak with Bob. Finally, she said, “You better call his family.” It was Bob’s father who told me that my friend had died; he’d taken his own life.
Bob was the first person I’d lost in such an untimely and unexplained manner, and it deeply troubled me. Questions of why my joyous college friend would choose to end his life kept me awake for months. I never got the answers I needed and the hole that was left with his passing remains open, which makes listening to John Denver today a mixed emotion. On one hand, there’s the loss of a friendship that was only beginning to mature. On the other, there is my gratitude for having had a friend who showed me I have every right to feel.
“If I had a day
that I could give to you
I’d give to you
a day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing to you
I’d sing a song to make you feel this way…”
