Mark Lutin is a legal-marketing executive and lifelong New Yorker who lives in Bayside, Queens.
About two years ago, I was zipping into Borders on 33rd Street near Madison Square Garden on my lunch hour when I almost slammed into someone else entering the store. He was a bit older than me, black, with a gleaming shaved head and a long flowing grey beard. I knew right away who he was, but mostly out of shock I stared at him and silently mouthed “Richie Havens?†to which he silently smiled and nodded, “Yes.â€
I’m a jaded native New Yorker and I don’t awe easily, but I did that day. Richie Havens was my favorite performer from the ’60s. I loved his music and saw him play countless times. I was practically obsessed with him. His first album, “Mixed Bag,†from 1967, still sounds as fresh today as it did a lifetime ago. While he was a gifted songwriter in his own right, what resonated with me â€" as with so many others â€" were his versions of others’ songs. His interpretations of “Just Like a Woman,†“Here Comes the Sun,†“Eleanor Rigby†and “San Francisco Bay Blues†are but a few examples of that rarity in music â€" covers that are far better than the originals.
He seemed slowed-down a bit; perhaps frail. I mumbled the usual nonsense that fans spew to their idolsâ€"“love your work … meant so much to me … still listen to ‘Mixed Bag.’†How does one say these things sincerely without sounding like a gushing imbecile? But he took it all in with grace and a quiet understanding. Clearly, I was not the first fan he had encountered.
A picture! I had to get a picture of this. I took out my cellphone and asked the woman he was with if she would kindly take a picture of us. I fumbled with the controls and handed it to her. (God, I was becoming more of a caricature every second.) They indulged me, snapped a shot and handed me my phone. Did the shot even come out? I was too preoccupied to look and just jammed it into my pocket. I thanked him for his time and as we both continued into Borders I promised that I would not bother him further.
On my way back to work, I rehashed the conversation and beat myself up a bit. Artists don’t care if you listen to their old stuff. They want to know that you are still listening and buying their new material. The fact of the matter is, I had lost track of Richie Havens long before I bumped into him that day. Other artists and musical genres had captured my attention as I grew, evolved and changed. It’s interesting that we don’t officially “break-up†with performers as we do with lovers, but rather just “stop calling†or slowly drift apart.
I hadn’t thought about that incident until last week when a friend texted me that Richie Havens had died and that she had remembered the photo of us.
In the days following his death, I went online and discovered that despite my not having been a constant presence in his life, he managed to keep pretty busy. He recorded another 29 albums after “Mixed Bag,†had a few film roles and even played at President Clinton’s inauguration in 1993. To an entire generation of boomers, though, he will forever be remembered as Woodstock’s “opening act†for his anti-war anthem “Handsome Johnny†and the iconic “Freedom.â€
I’d like to think my gushing meant something to him that day, but hundreds of fans must have gushed to him over the course of his long career. I can say, though, that his kindness, patience and grace that day meant something to me.
I’m sorry that we drifted apart, Richie. I’m sorry I stopped calling. I will always love your music.
Oh, and the picture? It came out pretty good.
