Master Blueprints # 47: "I Hear the Ancient Footsteps Like the Motions of the Sea, Sometimes I Turn There’s Someone There, Other Times It’s Only Me”

Personal reflections inspired by Bob Dylan songs)

Song: “Every Grain of Sand”
Album: Shot of Love
Release Date: August 1981

This is my 297^th Music and Memory blog entry to date, and I’ve yet to write about the weekly process to these writeups.  I figured now was as good a time as any, seeing as it was an archetypal  week in regards to the way the muse unfolds, and it was highlighted by several key events including 1) an Al Kooper encounter, 2) my daughter, Charlotte, coming home for the holidays from Panama, Nicaragua, and Colombia after spending virtually the entire year in that region, and 3) the “Steeves Man of the Year” Christmas-season lunch in Boston with my Dad, my son Peter, my 3 brothers, a brother-in law (the second could not make it), 2 nephews, and a best friend.  These big-ticket items, along with a whole variety of other human interactions, had me contemplating throughout the week the majesty of my chosen Master Blueprint song, “Every Grain of Sand”.

If I’m in good shape with a given writeup, I begin the thought process just after posting my prior entry.  This past week, however,  I was in almost too good a shape seeing as two Friday’s ago I was still fleshing out last week’s entry centered on the song “Visions of Johanna” (see Master Blueprint # 46), when “Every Grain of Sand” - one of the most spiritual songs in Bob Dylan’s entire body of work - began to sift into my consciousness like….well, like sand through the narrow neck of an hourglass. In the song, Dylan contemplates the splendor or God, specifically through the virtuous windows of forgiveness, renewal and redemption, with lyrics like “in the fury of the moment, I can see the Master’s hand, in every leaf that trembles and in every grain of sand”.

From the get-go I started relating grains of sand to those human interactions I’d experienced the past week.  Prior to this, I would not have thought that it was Bob Dylan’s intention for someone to interpret the song in this way; his meaning coming across as far more infinite than day-to-day connections with family, friends, acquaintances, and others.  And it certainly was not in my mind when I concluded early in the year that “Every Grain of Sand” would be the focus-song for one of my final entries.  But this was the way it played out, and I now believe the concept works within the context of the song, because there are infinities in how an interaction between two or more people unfolds, as well as the possible interconnections between those interactions.  Thinking about it more now, I’m certain Bob Dylan would be open to such interpretation:  Multi-meaning on multilevels is what makes his music so powerful.

Those proverbial grains of sand began sifting their way through the narrow neck of that proverbial hourglass when I visited June and John Leary last Friday morning, an elderly couple here in my hometown whom I’ve connected with for almost a year now.  June and John are too feeble to go to Mass on Sundays, or any day for that matter, and so, I bring Mass to them, as a Eucharistic Minister.  After performing that duty, I often sit and hear their story; how things are going in their lives, their memories of yesteryear.  Old age has made it difficult for them to perform the types of daily activities that most of us take for granted, and they do not live in the best of conditions…. not even close.  However, I have never heard them complain.  On the contrary, June and John are kindly, peaceful, and good natured, and I always leave their home feeling humbled.  With such an interaction, I could not help but start thinking about “Every Grain of Sand” a bit prematurely.

The next day, Saturday, Nancy and I decided to run a handful of errands by walking the roundtrip 4 miles through downtown Pepperell.  As we came upon one friendly face after another, I thought about the blog entry I was just wrapping up; a central theme being our move to this town 15 years ago (again see the last entry; # 46).  A great guy I used to coach soccer with gave us a warm and humorous greeting. Charlotte’s former employer shared his excitement for us, in the know she would be coming home in a few days.  The banker, the clerk, the neighbor, the store owner; ‘Season’s Greetings’ all around.  That evening we headed to a Christmas party in town and found ourselves surrounded by a group of close friends who we have connected with since moving here.  There was much laughter and good cheer.

Sunday after Mass I taught catechism.  I’ve been doing this for going on 20 years now, with most of my recent duties being with the older Confirmation groups (9^th-10^th grades).  This year, however, I filled in a need at the 1^st grade level.  It’s been a back-to-the-future experience, these youngsters reminding me of my own daughter and son’s unfiltered world when I first started teaching.  Seeing as I began formulating my talking points for this entry around that time, I could not help but note that these children are on the other end of the spectrum from where June and John Leary are at in their lives.  Along with the events that played out in the interim on Saturday, I had, within a 48-hour period, connected with numerous souls at virtually every stage in life’s journey.  I rounded things out even more that evening, taking my weekly bass guitar lesson from my 30-year-old instructor Jake.  We jammed for over an hour, something I’d not been able to do up to that point in my lessons. I was feeling in the groove; Jake’s laid-back, improv teaching style a perfect fit for the way I pick things up.

There was much more to come in the still-young week, including all three of the prior-mentioned big-ticket items, but that hourglass in my mind was beginning to accumulate sand.  On the way home from Jake’s I removed Blonde on Blonde from the cd player and queued up “Every Grain of Sand” for the first of many listens.

Late that Sunday afternoon, after sending my prior blog entry out to friends, family and fellow Bob Dylan fans, I began poring over a lengthy email that fellow ‘Dylanologist’, kindred spirit, and newfound friend, Linda Whiteside, had sent me earlier that very same day. The title of the email was ‘transfigurations’ and, due to prior exchanges with Linda, it immediately caught my attention:  The two of us have been mutually intrigued by comments Bob Dylan had made in a 2012 Rolling Stone Magazine interview about having gone through a transfiguration in the early 60s and we’ve been bouncing related thoughts off one another this past year in an attempt to understand what he meant. 

I’d met Linda back in March in Hibbing Minnesota, along with a second Linda (Stroback), during the first of 3 ‘pilgrimages’ to the locales Bob Dylan is most renowned for (the other two being Woodstock and Greenwich Village, NY), all of which I’ve now written about in these pages (entries #10, #34 and #45).  Anyhow, during that visit, Linda and Linda took me on a tour of town, which included a stop at a railroad crossing.  The story goes that at that very location, two friends watched as a young Bobby Zimmerman, tired of waiting for a train to pass, threw caution to the wind, and darted out on his motorcycle just as the caboose passed by, without waiting to see if the coast was clear.  It wasn’t, because at the exact same instance, a train was crossing from the other direction, hidden by the train they had been waiting on.  Linda and Linda had been told by these old friends of Bobby Zimmerman that they were certain he’d been run over.  When they caught up with him later, happy to see this was not the case, they could tell he was rattled.  They also would come to notice in the months that followed, that this was a changed young man in their midst.  A transfigured man perhaps?

In Dylan’s own words (from the Rolling Stone interview), “transfiguration is what allows you to crawl out from under the chaos and fly above it.  That’s how I can still do what I do and write the songs I sing and just keep on moving”.  He goes on to refer to two other motorcycle accidents that came about years after the railroad crossing Hibbing event, one that killed another Bobby Zimmerman in 1964, and the one that anyone who knows anything about Bob Dylan’s life has heard about; that being his well-publicized accident in 1966.  He insinuates that these events tie together somehow in a way that transfigured him.  However, Linda and Linda’s story had me thinking that Dylan may have gotten his transfiguration moment wrong.  In other words, it could have happened a lot earlier, in Hibbing, at that railroad crossing, which would explain pre-1964 transcendent songs such as “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall”, “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “The Times They Are a Changin’” and many others. I’m thinking Linda Whiteside may agree based on our exchanges over the past year. 

Linda’s email was chock full of commentary about that transfiguration interview, cut and pasted from the labor-of-love Bob Dylan fan site Expecting Rain ( https://www.expectingrain.com/ )   Linda’s timing was impeccable.  It was a labor of friendship, and much appreciated.  Reading that commentary allowed me to flesh out my thoughts on the topic.  In turn, one of two major loose ends in this Master Blue Print year was tying itself up quite nicely.  Amazingly, the other one, which I had no expectations of seeing to an endgame, began playing itself out that very same Sunday evening.  For, not long after getting Linda’s email, I got another email, this one from my longtime great friend Mac, who I have written about often in these pages.  Mac got wind of a premiere regional showing of the new movie about the life of bluesman Paul Butterfield: Horn from the Heart, which was playing at the Regent Theatre in Arlington on Monday evening.  Of even more interest, the event would include a post-movie live interview with Mr. Al Kooper. 

Some background is needed.  Back in 2016, Mac and I caught a fantastic Bob Dylan tribute show at the Berklee Performance Center in Boston, with Al Kooper playing the role of MC.  I wanted to write about it a few months back, but first I needed to fill in some of the gaps in my memory of the show.  I was especially interested in recalling more of Kooper’s between-song banter, which was rich in reflection and allegory:  After all, this man has been there and done that when it comes to some of the most significant moments in Rock history, including playing those famous organ notes on “Like a Rolling Stone” (and keyboards on much of Blonde on Blonde), and it was clear from his online interviews and that Berklee event, that he knew how to spin that yarn.  I tried searching out reviews of the Berklee show, but to my astonishment, there was nothing.  How could such an event go undocumented?  I finally reached out to the Berklee Performance Center itself.  They were very cordial, but in the end, were only able to get me the concert flyer (which I already had).  They also suggested that I try to reach out directly to Al Kooper, sending me the link to his website which includes information on how to contact him.

Not long after, I did reach out to Al Kooper, and to my pleasant surprise, he got right back to me.  Kooper could not recall much of anything he said that evening at the Berklee but having been clued into my blog site during our back and forth exchange, (which of course was necessary to explain my interest in reaching out to him), he left the door open for me to build something new on what I’d initiated.  I thought about it, but I had nothing.  Nothing unique anyway.  I let the notion percolate quietly in the back of my mind, but as the weeks and months rolled by, I concluded that this was not going to work out.  It felt too contrived. 

Mac had no clue about any of this, which is why I was floored when he contacted me about this Regent Theatre event at a time when I was hitting the home stretch with these Dylan blog entries.  And so now here I was with Mac in the front row of the first balcony on Monday nite, watching a documentary about Paul Butterfield, and anticipating Al Kooper’s commentary afterward.  The movie was bittersweet:  The super-talented Butterfield having died long before his time due to substance abuse, as be the case for so many other musicians.  Several of those other musicians were in the movie too, including Rick Danko, Levon Helm, and Mike Bloomfield.  Horn from the Heart was brutally honest, and included a moving interview with Paul Butterfield’s son, who felt he’d missed out on significant aspects of a fatherly figure in his upbringing.  It was tough to watch, and yet, taking in the whole ball of wax - the rise to fame, the brilliance, the decline, the absenteeism - this was a story that needed to be told.  It was all food for thought as I watched. 

With the documentary over, two chairs were placed center stage.  After a few words of praise, Kooper was introduced by his interviewer to much applause, and the 75-year-old rock star meandered up on to the stage.  He then proceeded to pour his heart out to the crowd; as insightful and witty as I had remembered him at the Berklee 2 years earlier.  He has had relationships with all the musicians mentioned in this entry so far: Butterfield, Bloomfield, Danko, Helm, and of course, Bob Dylan.  It was great to witness that he was getting all this out there now, while he still could (Kooper is also currently hosting his own radio show, where he gets to really expound). 

Anyhow, from my vantage point this was all beginning to feel eerily familiar:  Two chairs center stage with Mac and I sitting stage left in the front row of the balcony.  The last time I was in this exact same situation, Pete Townshend was on a book tour, and Mac and I were sitting stage left in the front row of the balcony, at the Berklee. In that event, I was able to pose several questions to Townshend when the interviewer opened up the floor to the audience (see Under the Big Top # 1:  "A Pete Meet and Greet").  Was I in store to repeat? 

The answer is yes.  After about 30 minutes of questions and answers between Al Kooper and the interviewer, talking points were welcomed from the crowd. Unlike how I had felt at the tail end of my email exchange with Kooper months earlier, this moment felt genuine.  I stood up and with all eyes turned my way I proceeded to praise the documentary.  I then expressed hope that Horn from the Heart was the start of a wave of such movies about brilliant musicians who died before their time, including documentaries that could be done on Rick Danko, Richard Manuel and Mike Bloomfield.  Their stories needed to be told just like Paul Butterfield’s story; the magic, the tragic, all of it.  One of the producers was in the crowd.  I hope she took note.  Al Kooper certainly did, and he responded in kind (particularly in the case of Bloomfield, whom he was very close with).  Life as a rock and roll star on the road can be grueling.  It can have its transcendent moments for sure, but it can also take its toll. 

After the show, Mac and I headed down the stairs and were on our way out the door, when I spotted Al Kooper making his way up the aisle with an associate.  The only person between him and I was an autograph hound.  I stopped in my tracks for the chance to shake Kooper’s hand, which finally happened after he graciously signed a stack full of this other guy’s old Blood Sweat and Tear records.  As Al and I shook hands, I mentioned our email exchange.  I also mentioned that I was the guy who posed those talking points from the balcony.  He gave me a knowing look and a nod.  It was all I needed to confirm that I was on target with how I dealt with this chain of events. Sometimes, if you just sit on something for a while, it plays out much better in the end.  Significant loose end # 2 all tied up. 

As be the case every Master Blueprint week, my drives to work were intensifying with each passing day, as I repeated “Every Grain of Sand” on my cd player (along with a handful of other Bob Dylan “Gospel Years” songs).  I’ll say this about Dylan right here and now: He’s had a renewing effect on my spirituality this year.  With Christmas in the air, this fact was becoming more apparent.  I believe Bob Dylan’s spiritual effect on our culture will be a significant part of his legacy when all is said and done; much more so than it is recognized now. 

I continued to read through Linda’s transfiguration email as the week wore on. One entry led me to a Wiki page for a 1965 album by American fingerstyle guitarist and composer John Fahey titled “The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death”.  I’d never heard of this album or this musician before.  Further research led me to the following quote from the producer about recording Fahey perform a key song on the album: “He sat there with a dog at his feet. There’s one track where the dog barks in the middle of the music – it was my decision to leave that false start in”.  This was pretty darn cool, because the version of “Every Grain of Sand” I had been listening to all week (from the Bootleg Series), includes a dog barking in the background ( https://vimeo.com/189420194 - the dog barks at 2:15 mark and the 3:10 mark).  It was just another outlandish synergistic moment in a year filled with them. 

On Wednesday, I had to miss the office Christmas party for the biggest event of the week:  Charlotte was coming home from a year in Panama and Colombia.  Nancy and I picked her up at Logan Airport in Boston.  There was much rejoicing.  Charlotte’s been trekking thru all sorts of grains of sand this past year, much of it related to her internship at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in Panama City, and some of it on her own weekend time.  She’s explored those sands on protected shores to watch threatened sea turtles hatch.  In the deep rainforests to catch much more than just a glimpse of resplendent quetzals in flight.  In the urban cultural meccas of Bogota, Medellin, Cali, and Panama City. On mountain peaks in the Andes.  On hardened molten lava at the edges of active volcanoes.  Among coral reefs on both the Atlantic and Pacific shores of the region.  Beneath a canopy alive with night monkeys, another with howler monkeys, and yet another with spider monkeys.  I’ve lived vicariously through it all, but it’s a blessing to have her home now, if only for a brief period.

One line in “Every Grain of Sand” that I zeroed in on that Thursday morning as I drove into work goes:

“I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me”

I thought of the poem “Footprints in the Sand”; yet another sandy reference which at its core is about God carrying us in our hardest of times.  The Bob Dylan lyrics lines above come across as a twist on this poem, where he is pointing out that, when we are on our game, we connect with the presence of God and the presence of our loved ones, and in those other often self-inflicted dark times, we feel (but are not) alone.

I’ve been in both these worlds…. we all have.  But this past week, no doubt, I was immersed in the former.  I was feeling connected: The grains of sand pouring fast and furious through the hourglass neck now. Friday continued along this vein with the ‘Steeves Man of the Year’ gathering, better known as SMOY.  I’ve had the honor of receiving this prestigious award several times, most recently 2 years ago.  The recipient chooses the next year’s location and recipient.  Last year I chose, my Brother-in-Law, Paul.  This year Paul chose my Dad, who has appropriately had his name on the trophy more often than any of us.  Dad initiated this unique, bonafide annual lunch gathering back in 1999.  He (and my Mom) have a knack for launching such incredibly joyous endeavors.  None of us take it for granted.

Saturday, Charlotte reunited with her 5 best undergrad friends.  We hosted the gathering, Nancy preparing a fantastic meal.  Peter walked in the door not soon after, finally home for the holidays after a week of grueling exams.  It was quite the moment to see he and Charlotte embrace.  Our family was one once again.

On Sunday after Mass, I approached the pastor, Father Jeremy, to wish him a Merry Christmas.  He pulled me aside from the crowd and stated that a parish benefactor handed him a 100-dollar bill the day before asking that he give it to someone in need.  He described the moment as somewhat miraculous, but I did not have an opportunity to get to the meat of why.  Anyhow, he pulled the bill out and asked that I give it to John and June Leary for their grandson’s and their own Christmas wishes, but I was already way ahead of him in my mind.  I thanked him profusely and then headed to the local 7-eleven for a cup of coffee and wouldn’t you know it, there was John Leary sitting at the lone table in the place, sipping on his own cup of coffee (when he’s feeling up to it, John makes his way slowly to the store from his apartment one block away, using a walker).  I walked over and handed him the $100.  He refused to accept until I gave him the story behind it, at which point he showed me his appreciation, accepted the bill and slipped it into his empty wallet. We carried on for a bit, exchanging well wishes.  I tried to be subtle, but there was a dapper gentleman, who appeared to be in his 70s, sitting right behind John. He immediately picked up on what was going on and was nodding throughout in admiration. I had never seen this guy before which is unusual in this small town. As I departed, he thanked me and said, ‘well done’.  It all had the feel of scenes in “It’s a Wonderful Life”; this gentleman playing the role of Clarence Odbody.   

My “Every Grain of Sand” week began with John Leary, and it felt apropos that it would end with him as well.  With all those sand grains now in the bottom of that proverbial hourglass, I flipped it over, and started anew.

Merry Christmas everyone.

- Pete