Passing of David Crosby

 

Crosby, Stills and Nash were the soundtrack of my 20s.

                My first car was a four door yellow Rabbit from 1979, with an automatic transmission. It was a great little car. My friend Brian showed me how to work on the brakes, Gordon taught me how to tune an engine, and I did regular work on the engine. My biggest success was a series of switches that controlled the temperature of the engine, turning the cooling fan on. I spent a lot of time in auto parts stores and at the front desk of my mechanic, asking questions.

                My wardrobe for this work was a Crosby, Stills, and Nash t-shirt from the Daybreak Again tour. It was faded and had a couple of battery acid holes in the front. Perfect to rummage around an engine in. I would walk into the auto parts store with a question, wearing my shirt. The guy at the front counter would smile—cute little girl coming in with a dumb question. But, when I got to the front, inevitably, he would say “That was a great concert. I saw them in Portland.” “I did, too. It was great.” And there would be this moment when we would both remember those voices, braiding together on an old familiar tune, on a warm August night in Portland Maine.  A long pause that brought us together, made us equals. Then, he would smile again and ask “What do you need?” I would explain, consult, listen closely, and head back out, full of serious information.

                I am sad that I will never hear those three voices braiding together, live, again.