Before I discuss Mike, I wanted to acknowledge a few details about my interpretation of this tune. I add two beats to the end of the 1/7/5 cadence. For some reason my ear always wants to linger on that ‘D’ before the ascending hammer-on phrase. Perhaps I like it because it gives me a moment of respite before reengaging my left hand, but it also just feels like it adds a bit of swagger. The type of swagger that only comes with wearing perfectly pressed jeans with a crisp crease down the middle. I learned this song around the same time as Cincinnati Rag, and so for practice I would slip into Jerry’s rolls for the B section as opposed to the more traditional melody. Thus I’ve dubbed it, Pickanatti.

My first time hearing the Dobro was on the Doc Watson album Portrait. But it wasn’t until my mom coerced me to watch an episode of American Music Shop on TNN that I connected the sound with the sight. Each week I’d have a front row seat to watch and listen to Jerry Douglas weave his way through various tunes from a variety of artists. Inspired by my passion for the instrument, mom helped me find my first Dobro.

During this time my mom took me to Merlefest - which may not sound like a big deal, but for an anxious and introverted lady, it was the embodiment of a mother’s love for her son. And this is the first time I saw the Silver Fox himself, Larry the Legend, the Secretary of State on the Dobro, Mike Auldridge.

A few years later I was able to catch the Seldom Scene at Ziggy’s in Winston Salem. I was old enough to drive, but still not sure how I was old enough to get into Ziggy’s. And while I’m thankful that I even had a place to go see live music, Ziggy’s infamously infused the sounds of beer bottles breaking with their live performances. I got there early and posted up right in front of the mic where Auldrige would be anchored. I felt like a corndog at a hotdog party,

When the set break came, I mustered the courage to just walk into the green room, which was accessible from the audience floor by one single doorway. The room was tiny, and opening the door was akin to opening a tin of sardines. I was immediately flush with Starling and Duffy, and there was a jubilant energy that permeated the haze of smoke and smell of hops. I confidently said - ‘I’m looking for Mike’, and the sea of the Seldom Scene parted just enough that I could see at the back of the room, the only person not standing, sitting quietly on the saggy leather sofa. I introduced myself, nervous that I would be asked to leave - and when I told him I played the Dobro, his eyes lit up and the warmest smile washed across his face. Even then, he made me feel like a peer instead of a fan. I asked if he was going to play Pickaway, but he said that it wasn’t on the list this night.

A few songs into the next set, Mike walked over to Starling and whispered something, to which John responded to the audience - ‘the legend has spoken’ - then relayed the instructions to the rest of the band. Before I knew it, they were cooking their way through my request, and right after the last note - Mike looked down, pointed his finger my direction accompanied with a wink and a smile.

That was how our friendship started.

There are several stories I’d love to share, but with limited characters, this is one in-particular that I’ve thought about over the years.

My band would be showcasing at IBMA, and there were already nerves on edge as we never felt that what we did was bluegrass music, and I suppose our reverence for the style, roots, and influences of the music itself made us uncomfortable to stake any claim to those rooted deeper in the tradition. Fraught with technical difficulties, I still consider it one of the longest twenty-minutes of my life. It felt as if I’d been trying to pick up a penny in the center lane of the 405, and I could not get off the stage and bury myself under the building fast enough.

We immediately heard criticism, and I imagine I looked a lot like Charlie Brown when I encountered Mike in the hallway the next day. He greeted me as warmly as ever, and asked what had me down. After I told him, he stiffened, his eyes narrowed, and the smile faded as he said… ‘let me tell you something’. I’ll keep the exact words between us, but when I think about MIke, I think about intentionality. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and what he did say usually had purpose. In this case, I’d been knocked down… and he chose to lend me his hand and pull me back up.

I still think about this years later. I think about how often we have the chance to choose. Do we choose to focus on the positive? Or do we lean on the negative? Or, do we make the choice to not engage at all. In that moment, I needed an act of respect and validation - to not feel on an island… and Mike Auldridge chose to give me a gift that still resonates. (no pun intended, but why not).