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I play guitar — or, at least, I like to think I
do — but I never have learned any Christmas carols, though I’ve
attempted to fingerpick “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” with
little success.
In a more secular vein, I’ve also tried to
memorize the lyrics to a song by Woody Guthrie called “1913
Massacre.” The tragic ballad chronicles a true story that took place
on Christmas Eve of that year in Calumet, Mich. Striking copper miners and
their families had gathered that evening for a Christmas pageant. In
Guthrie’s version, somebody hollers “Fire!” and then
company thugs block the exit. Scores of people, many of them children, were
trampled to death that night. More than likely, the horrid subject matter
is what has prevented me from ever committing the song to memory. That leaves only one tune in my repertoire
that’s related to the season: “Christmas in Prison,” by
John Prine:
It was Christmas in prison and the
food was real good, We had turkey and pistols carved out of wood. And I dream of her always, even when I don’t dream, Her name’s on my tongue and her blood’s in my stream.
The ode contains all of the country
songwriter’s signature hook lines and combines his noted senses of
whimsy and pathos. Every prisoner dreams of escape, of course. In this
case, however, the inmate imagines a freedom not bound by prison walls:
Wait a while, an eternity, Old Mother Nature’s got nothing on me. Come to me, run to me, come to me now, We’re rolling my sweetheart, we’re flowing by God.
For me, the song captures the spirit of the season,
for it speaks of an unbridled transcendental love. I never spent December 25 in prison, but I have a
bittersweet recollection of my mother’s last Christmas, in 2000. She
made a miraculous recovery in the intensive-care unit, only to die a few
months later. The other Christmas that stands out for me was 50 years ago.
In this instance, I was the one recovering from a serious illness. Santa
brought me my first bicycle, a secondhand J.C. Higgins model with training
wheels. I also received a Zorro outfit. The pulp-fiction hero had been
resurrected by Disney earlier that year in the form of a popular TV series.
The masked bandit’s legendary battles with Spanish colonial forces in
19th-century California left a lasting impression on my worldview. Zorro defied authority and always managed to vault
over whatever barriers were placed in his way. For those of us not
possessed of such derring-do, there are songs.
It’s Christmas in prison, There’ll be music tonight. I’ll probably get homesick, I love you, goodnight.
C.D. Stelzer is a frequent contributor to Illinois Times.
This article appears in Dec 13-19, 2007.
