Our friend Don McGrory has passed. What a tremendous loss. We wish his wonderful family peace.
The guy was a genius. He had two areas of expertise. One was rugs. This guy could tell you almost anything about oriental rugs. He once owned a rug store in Great Barrington, which was how we first met him.
In addition to his extraordinary knowledge about rugs, he was one hell of a guitarist. Of course we recruited him as a member of The Berkshire Ramblers. In every performance, Don played some solos that left the audience sitting back in their seats. He took his music very seriously. After every solo he took a bow that I took to mean that he knew how good he was. It wasn’t arrogant. The bow connoted a seriousness about his music.
He could take an old folk song like “Casey Jones” and not only sing the words, but play his guitar in such a way that you knew he knew he had chops. He was trained by the fabulous Furry Lewis in New Orleans and he had a guitar collection that was as good as anyone’s. All of his singing and his playing told you he was a serious man. In addition to his work making the Berkshire Ramblers play and perform better, he played with other groups. You could tell how much his colleagues respected him. When we would rehearse before a gig, he insisted on excellence.
He stood behind the other members of the band, but would step out in front to play his solos. He was serious, alright, but knew how to have fun. One Halloween, as the hordes of kids showed on Hollenbeck Avenue, he sat next to me. I was playing the banjo and he the guitar. It was a little nippy outside, which often happens on that holiday. But we just kept playing because if you didn’t want your fingers to freeze, you really had to keep using them.
Despite his understanding of important music, Don didn’t look down his nose at any form. You might have thought, because of his dignity, that he was a snob about the music, but nothing could have been further from the truth. He liked all forms of music and played them well. I always worried that my playing would turn him off, but it never did.
His health was not good. He had cancer at several sites. Extraordinarily, he kept beating his cancers back. That might have led you to think he would be with us forever. He was a miracle in so many ways. When he finally and unexpectedly succumbed, it took many of us by surprise. He was always willing to speak to me about his diseases. He had a wonderful and unique relationship with his wife Robin. They clearly had immense respect for each other. It was quiet, but it was obvious how they treasured each other. He and his friends would sit and jam for all hours of the morning, and because they lived in the wilds of West Stockbridge, I never heard of anyone complaining. His other bands were Mojo Coffee, Whoodoo Rhythm Dogs, and Delta Soul.
When Roselle was writing her latest book, Don was immensely helpful describing the Memphis he and Elvis grew up in. He told her that Memphis was once a place where Black and white musicians played together, and he was part of that scene. After the death of Martin Luther King Jr., things changed. According to Don, “That trust between the Black community and white community ended. You know, with the riots, everybody was angry. In 1965 you could sit on the curb eating fried chicken with a Black guy and talk about music and play and do stuff; in 1969 you couldn’t do that. And so it really changed.”
Don McGrory not only knew his history, he lived it. We’ll miss him.
