Now that I'm on my way towards my sixtieth year, my memory occasionally works in strange ways. Not that I've lost any mental acuity! On the contrary, I've had a life rich in experience with music being just one facet of it; my memory of chance encounters, relationships, movies, concerts, church services, conversations, historic events, interactions with my family, travels, job-related incidents, and so forth is practically photographic. The unusual aspect I've noticed in my mature years is the way my memories overlap in unexpected ways, and how some of the music I've heard becomes a soundtrack for those memories.

For example, beginning in the late 60s and lasting through the mid 70s I visited Cairo, Illinois (pronounced "Kay-row") perhaps three times, always staying with a Quaker couple who were there to make a difference. Mary and Jerry rehabbed a two-story frame house not far from the city center where, before their arrival, bullets had flown in an ongoing racial dispute; By the time of my last visit, they had also established a Montessori School and a Community Arts & Crafts Center.

Cairo is a historically significant town at the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. The area matched my vision of the antebellum South with rocking chairs on porches and a slowed-down lifestyle- always with an element of danger due to racial strife and a depressed economy. There is an ancient Native American burial mound nearby, but otherwise- except for a smattering of racial violence, a history as a rough and tumble river town, and its strategic significance during the Civil War when General Grant's headquarters were in Cairo- the area doesn't get much press.

During one of my visits Mary and Jerry received an unexpected visit from a black social worker who happened to be an amateur gospel singer. After much cajoling, she consented to sing and play the piano; her confidence grew as she got into the character of her song and her music was absolutely infectious. She rocked! Just recently, I found the lyrics of her song on the Internet and altered them to suite my memory of the tune as heard in Cairo:

Don't Let the Devil Ride
Rev. Oris Mays

Oh no, don't let the Devil ride.
Oh no, don't let the Devil ride.
If you let him ride, he'll take over and drive.
Don't let him ride.

Oh no, don't let him hold your hand.
Oh no, don't let him hold your hand.
If he holds you hand, he'll want you to join his band.
Don't let him ride.

Oh no, don't take the Devil's pay.
Oh no, don't take the Devil's pay.
If you take his pay, he'll hurt you some day.
Don't let him ride.

Oh no, don't let him ring your bell.
Oh no, don't let him ring your bell.
'Cause if he rings your bell, you're goin' to Hell.
Don't let him ride.

Sometime around 1968 between my first and second visit to Cairo, I hitch-hiked to Bob Dylan's hometown of Hibbing, Minnesota from my family's lakeside cabin near the small town of Cook, MN. It was late September and seasonably cold and rainy in the North Country, so I wore my brother's Vietnam-era Army overcoat which was stored at the cabin. Once in Hibbing, I walked around town and found Dylan's high school and his former home but didn't come away with any significant photos or noteworthy information. In a nearby park I shared a few licks with Charlie, a young guitarist who was playing hooky but all in all, it was not a particularly eventful day.

On the way back to Cook a cold light rain began to fall. An old man in a pickup truck picked me up, thinking I was a soldier or veteran because of my brother's coat. In the course of our conversation he asked me where I was from. When I told him I lived in Illinois he spontaneously confided, "I once killed a black man in Cairo".

I was shocked speechless and only too glad to part company with the driver a few miles down the road. In retrospect, I should have had the wherewithal to report his license number to the police. I didn't fish for details but in a worst case scenario, a man had died in Cairo and his killer had gone unpunished.

Deep into middle age, these two stories and the lyrics and melody to "Don't Let the Devil Ride" have merged in my memory. I had learned the lesson of not letting the Devil ride, but instead had ridden with the Devil! Fortunately, there are people in the world to counterbalance characters like the old man who picked me up in the rain in Minnesota. As we begin a New Year, I have to believe that.

Stephen Rekas
Guitar Sessions Editor