Requiem for a Flea Market Musicians Circle

This is a hard post to write. A 40+ year tradition has come to an end. The Pickens County Flea Market Musicians Circle is no more. I got this news as I was in a plane on the taxiway, just having arrived in Seattle. I’ve been dealing with it for the entire time we were out in Washington.

Ralph decided that he wouldn’t host the musicians in the shed anymore. He has turned it into a produce stand. I think what upset me most was that this came out of the blue. I had no inkling it was going to happen until that phone call. Apparently some of the other vendors had been upset because of one particularly bad singer, and they had been harassing Ralph about. I guess he’d had enough and decided to end it.

I can’t blame him, but I just wish we’d had time to talk about it and work on a different solution. I reached out to the owners of the flea market to see if there were other options. Their response was that there had been complaints about the music and that “We even noticed a few times the music is not good and people singing should not be.” Again, if the problems were that bad, I wish someone had brought it to our attention. I guess since Ralph’s the one who actually rents the shed, they did bring it to him.

I can’t help but take this personally. I’ve tried to encourage everyone to participate, and haven’t discouraged anyone because of lack of talent. Bad behavior? Definitely! But not because they aren’t the greatest singer or player. Heck, I was terrible on banjo when I started this journey.

I’ve always tried to address musical issues where I could. For awhile we had some bringing their own amps and microphones and they just wouldn’t turn them down. It was distorted and loud. I started bringing my amp, a mixer, and several microphones just so that I could control it a bit better.

And it’s not like we haven’t had bad singers before. There have been some truly awful ones, but that’s part of the charm of a musicians circle like ours. Everyone is welcome to share a song. I just don’t know why it got to be a problem this time.

OK, enough of a self-pitying rant…

Beginnings

I don’t know when the musicians circle started, or who started it. At some point they were playing under a shed where they now keep tractors and other flea market equipment. I have an early, undated photo of Jack Ellenburg playing with a group in that setting. In a recent conversation with Jack he stated that they used to play out in the open, around one of the vendor tables. I don’t know if that was prior to or after the shed.

The group outgrew the tractor shed, so the market set up a new shed next to it. Over the years many musicians joined in. The late Robert Perry was the ringleader, passing the microphone around the circle when he wasn’t playing his washtub bass.

Characters and Legacy

Many musicians played under the shed. Many with distinctive sounds and personalities. There’s no way I could list them all without leaving out someone. Many of these have passed on. In addition to the Perrys, there was the late Lonnie Skelton, who played at the Grand Ol’ Opry. Here’s an article about him from 1994 in The Greenville News.

Some more photos of Lonnie…

The late George Hyder was a regular. He was the last engineer on the Swamp Rabbit Railroad in the Echo Valley Amusement Park in Cleveland, SC. George played just about any instrument. Here is an interview with him from 2017, in two parts…

And here’s a photo of George with Jack Ellenburg, playing my Washburn banjo in 2019.

There are others that have become close friends. There’s Sharon Summit, Robert Perry’s girlfriend, who loved to dance when we played fast tunes. Don Ballenger on guitar, Wilton on spoons, and Dan and Doreen West, who could always be counted on to be in the audience.

And, of course, my literal right hand man, Ivan Kershner, who has sat just to the right of me Wednesday after Wednesday playing harmonica and helping to keep things going.

Ivan, originally from Wyoming, is a fellow educator, so we’ve had lots to discuss about our various careers. In addition to playing harmonica, Ivan keeps a stash of harmonicas to give out to kids when they stop by. We give them a short lesson, then let them play a song with the group.

Ivan is also a poet and songwriter. I’ve been privileged to collaborate with him on many tunes, where he would write the lyrics and I set them to music.

Before I joined the group I’d stop by to listen as I was browsing the market. I finally worked up the nerve to join the group in 2017. I brought my banjo and my guitar, and later started bringing my melodica. I would usually have all three with me, but mostly played banjo.

We played in all kinds of weather – hot summers, rainy weather, and freezing winters with the vintage 1904 wood stove fired up. Ralph, Dan, and Doreen would usually be there, but sometimes it was just Ivan and me holding the fort. We had regulars drop by. Naya would stop and listen, Dave and Mike and Ken would come by for a bit, sometimes even contributing a tune. Annette would join in on occasion. Lately we had some newcomers that had become regulars – Walt Urban and Greg Spearman playing fantastic guitar, and Tim Alexander with his unique style.

I wrote an anthem for the flea market entitled “The Kingdom of Stuff You Don’t Need.” I would perform it every Wednesday.

The Kingdom of Stuff You Don’t Need

I packed up my banjo and some songs in a minor key,
Grabbed my amp and my guitar and headed down 183.
Gonna find me some bargains and play some tunes at the Flea

You get there at sunrise and wind down at half past ten.
If you’re still there at noon, the pickings are getting mighty thin.
When it comes ‘round next Wednesday, we do it all over again.

Bought me some Hot Wheels, some ammo and spaghetti sauce.
Got some tools and some veggies, a knife and some old dental floss.
Found a cool antique bottle and a sign that says, “You are the boss!”

The circle was hopping, came my time to take the lead.
We played some Gospel and some Bluegrass with old Country songs, guaranteed.
Well, I’m just a musician in the Kingdom of Stuff You Don’t Need.

Characters and Stories

Each of these folks, the departed and those still with us, had fascinating stories to tell. Ralph and Robert Perry came from a long line of moonshiners. Ralph still makes a little, and I try to keep a jar of his shine on hand (for medicinal purposes, of course.). Here’s one of the stories Ralph told me and his brother Robert…

Ralph: You know, sometimes they thought Robert was my son and sometimes they thought I was his son, and sometimes they thought we was twins. You know, Robert’s face was only 30 years old.
Me: What? You need to explain that one to me.
Ralph: Yep. His face was only 30 years old. It got blowed up.
Me: How did that happen?
Ralph: He was working on his still and it blowed up. He had third degree burns all over his face.
Me: I remember Robert, but I don’t remember seeing any scars from burns.
Ralph: Well, it growed back. Same thing happened to my daddy.
Me: His still blew up?
Ralph: Naw, he was workin’ in the mill when the unions was causing trouble. Someone planted a bomb in the machine next to him. It blowed him from here over to that snack bar.
Me: Did it kill him?
Ralph: Naw, he got up and walked away. Thing was, I was supposed to be working at that machine that blowed up, but I got fired the day before. Got into a fight because someone said something about my daddy.

Then there was the story Ralph told me about a rival moonshiner. The story was originally told by Robert to Ivan, who adapted it into a song. Ralph filled me in on the rest of the story. It goes something like this. I’ll paraphrase Ralph’s version of the story…

There was another moonshiner who lived up on another hill. He was as “mean as sin.” One day he died…of natural causes. We all went to his funeral as a professional courtesy. When the hearse pulled up there was something mechanical wrong with it, and it caught on fire. They managed to get the body out before it burst into flames, but we kind of took that as an indication of the direction he was headed.

Ivan’s lyrics changed it so that the moonshiner was a preacher. We set it to the tune “Lily of the Valley”.

So many stories. I wish I’d had an audio recorder to capture all of them. There was Sharon Summit’s story about her name. She had just gotten out of a bad marriage. The divorce judge asked her if she wanted to keep her married name, go back to her maiden name, or do something else. She said she wanted to change it to “Summit” because she was at the top of a hill overlooking a valley when she decided to get divorced. When she was more mobile she loved to clog dance to our music.

Dan owned a bar in New York. He was an army vet and a biker, and he loved to get into fights. One fight he got stabbed in the neck, which is why he doesn’t sing anymore. He’s always had Doreen at his side to keep him in check, though. Now he is one of the most faithful friends a person could have, and as gentle as he once was mean…as long as you don’t get on his bad side.

Then there are the random stories from folks that just drop by. A couple of weeks ago a guy came by with a cage that held a baby possum. He asked if anyone there knew how to tune a 12 string guitar. I said that I did. He replied, “Well, I’ll bring it by as soon as I sell this possum!” He came back with the guitar, minus the possum. Apparently he got $20 for it. I tuned his guitar and he sat in with us for several songs. He said it was the first time he’d ever played and sung in person.

Betty dropped by one Wednesday and asked if she could sing a song. This grandmotherly old woman proceeded to belt out “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man.” Afterwards she lit up an unfiltered Camel cigarette.

There was the lawyer, Frank Abrams, who stopped by one day, who had TONS of stories. Frank had been a criminal defense lawyer in Miami before moving to North Carolina. At another flea market he found an old photograph that he bought for $10. It turned out to be a rare photograph of Billy the Kid with Pat Garrett, the man who eventually killed him.

Frank was also an author and had published a novel called The Cockfighter. Frank joined us a couple of weeks.

Apparently moonshiners weren’t the only ones concerned about revenuers. There was the vendor who told us that she was cautious because of tax issues. I’m guessing many don’t report income they make at these markets. “Them tax men – you can tell who they are by their shoes.” I’m still not quite sure what she meant by that.

We spotted a man selling tomahawks nearby one day and we wandered over to look at his wares. He saw us with our instruments and began telling us that he was neighbors with a lot of the old-time bluegrass and country legends. We asked what he played, and he said, “I don’t play. I dance!” When he had a break between customers, Tom the Dancer came over with his dancing shoes and cane and danced a few tunes with Sharon Summit. He was fantastic.

One of our last amazing encounters was with a woman who set up next to our shed. Daniella was a former opera singer and music teacher from Romania. She and I sang a duet version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” at one point, but she told me she was moving to Spain.

There was Phil who had run for governor on an independent ticket who played with us for awhile, and Naya who always showed up in bare feet, regardless of the season. Pastor Doug, our “hit-and-run” preacher, would breeze by to bless us with a sermon and a song, then head off to spread the gospel news to the rest of the market. There was M. K. Gonzales and his father who sold vegetables across the way, and the dear old lady who made apple hand pies and stayed until she sold them all.

I think more than the music, I’m going to miss these stories and unique encounters. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I know that I’m going to take a step back. I’ll miss my Wednesday meetings and lunch afterwards with dear friends, and I hope we can gather somewhere else, but I’m not holding my breath. Right now I just don’t have it in me to even head that direction. It’s heartbreaking.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve been photographed or videoed at the market. I’m sure there are thousands of these files online. I’ll close with some of these photos and videos from over the years – some I’ve taken and some from other sources. It will be my tribute to the Musicians Circle at the Pickens County Flea Market.

I’ve always said that other flea markets like the Anderson Jockey Lot seem to have an atmosphere of larceny, but the Pickens Flea Market had an atmosphere of family. This family of musicians has been a unique part of that atmosphere, and I will miss them greatly. I hope that this is not the end of music at the Pickens Flea Market. But, for now, it seems to be over.