Contributed photo This photo of a winter deer, taken by Anna H. Nguyen of Shohola, was awarded Best of Show on December 9 by judges of the Shohola Creek Watershed Conservancy’s first annual photo contest. (Click for larger image)

Old John Christmas

A “Life in These Parts” story

By TOM KANE

I visited John Christmas at the old folks home up in Parksdale last Christmas. They were having a party and all the old folks were dressed in ridiculous get-ups that tried to make them look young—and happy.

I always try to visit John on holidays, if I can. He was a good friend to me when I needed a friend the most and he was always there with his cheery disposition that made things look not as black as they first appeared to be.

John Christmas was a first-class banjo player. Actually, I shouldn’t say “was.” He still is, plays for the old folks whenever they ask him. John performed in the old time music circuit up and down the east coast for years. Played with some of the best pickers and fiddlers in the business. I used to travel with him once in a while because I love the old time music. You don’t hear it much any more.

I guess John is around 91 now. He’s been in the old folks home since his daughter, Sunny, moved away to Oregon about five years ago. She and her husband Todd asked him if he wanted to go with them but he decided not to.

So, he’s in this place with all the other old folks. It gets me kind of depressed whenever I go there, because I can see myself ending up there too.

As depressing as the place is, John is as cheery and upbeat as he ever was when he was a traveling man. He’s amazing. Always up. Never down. I don’t know how he does it. He’s practically blind, has gout in both feet so bad that he can hardly walk and he’s had two heart attacks. But that doesn’t stop him.

He picked up his banjo at the party and started playing. Everyone came around him and started rocking with the music. He can’t see the frets or the strings, he says, but his fingers move so rapidly over the banjo neck and the strings that you wonder how the music comes out so perfectly. The music sweeps you along and picks you up like you were a baby and lays you down wherever John wants to put you. It’s magic.

Afterward, John told me that he was never happier in his whole life. “I’m resigned to the fact that I’m going to die soon. It’s really okay. I’d like to live some more but it’s not a problem if I don’t.” He leaned his head over to me conspiratorially.

“I’ve never told anybody this but when I’m playing I get into a state of—well, I guess you’d call it sheer contemplation. I’m not even here. I’m somewhere else in the universe flying around up there with the Spirit. It’ll really be an easy step just to stay up there and not come back.”

I left him with enormous admiration for his spirit, wondering how I will handle old age if I ever get a chance to live a long life like that. It also makes me regret that I never learned how to play the banjo.