Musicians meet again in South Beach

This spring, the Rhodies are reborn, and so is our South Beach open mic

When I got the call from Sky that she and her partner Renee were bringing our South Beach open mic back to life on Mother’s Day, I tossed all other plans to be there.

For several years, a bunch of us gathered in the boxy little building known as the South Beach Community Center to sing and play for each other. It was a loving group that quickly bonded through our shared love of music. In 2007, we made a CD of our songs. But eventually people got sick and busy, and the open mics faded away.

Renee Richmond, a local woodworker and fabulous flute player, ran the open mics with her musical partners Scott Paterson and Kate Scanlon. Together they played and recorded as Sea Changes. But Scott was sick. The last time I saw Renee and Sky was at Scott’s funeral, attended by a fascinating blend of musicians, veterans, recovering alcoholics and family. They gave away pictures of us that had been taken at the open mics. I have one of me playing classical guitar stuck on my refrigerator.

Yesterday, instead of formal 15-minute sets on stage, we sat in a circle taking turns singing and playing whatever we felt moved to share. Everyone sang and played along. There were only five of us, but we hope this monthly gathering will grow into something much bigger.

The room was the same. Same striped folding chairs. Same wood floor. Same mirrors on the wall, same old kitchen, same old bulletin board. Same great acoustics. But life has thrashed all of us around a bit over the years. We’re thinner, heavier, balder, more wrinkled. My husband has been gone for three years. I have been directing choirs at church all that time and become more of a keyboard player than a guitar player. Renee has learned how to play flute and guitar as well as ever despite losing the ends of several fingers on her left hand to a woodworking accident. Sky and Renee share a last name and are wearing wedding rings now. They moved from South Beach to Beaver Creek, where they are neighbors with Randy and Debbie. Randy, whose ponytail is gone, had a heart attack a few years ago. Debbie, who has a new tattoo on her leg, has gone from struggling through easy mandolin songs to being able to play just about anything smoothly and beautifully. We all have learned new songs, changed styles, and taken new paths in our lives. And of course, Scott is gone. I could feel his spirit hovering over us, thumping his guitar and smiling with those big crooked teeth.

If you’re on or near the Oregon Coast, consider joining us on the second Sundays of the month from 5 to 7 p.m. at the South Beach Community Center. Bring your instruments and your songs. We’ll welcome you with a hug.

R.I.P. Scott Paterson, musician and friend

Scott Paterson looked like an old hippie, long-limbed and bony, with a brown ponytail, bad teeth and sunken cheeks. He was a Vietnam vet, a surfer, a cowboy, a logger, a sometimes hermit, a six-time husband with several estranged kids and grandkids, a recovering alcoholic, and a musician. He played guitar and wrote songs unlike anybody else’s songs, with titles including “Up Country,” “Slow Wind” and “Psychotic Love.”
In other words, he was the kind of guy my dad would dismiss as a bum. But Dad would be wrong. Scott died on Feb. 7 at age 64. I had heard he had lung cancer, but the newspaper said it was chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Either way, his diseased lungs killed him off. We gathered at the Newport Senior Center on Saturday to honor his memory.
It was quite a mixed gathering. Scott had been leader of the Lincoln City VFW post, so old people all dressed up occupied the center table. A gray-haired trumpeter blew taps and presented a triangle-folded U.S. flag to Scott’s tall, skinny, tattooed, red-haired, blue-jeaned daughter Darsea. Scott had been musical partners with Renae, a tiny gay lady with a mullet hairdo. Renae picked up her flute and played “Amazing Grace” like liquid silver.
Scott and Renae, who called themselves Sea Changes, had hosted an open mic for years. That’s how I happened to be there. I would come play my guitar and try out new songs on Sunday afternoons. So the audience included musicians of all sorts. Gus played his saxophone. Debbie played her mandolin, accompanied by her husband Randy on guitar.
Unlike the many religious services I have attended, this was just a steady stream of memories. Renae and Darsea had laid out hundreds of photos of Scott from the various stages of his life, from little boy to soldier to father to musician. Among them, they placed pictures of us playing our music at the open mic and encouraged us to take them home. I’ve got a picture on my refrigerator now of me sitting in a chair playing classical guitar. I can picture Scott off to the side, cheering me on. The display also included the article I wrote about Sea Changes for Northwest Senior News back in 2007, when the band included mandolinist Kate Scannell, and the three never stopped teasing each other.
One person after another came up to talk. Many, including some of the musicians, knew Scott well from the sobriety community. The only prayer we prayed was the serenity prayer. Tears filled my eyes as we said, “God grant me the serenity . . .”
So many losses lately. I’ll miss Scott.
As I said, Dad would have dismissed Scott as a bum, although in truth he worked most of his life. There were those times when he took to a cabin in the woods and disappeared, but he worked at all kinds of jobs, and he worked hard until illness forced him to go on disability. He had all those wives and all those kids and was estranged from nearly all of them. He struggled with substance abuse and PTSD. But the constant theme from every speaker at his memorial was Scott’s kindness. Everyone had a story of how he loved and encouraged them and helped in times of need.
There were tears and laughs. Debra Lee, his last girlfriend, told how Scott had asked her to be wife number seven, but he lived way up a muddy road in a cabin with no running water and she was a city girl, so she said, “No.” But she loved him, and his last words to her were “I love you.” Those were our last words to Scott, too, as we adjourned to take another look at the photos and visit over cupcakes and cookies as his music played in the background.
%d bloggers like this: