You could hear the strumming echo across the grassy lawn as you walked up the hill, but you could see him as far away as the viaduct (if you had your glasses on). He sat on the edge of the low brick wall that made the large patio possible, given the steep slope down from the front edge of the building. His instrument of choice was the acoustic guitar and there was always the sound of his voice working through the matching vocals for whatever he had decided to play that day.
Wether I was approaching from the classroom side of campus or behind the dorm, coming up from parking my vehicle, I knew it was mini-concert time when he was playing. One specific day sticks out in my mind as he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, shorts and a pair of sandals (socks included). I can't for the life of me remember the song, but I remember his pony tail bobbing along to the beat as he swung his feet out in front of the wall.
He wasn't the best guitar player I had ever heard nor did he have an amazing voice, but the passion with which he approached both singing playing was palpable as you watched him relax through making music. I had been a music major, where he had never been one, yet he had more passion for it than I ever had.
Subscribe to Ted Hardy
Get the latest posts delivered right to your inbox