Steve spent many hours of his tragically short life in the “friendly confines.” And he’s spent time there in death, too: his brother scattered some of Steve’s ashes in the outfield, thanks to a groundskeeper friend. Yes, that last part sounds too good to be true—I read it in Clay Eals’s voluminous biography, Steve Goodman: Facing the Music. But I checked with Steve’s widow, Nancy, and she verified all the details.
I was supposed to be in Houston this weekend, but I changed my plans in the wake of the hurricane. And so while my personalized Cubs jersey sat in a suitcase somewhere back East, I headed off to see the Cubs play the Braves.
The first inning looked rocky, but the Cubbies roared back, taking what seemed like a decisive lead and then adding to it. A good thing, too, because the Braves had the tying run at the plate in the 9th and the Cubs’ closer seemed to forget his job. But the Cubbies won.
Which was the main thing I’d been hoping for. I wanted to hear Steve sing “Go, Cubs, Go!” in the building it was intended for.
And it was amazing. Nearly everyone in attendance stayed—after a nearly four-hour game! If the Mets had an equivalent song, everyone would be shouting the lyrics while racing down the stairwell. Still a community experience, but rather a different kind.
I made a video of the scene at Wrigley yesterday. Notice how you almost can’t hear the opening lines through the crowd noise, but then everyone either gets quiet or starts singing. What a gift Steve left behind for Cubs fans—for all of us.
Back in 1975, Steve Goodman thought he had written the “perfect country and western song.” His friend, singer-songwriter David Alan Coe disagreed. Oh, Coe liked the song well enough. But he felt it needed a little bit more to make it the perfect country song. So Goodman added a verse.
Here, listen to Coe explain:
I appreciated finding this video embedded in a Rolling Stone article about Coe. It gives proper credit to Goodman—as Coe does in this clip. That doesn’t always happen when people talk about or write about this song.
Of course, I put the “You Never Even Call Me By My Name” in my Steve Goodman tribute show—you can hear a bit of it and its story starting at 1:50 in the clip below. I took the lyrics from Goodman’s recording, so they’re slightly different than Coe’s. No F-bomb, for one.
Our first guest blog post comes from…me, the singing side of me. I don’t blog often as Elaine St. George—come to think of it, I don’t sing often as her these days, either. But I’ll take any opportunity to remind the world about the underappreciated singer-songwriter Steve Goodman. So enjoy this post from July 10th, 2015:
Happy birthday, Arlo
by Elaine St. George
It’s Arlo Guthrie’s birthday today. Obviously Arlo holds a special place in the hearts of Steve Goodman fans. His cover of “City of New Orleans” gave Steve his first visibility. Well, as much visibility as a songwriter ever gets when he’s not singing his own song. Even if it’s a hit.
When I bought my first Steve Goodman album in the late ’70s and found “City of New Orleans” on it, I’ll admit I checked the credits twice. Like most of the rest of America, I assumed Steve was covering Arlo’s song. A few years later, of course, that perception changed. When Willie Nelson sang “City of New Orleans” in the mid-’80s, presumed authorship of the song transferred to him. Steve got his first Grammy when Willie’s cover won “Best Country Song.” But by then Steve was no longer around to receive it. He’d died a few months earlier.
And that brings me back to Arlo Guthrie, because in a way it was through him that I rediscovered Steve. Well, not “rediscovered”—I’d never forgotten about him. But that was when I decided to put together a whole show of Steve’s songs. And that show has now turned into an album. But I digress…
(Cue the harp and the wavy focus to signify a flashback…)
Five or six years ago, I did a show in Boston. The venue wanted a longer set than I’d planned so I had to add some material and I thought, “Why not do some songs written by people who live in Massachusetts?” First person who came to mind was James Taylor, but I had trouble finding a second. Then I remembered Arlo Guthrie had written “Alice’s Restaurant” about a place in the Berkshires so I decided he’d be perfect. I couldn’t cover “Alice’s Restaurant”—I didn’t have that much time to fill! But I thought I’d sing “City of New Orleans” and tell a story about how Arlo hadn’t written it, Steve Goodman had.
Being a thorough kind of gal, I researched the backstory and I discovered two things:
Arlo first heard “City of New Orleans” when Steve had the guts to walk up to him out of the blue in a crowded bar, introduce himself, and ask Arlo to listen to the song. The rest, as they say, is history.
Steve had the guts to do that because he knew he didn’t have any time to waste. He was dying of leukemia. In fact, he had died in 1984 at the age of 36. And I’d had no idea.
A little more research confirmed that #1 wasn’t exactly the truth. But #2 absolutely was. This guy whose work I loved—whose songs were so full of life and heart—was gone. And I’d missed it completely.
How had I remained so clueless? I’d moved on, listening more to showtunes, the Great American Songbook, and jazz than to the folk music that had sustained me in my teen years. But now that I knew the real story—or something closer to the real story—of Steve’s big break as a songwriter, I thought more people deserved to hear it. And I decided I needed to tell it.
For the record, the real story—as recounted in Clay Eals’s incredibly thorough book Steve Goodman: Facing the Music—is that the meeting was no accident. It was set up by a Chicago club owner who knew Steve had a great song on his hands and wanted to get him a break. The other part of the real story is that Steve only became a songwriter after doctors told him he had leukemia, and maybe only a year more to live. With typical Steve guts, he managed to stretch that one year out to 16.
That resonated with me. No one would have blamed Steve if he’d spent the rest of his life on a beach somewhere. But he insisted on living. And creating. That’s when he turned himself into a songwriter. And that’s how he had the guts to sing his song for Arlo Guthrie. Yes, the meeting was prearranged. But Steve showed up for it. And he kept showing up, until the leukemia finally claimed him.
I don’t know if you’ve ever done anything creative—art, singing, whatever—but it takes courage to stand up there on stage or hang your picture on a wall and say, “This is who I am. This is what I care about.” Steve did that. He seized every opportunity he could to share his work with people. He inspires me as an artist every day. And I hope that by telling his story and singing his songs, I can inspire other people to do whatever seems hardest for them.
All of which is a very long-winded way of saying: Thank you, Arlo Guthrie. You have no idea who I am, but you’ve had an impact on my life. Happy birthday.
This Mets fan watched the historic game that began last night and ended in the wee hours of this morning as I’ve watched all the World Series games this year: wearing an authentic Cubs jersey.
If you spend enough money, you can personalize the jerseys with a name and number. Mine says GOODMAN, for the brilliant singer-songwriter and long-suffering Cubs fan Steve Goodman. I assigned Steve the number 48, for the year of his birth.
Although the lyric says “the Cubs are gonna win today,” the team plays the song only AFTER a win. One of the best things for me about watching these post-season games has been hearing Steve’s song playing over the stadium loudspeakers and tens of thousands of fans singing along with him.
In my eyes, Steve Goodman was the quintessential Cubs fan. Perpetually disappointed, he kept coming back to Wrigley year after year. Here he is, singing his second most famous Cubs song while sitting in the “friendly confines” of Wrigley itself.
Many people didn’t realize it, but Steve was the “dying Cubs fan.” Diagnosed with leukemia at age 20, doctors told him not to expect to see 21. But he fought hard and hung on until he was 36—dying three weeks before the Cubs secured their first postseason spot since World War II. Years later, his brother got someone to sneak him into the ballpark and he sprinkled some of Steve’s ashes in the outfield.
I’m happy for all of Cubs Nation as the team finally broke the curse. But I’m happiest for Steve. Wherever he is, I know he’s singing.