By the time I was of conscious memory, Harry Chapin had died. It was 1990 when I first heard the album Taxi.

Like every young kid my age I rummaged through my parents record collection looking for vintage Beatles, Doors, Joplin what have you. I listened to scratchy Santana albums and old 45’s of Willie Nelson. But once I pulled Taxi out of the faded yellow cover I was hooked.

His songs spoke to me when Dylan, Mitchell and even Arlo Guthrie could not. I learned quickly that few my age had heard Harry’s music. I felt like I had discovered the dead sea scrolls, the answers of life. I found all the albums I could and devoured the music.

I was only two when Harry died but in the summer of 1990 I learned to love Harry and learned what it felt like to miss him………bye Amanda.

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