Thursday was the 20th anniversary of the tragic death of  singer-songwriter John Denver. Time goes by so fast. It seems like just yesterday that Denver was singing “Rocky Mountain High’” in a television special.

Denver was not yet famous when I saw him perform with the Mitchell Trio in 1968. The group was formerly known as the Chad Mitchell Trio, but Chad had left the group and Denver filled in. I was a sophomore in college. Peter, Paul and Mary had just released “Leaving on a Jet Plane” written by Denver. Folk music was hot. And shortly after his debut with the Mitchell Trio, Denver took off on his own.

I’ve always felt a connection with John Denver. It may have to do with both Denver and I being called the “anti-Christ” during the same week. Some preacher referred to Denver in that vein, I suppose because of his outspoken nature worshiping. I don’t even remember exactly why a reader called me the “anti-Christ.” I’m pretty sure that it had to do with opinions meeting at right angles.

I grew up on country and folk music, so I was an immediate fan of Denver. Denver loved nature and so do I. Denver was the quintessential tree hugger. I’ve been called a tree hugger of sorts. And I think I resemble that remark. Anyone who grew up in a tobacco patch would likely hug a shade tree at some point in the day.

When Denver wrote and recorded “Grandma’s Feather Bed,” I had flashbacks to Grandma Hattie’s uninsulated house in the dead of winter. I would dash from the wood-burning heater and dive into a feather bed where the mattress would wrap around me like a huge hot dog bun. No matter how cold the wind would howl, I would have to dig out of the homemade quilts several times during the night to cool off.

Now I never had a bunch of hound dogs nor a “piggy from the shed” in the bed with me as described in Denver’s lyrics, but there was room for that. 

And when I lived in the mountains of East Tennessee, I related to “Country Roads” and would often find myself singing that song as I drove the ridges and hollows of the Smokey Mountains.

Anyone who has ever laid awake at night listening to the distant drone of a tractor-trailer rig out on the highway can find some sense of brotherhood in “Back Home Again.”

Much like Tom T. Hall, Denver was a story teller. He once was named Country Music Association’s “Entertainer of the Year,” even though he did not consider himself a country artist, Someone once said all music is folk music because a fence post can’t sing. Likewise, I would say all music is country music because every singer has to be from some country. But in my view, true folk music must have some element of protest or offer a history lesson just as hard country must cause grits to crave gravy and flannel to flair.

During my college days I often frequented coffee houses where folk music helped flavor the beer-steamed hot dogs … the kinds of places where Denver got his start, and singers would emulate his musical stylings. 

And so 20 years ago I was affected by the passing of this music legend much like some people were shocked by the untimely death of Buddy Holly. 

The preacher who called Denver the “anti-Christ” …. well he has a right to his opinion, although I felt like he was in contrast to his own cloth, relative to that thing about “judge not…”  I would pose that the world is a better place because John Denver once saw it “raining fire in the sky.”

Email: dwain.walden@gaflnews.com