Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 30, 1995 TAG: 9507310006
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-20 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: LISA APPLEGATE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: PEMBROKE LENGTH: Long
"This is soul music," Jon Singleton says as he swipes his bow casually across the strings of his fiddle. "I have to be very much at peace to play this. I can do that here."
``Here'' is the Phlegar jam.
Phlegar is the last name of Tom and Dan - two brothers who inherited this 200-acre slice of green heaven from their grandparents. The jam, which started almost a decade ago, lasts for three days in July.
The most recent jam, held last weekend, gathered some 250 pickers, fiddlers, singers and footstompers.
They'll say it's the best place around the valley to hear genuine old-time music passed down from generations ago.
And they've kept it to themselves all these years.
Tom Phlegar respects this land and its history almost as much as he respects the musicians who flock to it each summer.
His great-grandfather, John Phlegar, first set foot on this land in 1848. Forty years later, an Italian stonemason traveling with Norfolk and Western Railway added a thick stone chimney to Phlegar's lavish white house.
The chimney, the smokehouse and the barn are all that's left of his home - some teen-agers burned down the house a decade ago.
With two trout streams and an abundance of back-country trails within spitting distance of their property, Tom and Dan Phlegar knew the land was too precious to lose. They built a new retreat on top of the ashes - a place where Dan, of Salem, could fish and Tom could escape the intense summer heat of his home in Charlotte, N.C.
Seven summers ago, Tom brought some Charlotte Folk Music Society members with him in search of cool breezes and a place to stretch out, relax and jam.
The first year 40 people came - 30 from the music society and 10 local musicians. The next year, it was 80.
Word of mouth alone has increased the number to the hundreds. Some people set up their tents on the front lawn Friday night and don't pack up until Sunday.
This year, the family gathering even included newlyweds. Sterling and Kirstin Ryder of Charlotte pitched their immense two-room tent (a wedding present) just a few feet from the main jam circle.
The Giles County Junior Rescue Squad volunteers its time now. Teen-agers park cars and sell drinks to raise money for their training.
The music society's members enjoy the excursion so much, they've made this their official summer festival and underwrite the cost in case Tom Phlegar doesn't break even. Folks pass around a collection jar, but much of the funding comes out of Phlegar's pocket.
"It's my way of putting something back into this area," he said.
Charlie Ferguson rests one foot on the shiny chrome of his red pickup truck, breathing heavily as his thick, agile fingers scamper over the miniature neck of a mandolin.
The 67-year-old Giles native insists he's too old for quick, upbeat tunes like "Lost Indian" and "Franklin County." But still, he picks out the high-pitched, sweet melodies.
His weathered eight-string is chipped in several places and lacks some of the ivory inlaid dots that mark fret spacing.
"I got this mandolin for $18," he says proudly to anyone standing nearby, "in Alaska, at a pawn shop in 1956. It still plays beautifully."
Ferguson and Andrew Duncan, his longtime friend and fellow Radford arsenal retiree, smile broadly as they reminisce about playing old-time music in the bars between Princeton, W.Va., and Glen Lyn.
They visited the Peeled Onion, Hell's Gap Tavern, Lincoln Logs, The Bloody Bucket. And don't forget The Friendly Tavern.
"But don't let that name fool you," Duncan says with a wink. "That was the roughest place around."
Honey Mahaffey, who had just sauntered up to the group, gives Duncan and Ferguson a warm hello. "Honey knows everybody in this county," Ferguson says as an introduction.
This petite, bouncy woman hears the litany of bar names and begins to dance around in circles. She never played an instrument ("I couldn't play a radio," she says), but she could dance.
"Build a bridge and make it tight," she says, clapping to the remembered rhythm of a square dance call.
These Giles County natives don't see one another often and play together even less. Few local musicians venture out to share their music in Roanoke or Galax.
"We're just porch possums," Ferguson says. "We stay on our porches and play all we can."
Festivals like Phlegar's jam keep this venerable music from disappearing, says Jon Singleton, a music teacher and member of the Charlotte music society.
"Every time one of these old-timers dies, you lose hundreds of songs," he laments.
Players passed along new tunes through jam sessions, not sheet music, Singleton explains. Songs with titles like "Jim's Tune" or "Boatmen" record a culture that is quickly dwindling in an age of television and Nintendo.
Each time they learn a new song, Singleton and music society President Tom Estes say, they're preserving a bit of American history.
Estes' banjo is reminiscent of the instruments brought to America by African slaves. The old-time tune Singleton plays on his fiddle has roots in the Irish who migrated to this area. The clog step Estes pounds out with his hands stems from American Indian dances.
Music is harmony, Estes says, and this music is a harmony of almost every culture in America.
As the air cools and the sky settles into a deep blue, musicians gather around the house in scattered circles.
Two strands of white light bulbs illuminate the side lawn, where a local band called "Gold Rush" leads a large group of pickers in upbeat, hard-driving bluegrass.
"They're the finest you'll hear around here," says Charlie Ferguson, who traded his mandolin for a lawn chair.
The band sticks to playing in local churches and festivals - touring would take all the fun out of it, says bassist Jeff Collins.
Just behind them, on a makeshift plywood dance floor, several men and women clog a two-step. Actually, most of them are wearing tennis shoes, so it's more like a soft-shoe. A group of children, exhausted from hours of square dancing on the side lawn, sit around a citronella candle telling ghost stories.
Conflicting melodies from six different circles battle for air space with the smells of corn and cookies - leftovers from the abundant potluck dinner consumed a few hours before.
Ruby Kirby, another Charlotte pilgrim, stays put in a rocking chair on the front porch, singing of lost love in a high, resonant voice. Her husband, Floyd, strums the guitar in another circle around the corner.
The high school sweethearts have been married for 49 years; they've played music together for 53.
Floyd Kirby started playing guitar at age 7, mostly because there was nothing much else to do. His uncle taught him three chords - G, C and D - and he was hooked.
The Kirbys travel all over North Carolina and Virginia to bluegrass gatherings, winning awards and making friends.
"You don't meet people like this anywhere else," he says, giving Singleton a goodbye hug.
By midnight, the circles have dwindled to one. Ruby Kirby stands in the middle of it, her voice echoing between the trees like a beacon - for next year's jam.
Tom Phlegar figures he'll schedule the festival for the end of July, though you'll have to ask a porch possum to find out for sure.
by CNB