THE LEGEND
Once upon a time there was an obscure folk singer named Rick Ramova. Nobody had ever heard of him. Nobody ever would.
He was a drifter, an orphan of the storm who had been separated from his family in childhood, destined to roam the countryside alone. Rick traveled the highways and byways of rural America, singing and playing his original songs to anyone who would listen. Sorry to say, not too many did. But Rick pressed on, continuing to write and play regardless of his audience (or lack thereof). One cold and snowy Christmas Eve, while traveling hobo style, which was his preference, Rick nodded off as he watched the evening countryside glide by from the door of his boxcar, the rhythmic motion of the train soothing his weary, folky soul. He must have dozed off, because without warning he found himself violently flung from the train, landing in nearby ditch. Maybe he hit a rock. Maybe the fall just took a toll on Rick’s perpetually muddled head. Whatever it was, he found himself unable to stay awake. He thought to himself, “Self,” he thought, “I’ll just lie back down for a minute until I can get my bearings and then I’ll walk to the nearest town where I can play my music for the people.”
But Rick would never play or sing again. Rick fell asleep that cold winter night and the frost took hold of his battered body, freezing his hands together, forming them into claws so hard, he could chop through ice with them, which is what he had to do in order to free himself from the frozen ditch he was in. He woke up that Christmas morning, nearly frozen to death.
Then a miracle happened. Along came a stranger. A young man named Mark, who lived nearby with his mama, Patsy. He saw Rick and invited him back for Christmas dinner to his little cabin in the woods. Once there, Patsy took pity on Rick and his frozen claws and set about knitting him a pair of mittens so he would never again have his hands ‘frozed up’. But the damage was already done. The orphan Rick Ramova would never again play or sing – in addition to his frozen claw-hands, the cold had frozen his vocal chords so badly that nary a note could be coaxed from his throat.
Rick spent that winter recuperating in the woods with Mark and Mama Patsy. Finally, one day he asked their names and discovered that their last name was Ramova! He had come home! Fate had flung him into the bosom of his family. He had found his long lost brother and mother! Sadly, Mama Patsy passed on that spring, leaving only a basket of unfinished knitting to remember her by. But the Ramova brothers would never be parted again. With nothing and no one left in the little cabin, Mark and Rick set out together. Luckily Mark could play the guitar and sing, so Rick taught Mark his songs and together they traveled the land singing for anyone who would listen. But true to form, no one did. But they played on, performing in creek beds, with just the raccoons as their audience. The raccoons seemed to like the music, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.
The Ramova Brothers passed into obscurity, but their songs didn’t. Newer folksingers became aware of Rick’s songs and recorded them as their own. Singers like John Lennon, Bob Dylon, ZZ Top, Aretha Franklin, Pavarotti and Tickle-Me-Elmo. Rick never made it to the big-time, but his songs did.
And now, after all these years, the original Ramova Brothers are back, together again, singing all the old favorites for a whole new generation of folk lovers.
Long Live The Ramovas!!
The End
Once upon a time there was an obscure folk singer named Rick Ramova. Nobody had ever heard of him. Nobody ever would.
He was a drifter, an orphan of the storm who had been separated from his family in childhood, destined to roam the countryside alone. Rick traveled the highways and byways of rural America, singing and playing his original songs to anyone who would listen. Sorry to say, not too many did. But Rick pressed on, continuing to write and play regardless of his audience (or lack thereof). One cold and snowy Christmas Eve, while traveling hobo style, which was his preference, Rick nodded off as he watched the evening countryside glide by from the door of his boxcar, the rhythmic motion of the train soothing his weary, folky soul. He must have dozed off, because without warning he found himself violently flung from the train, landing in nearby ditch. Maybe he hit a rock. Maybe the fall just took a toll on Rick’s perpetually muddled head. Whatever it was, he found himself unable to stay awake. He thought to himself, “Self,” he thought, “I’ll just lie back down for a minute until I can get my bearings and then I’ll walk to the nearest town where I can play my music for the people.”
But Rick would never play or sing again. Rick fell asleep that cold winter night and the frost took hold of his battered body, freezing his hands together, forming them into claws so hard, he could chop through ice with them, which is what he had to do in order to free himself from the frozen ditch he was in. He woke up that Christmas morning, nearly frozen to death.
Then a miracle happened. Along came a stranger. A young man named Mark, who lived nearby with his mama, Patsy. He saw Rick and invited him back for Christmas dinner to his little cabin in the woods. Once there, Patsy took pity on Rick and his frozen claws and set about knitting him a pair of mittens so he would never again have his hands ‘frozed up’. But the damage was already done. The orphan Rick Ramova would never again play or sing – in addition to his frozen claw-hands, the cold had frozen his vocal chords so badly that nary a note could be coaxed from his throat.
Rick spent that winter recuperating in the woods with Mark and Mama Patsy. Finally, one day he asked their names and discovered that their last name was Ramova! He had come home! Fate had flung him into the bosom of his family. He had found his long lost brother and mother! Sadly, Mama Patsy passed on that spring, leaving only a basket of unfinished knitting to remember her by. But the Ramova brothers would never be parted again. With nothing and no one left in the little cabin, Mark and Rick set out together. Luckily Mark could play the guitar and sing, so Rick taught Mark his songs and together they traveled the land singing for anyone who would listen. But true to form, no one did. But they played on, performing in creek beds, with just the raccoons as their audience. The raccoons seemed to like the music, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.
The Ramova Brothers passed into obscurity, but their songs didn’t. Newer folksingers became aware of Rick’s songs and recorded them as their own. Singers like John Lennon, Bob Dylon, ZZ Top, Aretha Franklin, Pavarotti and Tickle-Me-Elmo. Rick never made it to the big-time, but his songs did.
And now, after all these years, the original Ramova Brothers are back, together again, singing all the old favorites for a whole new generation of folk lovers.
Long Live The Ramovas!!
The End