Let me tell you about a song that was brought to me
by a good friend of mine,
who's a good songwriter,
and every time he brings me a song,
I'm always willing to listen.
But the story and the reasons for writing this song
were even more interesting to me than the song.
The old friend and fellow I'm speaking of is Tommy Collins.
Tommy told me about an experience he had
when he was a minister,
where he was called
to preach a funeral for a man with no identity.
Tommy said he never forgot the way he felt,
like,
here's a human being who someone must
have loved at some time,
and yet there was no one present to pay respect,
just a couple
of grave diggers, a funeral man, and Tommy.
Then the story switched to another thought,
about during his last visit to Nashville,
he went down to listen to an old street singer,
that he always made a point to go hear each
time he was in town.
And it was then that Tommy discovered that Jack Dupree,
the old street singer, had passed
away.
Tommy said he wondered how many were present at Jack's funeral.
It was these two true-to-life incidents that inspired this song.
I only saw five people when they buried Jack Dupree,
two diggers and a preacher,
the funeral
man and me.
The prayer was said and the hole was
filled in less than half an hour,
and I said goodbye to the little man who picked the wildwood flower.
For twenty years I'd seen him on the lower Nashville streets.
They said he always earned enough to buy his clothes and eats.
He'd stop for a while and check his
watch with the big clock on the tower.
That's when I asked him once if he could pick the wildwood flower.
He always drew a crowd because he'd put on such a show.
He'd dance and sing and play and smile just like a polished pro.
And every time he saw me standing in the crowd,
I knew the tune that he'd play next would be the wildwood flower.
I told him once that he could be what people call a star.
And he said, boy, I'm happy.
How
many of them folks are?
I'd hate to have to force a smile and feel myself turn sour.
There
ain't no put on in my face when I pick the wildwood flower.
And I saw a thousand people as they began to come.
Businessmen, opera stars, party girls and bums.
And on that little mound,
the play bouquets to tend the shower.
As they paid respect to the little
man who picked the wildwood flower.