True Grit
Back in April 2006, I wrote a long piece on a woman I haven’t see in years, Terry, who’s one of the organizers of the Peninsula Bluegrass Festival in [Slower] Lower Delaware. Terry was tough as nails:
Terry had hired a then up-and-coming bluegrass performer who will go unmentioned. Sometime after the show was over and the fireside pickers had all gone to bed, Terry’s son ran up to the house telling her that there was trouble at the campgrounds, people fighting.
Well, Terry ran down to the campsite with some of her girlfriends, and they followed the noise to one of the campers, where they listened outside for a couple of minutes. It was the up-and-coming performer: he was drunk and beating the crap out of his wife. I know the guy personally, and have seen him drink moonshine out of soda bottles like I’d drink an RC. He’s also built like a house.
Knowing they couldn’t do anything immediately, Terry and her girlfriends went back to the house. But that morning at 5:00 am, Terry marched down to the camper, and began banging on the door. “Get up in there, and get the hell outta here!†she yelled as the door swung open and the singer looked out beary-eyed and hungover.
“What? Do you have any idea what time it–â€
“I know exactly what time it is,†Terry snapped. “It is time for YOU to start this camper and get out of here. This is a FAMILY festival, I will NOT HAVE this kind of behavior!â€
The guy scowled at her and his face began to get red. “Do you have any idea who I am? Do you know who I am?â€
“I know who you are and I don’t care. To me you’re that guy who gets drunk and beats his wife. You got five minutes to get yourself out of here or I will call the police.†The guy knew he was beaten, and left.
Terry’s a tough bird, used to fighting for what she wants. I was horrified to learn last April that not only was she fighting cancer, but she’d had to have her entire right leg amputated because she became infected with the flesh-eating bacteria: in a single evening, a cut on her foot spread out-of-control and ripped open her entire thigh: she lost the leg, part of her hip, and god knows what else.
One of the festivals I played this weekend was the Peninsula Bluegrass Festival, and of course Terry was there. Her hair was shorter and had a lot more grey in it, and she was in a wheelchair, but she doesn’t seem to have slowed down. When I spoke to her, and asked how she was doing she replied, “Getting stronger every day, stronger every day. I’m pretty much ready to go kick ass right now!” I told her I’d make sure Jim and Jennie knew to give her a call, and walked back to my van, as Terry and the friend pushing her chair headed in the other direction.
Terry wasn’t kidding about getting stronger: later that evening, I saw her pushing herself up a small hill, using her hands to get the wheels going, and her remaining leg for traction. She didn’t seem to be slowing down one inch.
That’s true grit for you. True grit.
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