I am embarrassed to say that I grew up in a house where my father had zero interest in music, and my mother's record collection ran to Andy Williams, Perry Como, and collections from Longine's Symphonette.
Then, when I was in 4th grade, my dad spent a year at Ohio State finishing his MS, and Mom, being the biggest chicken in the world, has 3 college girls move in with us so she wouldn't be exposed alone to the dangers of New Concord, OH (pop. ~800) - which turned out to be very formative for a young Cowboy.
Pam Duryea drove a Triumph Spitfire, and let me shift while she drove; I bought a Spit about 13 years later.
Nancy Wheeler got me my first part in a play ("Voice of Howard's Son" in Death Of A Salesman); I started college as a theater major (she also tried to push me down the basement steps once; not sure why, I could never be an annoying little brat.....)
And Beth Ostre introduced me to actual music; she had albums like Burl Ives, Kingston Trio, Bob Gibson (who 15 years later I got wasted with backstage), and, first & foremost, Peter Paul, & Mary. She also named her first-born after me.
Mr. Yarrow will be sorely missed, both musically and as touchstone of my youth.
Peter (who was a nosy little turd, but didn't realize until much later what the funny-smelling corncob pipe buried in Beth's bottom drawer was for; quite risky then & there)
