Reflections on Garth: Happy Birthday, Mr. Hudson

When I first met The Band, I was blown away by how real and down to earth they were and how much they were like the “image” I’d had in my mind. They all seemed to be very much the way they’d come off in The Last Waltz—times ten.

There was Rick—gorgeous, hyper, sweet, friendly, flirtatious, affectionate, smelling like leather and tobacco, bouncing around with an ear-to-ear grin, all over the place and unaware of his own body in space, like the proverbial bull in a china shop.

There was Levon—slow-talking, slow-walking, slow-nodding, slow-smiling, cooler than cool in his faded dungaree jacket and jeans, looking older than his barely 50 years, gracious yet kind of sexy in a back-alley, good ol’ boy sort of way.

And there was Garth, all in black from head to toe (with a black hat, too), immersed in his keyboards and accordions and whirligigs and wires. Quiet, stone-faced, head down in intense concentration and seemingly oblivious to the world going on around him. How, I wondered, did these three incredibly strong—and incredibly different—personalities ever find a common ground, let alone meld?

Garth seemed to me the most enigmatic. Was he a puritan? Was he a wizard? Was he arrogant? Was he shy? Was he eccentric? I didn’t know, and I was afraid to find out. I knew he had to have a “regular guy” quality somewhere, because, after all, he fixed screen doors and hit his thumb with a hammer—and he seemed to like it. I knew that he made the guys in The Band pay him for music lessons, and I thought that was kind of cool—not just that he asked them to do it, but that he made them do it, at least for a little while.

I also knew there had to be something sweet there—I’d see him goof a little bit and smile and interact with the audience when The Band played or when he was performing in a duo show with Rick. Rick would call out, “Hey, brother Garth!” or “Come on, HB!” (for Honey Boy), and Garth would take a solo with mock theatrics and virtuosic aplomb. He was able to have a laugh at his own expense on stage, and that was a good sign—no arrogance there, and maybe even a sense of humor.

Still, I found him perplexing and, because of my own shyness, I tended to just smile and stay out of his way whenever I’d see him. He’d smile too, sometimes nod, but rarely said anything to me.

On occasion, Rick would ask me to “give this to Garth” or say “can you tell Garth we’re leaving” and I’d get just a little nervous. Most times, I’d just avoid whatever it was that Rick asked me to give to or ask of Garth, and the moment would pass and Rick would forget—or so I thought.

One day, Rick asked me how come I never talked to Garth. “I talk to him,” I countered, unconvincingly. “No you don’t,” Rick said. “You do not. You never talk to him.” And he stared at me with that knowing grin, as was his way—no chance to get off the hook, I’m gonna stare you down until you break. “Well, what am I gonna say to him?” I asked, after a brief silence. It was sort of a rhetorical question. But, of course, Rick had an answer. He laughed loudly, then said, very matter-of-factly, “Ask him about his cat. He loves talking about his cat.” 

I don’t remember how or why, but one winter morning soon after, on the way out of town following a show that Rick and Garth had played together near Boston, I found myself having breakfast with Garth and some other people. Rick was at the next table with some other friends. At some point, the talk turned to the deer in the woods outside the hotel restaurant where we were and eventually, I found myself asking Garth about his cat. He talked and talked about his cat, laughed intermittently, and I actually did feel a bit of relief. Rick must have overheard Garth talking—he was a good eavesdropper—and when I looked at him, he gave me a little smile with his eyebrows just slightly raised. I kind of rolled my eyes, hoping an “I told ya so” wouldn’t follow. It didn’t. But Rick was right.

The next few times I saw Garth, whenever there was a minute to talk, it was about cats. I was clueless about cats, but I was happy to talk to and listen to Garth, a kind, funny, humble, and extremely gifted man. I grew very fond of him and, though it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, he still has and always will have a very special place in my heart.

God bless you, Mr. Hudson, today on your 73^rd birthday, and always.