Scott Cawelti

Summer, 1963-- I was giving guitar lessons regularly in my family's living room to anyone who signed up. One day, a young woman showed up who could strum, knew a few chords, and wanted to learn finger picking and chord patterns.   Nothing to unusual there.

Then she sang.  I had never heard such a perfectly modulated, on-pitch,  pure female voice.  Bonnie Koloc in her late teens was singing better than most professionals, with virtually no vocal training.  

By 1978, when I wrote this, she was in fact a well-established professional singer. 

This is how she started.  

America, as everybody knows, is a land of humble origins. And Iowa is certainly the heart of humble origin land. The Everly Brothers began quietly in Shenandoah, Johnny Carson started lowly in Corning, John Wayne commenced meagerly in Winterset, Cloris Leachman awoke slowly in Des Moines, and Bonnie Koloc arose tenderly (and humbly) right here in Waterloo and Cedar Falls.

For those of you who don't notice such things, Bonnie Koloc is just finishing her sixth album; she has sung to rave reviews in Chicago and New York, she has appeared on Dick Cavett, in concert with Gordon Lightfoot, John Prine, Steve Good­man, Tom Rush and others. The audience for her music (and her wonderful performances) has grown steadily. And Bonnie deserves it all; she knows and believes in quality work.

Anyway, Bonnie Koloc has been a friend for years, and she was in town for a visit last week. Seeing her reminded me of her own humble musical origins. I know, because I helped give Bonnie her start, right in my own humble living room. It went like this... (harp music, wavy lines)

I'M SITTING in my living room waiting for my next guitar student. It's a hot summer day, 1963, and I'm tired and grouchy from watching 10- year-old boys named Ronald or Gerald or Jamie claw at the D chord while their proud but sweaty mothers look on.

I look at my list and see that the next student is Bonnie Koloc. I remember the name because she has been singing off and on for parties and variety shows in the area. I've never heard her sing, though. She is late, but finally tumbles in, out of breath, and takes out a big Harmony Sovereign guitar.

She smiles sweetly and strums a chord, slightly out of tune. She says, "I can play a little, but my rhythms are off, and I want to play more with my fingers and less with my thumb."

I GROAN quietly inside and think:  A long lesson. Oh well, at least she knows some chords.

I suggest that she play the D progression and she looks at me like I'd just suggested she play "Malaguena." Yup, it's going to be a long lesson.

I say, "You know—D to G to A7—those three chords?"

She says, "Well, I know D and G, but does A7 go with them?"

I sigh, she smiles again sweetly, and I suggest that she forget the D progression and just play a song—any song she knows well.

She begins to play and sing the first verse to "John Riley"—a beautiful old English ballad. Suddenly I look up, wide awake. This voice, where is it coming from? I literally look around the room, for it is absolutely a stun­ning sound—clear, liquid, right on pitch with a perfect natural vibrato. Then I see Bonnie looking at her hand, trying to figure out a way to use her thumb less. But the voice is hers.

I stop her. "Good God," I say, "Where'd you get that voice? Let me play behind you." I begin, and she sings all of "John Riley." It is so beautiful I want to cry. She has a natural sense of phrasing, and her voice does everything she wants it to. I'm sick with envy, but overjoyed to hear this all-but-perfect voice.

"LOOK, BONNIE, I say, "have you ever made any money with your singing?" She says no, and I suggest that she call Clair Bruce; he runs the Cypress Lounge downtown where I played last summer.

She says, "Do you think I'm ready? I'll have to use my thumb an awful lot when I play."

"Bonnie," I say, "just sing. Play your guitar with your elbow, but sing. Don't let that voice go unheard any longer."

She calls Clair Bruce, who hears her sing, and gives her her first singing job for money, at the Cypress Lounge... (wavy lines, more harp music).

The rest, as they say, is history, or rather herstory.

It was nice to be there, humble though it was.

12-6-2012

WANTED: people who worked with, knew, and have ideas and thoughts about DR. MARK LOUVIERE. 

He was a Waterloo physician, a general practioner, who worked in NE Iowa as a healer.   Now he is in prison, having pled guilty to possession of methamphetamines with intent to deliver—and it’s a long sentence.  

Dr. Louviere has given me tentative permission to research his background, so I’d like to set up interviews with anyone who is willing to share their stories and observations about his life and times.  

My plan is to write his story as nonfiction—an accurate biography of his life as a doctor and now as a convicted felon.  

Contact me at  cawelti@forbin.net or s.cawelti@uni.edu 

Either will reach me, or you can reply to this blog as a comment.  Please do help; this project can only be as good as its sources.