Opinion by Greg Scott

Music was Travis Edmonson’s life.

Rocky old canyons, old dusty roads

� � �  We can remember where the old rivers flowed

� � �  We were all young then, now we've gone gray,

� � �  Springs of our childhood have all dried away.

� � � � �  Chorus:

� � �  Mockin' birds warble, turtledoves call

� � �  Up on Red Mountain where the black walnuts fall,

� � �  Old Arizona, where did you go?

� � �  They've drained your waters for the cities below.

I found myself singing this song Monday. I'd gotten the news that Travis Edmonson had died. He wrote that song, maybe 40 years ago. I've always liked that song.

By now, the wire services and the Internet have given us the details. Travis Edmonson was born in 1932. He was raised in Nogales where he learned Spanish and Mexican music. He left the University of Arizona early, served a tour in the Army and embarked on a professional music career.

In 1959, partnered with Bud Dashiell, one of the most successful acts of the folk era was formed. They managed to record at least seven albums before 1965 when the contentious pair called it quits.

� � �  Cellophane wrappers, rusty tin cans

� � �  That's all you get from the Family of Man,

� � �  And the beautiful mountains and clean desert sands

� � �  Of Old Arizona are sold just for land.

Like most people, I was sad to hear of Travis' passing, but relieved to know that 30 difficult years of declining health were over. I also consider myself fortunate. I was lucky to have seen and heard Travis in his prime and to have gotten to know him well in his later years.

In 1982, Travis, who'd been performing as a solo act, mostly in Tucson, suffered a serious brain aneurysm. His childhood friend, Jamelle Simon, contacted me and others and soon a fund-raiser benefit dance was held at the fairgrounds in Sonoita. Musicians from all over Southern Arizona performed.

� � �  The snows of December, the rains in July

� � �  You can remember and so can I

� � �  But all of these waters now flow to the West

� � �  To California, and you know the rest.

A few years later I was able to offer Travis my place in Elgin to stay when he needed housing. We spent hours visiting. He answered my many questions about his career and songs. We tried to estimate how many tens of thousands of people first learned of the beauty of Mexican boleros and folk songs through his recordings and television appearances. He could no longer play the guitar, but he still loved to sing. Long into the night we sang "La Vaquilla Colorada,” “Rayito de Luna” and “Old Arizona.”

� � �  Sigh of the night wind heard in the dawn

� � �  Are me and Red Mountain wonderin' where life has gone?

� � �  It doesn't matter to the cities and mines

� � �  That steal our rivers and choke off our vines.

In December of 2006, Travis' companion Rose Marie and friends in Phoenix, Sonny Peters and I were able to invite Travis to Nogales to his old family home on MacNab Drive where Sonny has lived for the last 20 years or so. Local musicians, friends and fans gathered for an evening of music we'll never forget. During that visit, he served as Grand Marshal for the Christmas parade. He then returned to his home in Mesa. It was his last trip to his beloved hometown. It was the last time I sang with Travis.

� � �  Mockin' birds warble, turtledoves call

� � �  Up on Red Mountain where the black walnuts fall.

� � �  Old Arizona, where did you go?

� � �  They've drained your waters for the cities below.

(Editor’s Note: Greg Scott, now retired, was a longtime educator in Santa Cruz County.)