Time in a Bottle, 35 Years Later

September 20th was the 35th anniversary of the death of Jim Croce, the singer/songwriter who did a bunch of hits, most notably "Bad Bad Leroy Brown" (which, for years, every crappy wedding band seemed bound and determined to perform, crappily) and "Operator" (which I don't think anybody has covered, thank heaven, 'cause it was done about perfect the first time) and "Time in a Bottle" (ditto the "Operator"). Croce and his performing partner were killed in a small plane crash after performing in Natchitoches, Louisiana.

I have steadfastly avoided listening to Jim Croce recordings for pretty much all of this time, since his death.

When Croce died, he was 30 years old and just beginning to taste commercial success. He and his wife, Ingrid, who was his co-writer and former performing partner, had an infant son named A.J., who is now a musician. Jim and Ingrid had worked for a few years in the late 60's touring , driving their VW bus across the USA, playing small clubs, colleges and coffee houses. They moved to NYC for a while, tired of it and then moved to Pennsylvania, where Croce worked ordinary, real jobs to pay the bills.

In 1970, Croce teamed with Terry Muehleisen, a classical guitar player who also sang background. Croce's career began to get some traction. He signed a deal with ABC in 1972 for three records. Those records would eventually make a pile of money.

Then Jim got dead.

After her husband's death, Ingrid Croce took her young son and headed south, eventually ending up Costa Rica, where she stayed for several years. She had to launch extended litigation to obtain the music royalties owed to her late husband--Jim and Ingrid were broke at the time of his death. When her young son was 4, he faced a life threatening medical situation, which , though he survived, compromised his eyesight.

In 1985 Ingrid opened the first Croce's, a restaurant/club in what was then rundown downtown San Diego. There are now 5 very successful Croce's locations. Ingrid is an author and motivational speaker, too.

And I listened to some Jim Croce songs again, and they're really pretty good. I had some very acceptable excuses for avoiding his music, but the truth of the matter is that I had a problem with a good guy getting dead early. Some people, bigger, more impactful talents, disappeared, but that wasn't a problem.

Case in point, Jim Morrison of The Doors, legendary performer, Morrison annihilated himself; I was OK with that. Janis Joplin, same, she was a train wreck just waiting for her turn. There were others like that, over time, e.g. John Belushi, broke my heart when I heard he'd croaked, but when I read his story, well, still sad, but ultimately unavoidable and therefore something to be accepted.

But this Croce guy, just a guitar player from Jersey with a wife and a kid and chasing his dream when bam, hegone! Not supposed to happen this way. So I partitioned it off, and left if there, where it stayed for a really long time. Not that hard, really; the songs aren't earth shattering in their importance or impact. They're nice music, just nice.

So, why the epiphany now? Best I can come up with is that you eventually need to conquer your fears. No matter how irrational ,or minor, or how long they've had the upper hand.