Musings

A bump at the end of the road

By Garrison Keillor

Published April 20, 2026

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Getting old is an adventure and what, I ask you, is life without adventure? And an adventure that is planned such as a canoe trip or the ascent of Mount Kilimanjaro is nothing compared to one that happens to you suddenly such as what happened to me Sunday at Bethel, New York.

I was on tour with Sam the road manager and the pianist Rich Dworsky and we'd done six terrific shows --- even I, the naysayer, thought they were good — and were headed to do the seventh and last at a nearby venue on the site of the 1969 Woodstock Festival.

According to some accounts it was an iconic week in the saga of my generation and according to some people I knew there was a miserable few days of loud music, rain, bad drugs, and chaos, a crowd of almost a half million that had been planned for a crowd of fifty thousand. Janis Joplin sang and Jimi Hendrix and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and I'd written a parody of CSNY's “Teach Your Children” for it.

Rich and I were going to perform for 500 and I got in the back seat and we headed for the historic site and after a few miles I felt I'd forgotten something at the motel and wanted to get my briefcase out of the trunk to look for it. Except I found it hard to say this. Strange. Words came out of my mouth but they didn't make sense.

I could tell that I wasn't speaking coherently but I kept trying, a few disconnected words at a time. And Sam the man pulled over and I tried to get out and he stopped me. A few minutes before I'd been an author, college graduate, and Episcopalian and now I was a wayward child.

He got on the phone, called 911, called Jenny back in Minnesota, a car pulled up and an EMT opened my door and checked my vitals and I was still talking garbled talk, but I did know my own name and date of birth, so there was hope.

It dawned on me that I was experiencing something I'd been through a few times before, aphasia, an inability to speak clearly.

The EMT said there was a hospital some distance away and offered to take me. I said no, and so did Sam and Jenny. I signed off on the decision to release me. Sam canceled the show and we headed for New York City, two hours away, so he and Rich could fly home.

I kept insisting that I wanted to do the show. I was starting to speak more clearly. Sam said no and he had Rich sit next to me in the back seat, maybe to keep me from jumping out of the car. I kept assuring them I was okay and they disagreed.

What bothered me was how good the parody of CSNY was, that I was missing the chance to sing it.

You who recall this song
It's been a long time since the Sixties
Your hair is thin up there
Your memory's very dim and misty.

Hear your children say,
It's moving day, today we're giving
Orders to you, today you move,
You're going to assisted living.

You can argue, you can cry, but the Sixties have gone by,
It's a sharp stick in your eye, but we love you.
Yes, the house must be sold, and Neil Young is getting old
And this song is green with mold, but we love you.


You'll be on the second floor, it says Memory on the door,
You are turning 84, but we love you.

The words were clear in my head but I couldn't speak them, just hum the tune.

I invited them to spend the night at my apartment on West 90th Street. They agreed. We unloaded the car and Sam took it to a garage. Rich and I ordered a Thai supper for the three of us. I beat him at Scrabble. The food arrived. We sat down and had a pleasant supper, recalling old Prairie Home Companion days, the annual Talent from Towns Under Two Thousand contest, various mishaps at live broadcasts, and at 10 everybody turned in for the night.

I can't wait to get back out on the road. At 84 there's nothing to prove, you just want to make people happy. Life is a gift. It's a miracle that we exist and so a person must be grateful for every day, including Sunday. But be sure to take good people along with you.

Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.