This morning’s NYTimes has an opinion piece, “A Life Without a Home: Voices from the tents, shelters, cars, motels,
and couches of America,” which adds a hell of a lot more to the John Prine song “Hello In There.”
John Prine Photograph by Ron Baker (public domain)
We had an apartment in the cityMe and Loretta liked living thereWell, it’d been years since the kids had grownA life of their own, left us alone
John and Linda live in OmahaAnd Joe is somewhere on the roadWe lost Davy in the Korean warAnd I still don’t know what for, don’t matter anymore
You know that old trees just grow strongerAnd old rivers grow wilder every dayOld people just grow lonesomeWaiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”
Me and Loretta, we don’t talk much moreShe sits and stares through the back door screenAnd all the news just repeats itselfLike some forgotten dream that we’ve both seen
Someday I’ll go and call up RudyWe worked together at the factoryWhat could I say if he asks “What’s new?”“Nothing, what’s with you? Nothing much to do”
You know that old trees just grow strongerAnd old rivers grow wilder every dayOld people just grow lonesomeWaiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”
So if you’re walking down the street sometimeAnd spot some hollow ancient eyesPlease don’t just pass ’em by and stareAs if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello”
— John Prine
