Every Labor Day weekend since moving to Oklahoma, I thought about going to the Dusk to Dawn Blues Festival. But the idea of a yard party running from 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. was intimidating—and I could never persuade anyone to go with me.
When I met festival founder Selby Minner, she laughed at my hesitation and told me I’d love it. After her tragic death in June, I put my apprehension aside and finally ventured to the world’s largest yard party, the one that put Rentiesville on the map.
I had learned to love the blues at Selby’s Sunday jam sessions at her Down-Home Blues Club, where I let younger dancers pull me onto the floor to stomp, point, and shake with the best of them. By then I was not only a blues fan but even tried my hand at writing lyrics.
For the festival, my friends Peggy Sue and Bill West joined me—so I wouldn’t have to go alone. At D.C. Minner Road, parking attendants directed us to a spot and called for a golf cart. To my delight, the driver was Selby’s grandson, Jason Chandler. He thanked me profusely for the festival publicity I’d written for the Indian Journal.
Our second surprise came at the first vendor booth. Brenda, a regular Sunday jam dancer, rushed out to give me a hug, and later her sister Sherry spotted my hat and reminded me she’d always admired them. Soon after, more familiar faces from those Sunday gatherings greeted me warmly—including the keyboard player and guitarist/ singer from Selby’s own band. I was gratified to realize that so many who had been casual acquaintances now seemed like friends because of our bonding to honor Selby.
At the main stage, Selby’s sister Hilary Conley welcomed the crowd, saying how happy Selby would be to see the turnout. Jason then read a proclamation from Governor Kevin Stitt declaring the day “Selby Minner ‘Keeping the Blues Alive’ Day” in Oklahoma. As Selby’s All-Star Band played, dancers filled the floor and children ran with giant puppets waving overhead.
We made our way to the Back Porch Stage, where David Berntson handed out free harmonicas and taught a crowd of children—and a few adults—to play. At the inside stage, I was thrilled to hear Victoria Ellington, once a rising opera singer, now belting the blues. Afterward I told her how moved I was and asked if I might send her some lyrics. She smiled and said, “Please do.” I could hardly believe it!
Then we watched talented Jorie Morgan conclude her set singing the “Family Blues” and we were listening to the Harold Jefferson band when I noticed a beautifully dressed woman sitting right of the stage.
I asked Peggy Sue, who by this time had danced with dozens and made more friends in one night that most make in a year, to ask that woman if she intended to sing. If not, we’d been there five hours and I was ready to leave.
Chicago blues singer Barbara Martin came over to me. Peggy Sue snapped a photo of us together as Barbara thanked me for wanting to hear her sing. And when she sang, she dedicated a song to her new friend, Lenore. Could anything have made this a better evening?
By the end of the night, after hours of music, dancing, laughter, and hugs, I realized this was exactly where I was meant to be. I only wish I could have gone all three nights.
Wherever we were, dance floors filled up, observers tapped their toes, twisted their torsos, nodded their heads up and down. One man in particular patted his heart to the music’s beat. Several times Bill pulled out his harmonica and played right along with the bands.
The irony of the blues is this: singing songs about life’s troubles makes people happy. Joy prevailed at the Dusk to Dawn Festival—and I’m sure Selby was smiling down on it all.
