The Man Who Picked the Wildwood Flower
[Intro - Spoken]
Let me tell you about a song that was brought to me by a good friend of mine who's a good songwriter and every time he brings me a song I'm always willing to listen. But the story and the reasons for writing this song were even more interesting to me than the song
The old friend and fellow I'm speaking of is Tommy Collins. Tommy told me about an experience he had when he was a minister where he was called to preach a funeral for a man with no identity. Tommy said he never forgot the way he felt, like here is a human being who someone must have loved at sometime and yet there was no one present to pay respect, just a couple of grave diggers, a funeral man, and Tommy
Then the story switched to another thought about during his last visit to Nashville, he went down to listen to an old street singer that he always made a point to go hear each time he was in town. And it was then that Tommy discovered that Jack Dupree, the old street singer, had passed away
And Tommy said he wondered how many were present at Jack's funeral. And it was these two true-to-life incidents that inspired this song
[Verse]
I only saw five people when they buried Jack Dupree
Two diggers, and a preacher, a funeral man, and me
The prayer was said and the hole was filled in less than half an hour
And I said goodbye to the little man who picked the wildwood flower
For twenty years I'd seen him on the lower Nashville streets
They said he always earned enough to buy his clothes and eats
He'd stop awhile and check his watch with the big clock on the tower
That's when I asked him once if he could pick the wildwood flower
He always drew a crowd because he put on such a show
He'd dance and sing and play and smile just like a polished pro
And every time he saw me standing in the crowd
I knew the tune that he'd play next would be "The Wildwood Flower"
I told him once that he could be what people call a star
And he said, "Why, boy, I'm happy, how many of them folks are?"
I'd hate to have to force a smile and feel myself turn sour
There ain't no put-on in my face when I pick the wildwood flower
Then I saw a thousand people as they began to come
Business men and Opry stars, party girls and bums
And on that little mound of clay, bouquets begin to shower
As they paid respect to the little man who picked the wildwood flower
