What I Learned From John Denver

(Published in The Denver Post Online)

Last Sunday’s edition of The Denver Post featured an article discussing the proposed sale of a choice portion of Windstar, the land John Denver bought in the 1970’s to preserve and protect the environment and educate about connections between mind, body, and spirit. The two nonprofits that now co-own the property – the Rocky Mountain Institute and the Windstar Land Conservancy – plan to list 30 acres of the land for $13.5 million, and seek permission for a nearly-9,000 square-foot private home to be built there. The announcement of the Institute and Conservancy’s plan has generated intense discussion and emotion about whether such a sale would be a violation of John Denver’s environmental and humanitarian legacy. This controversy has raised thoughts about what John Denver has meant to me, and what I have learned from him.

The John Denver the public first came to know was a singer and songwriter whose work centered around matters of love, the wisdom of children, and the majesty of the West. His work soon deepened to include in his music and public life expressions about the oneness of those who live on the Earth, world peace, concern about the environment, the threat of nuclear weapons, starvation - and a profound concern about the kind of world we will leave our children and grandchildren.

Anyone who heard his records or saw him in concert or on television knew of his sincerity about these things. But, what affect did John Denver actually have on his admirers? Many of us, young adults ourselves, were inspired by his music and other work in the 1970’s. I was a perpetually unconfident internal medicine resident in those days and remember lying on the living room couch in our home listening to his music for half an hour before leaving for difficult night shifts in my hospital’s emergency room. Listening to the music somehow calmed and reassured me, and reminded me that my work was for the benefit of others. It was during that two-month rotation that I first felt competent as a physician. I have never lacked confidence since. John Denver’s music did not transform me from an unconfident to a confident doctor, but it helped me understand who I was and what I was about.

John’s music taught thirty-something men like me that it was all right to feel and share those feelings, to be concerned about things beyond our work, to be concerned about families beyond our own, to take a stand, to be an outward-looking kind of man.

A personal interaction with John and my son, Zachary, is one of my favorite memories in life, and offers a lesson as to who, in his essence, John was and why we listened to him. He, governor Richard Lamm, and others were sponsoring an event on the state capitol lawn opposing nuclear weapons. As a board member in one of the sponsoring groups, Physicians for Social Responsibility, I was invited to attend a press conference at Park Hill Methodist Church announcing the event. The press conference was held in the sanctuary of the church, and some of us were invited to sit along the sides of the sanctuary during the conference. I had brought Zachary, then about five years old, with me. At a quiet point in the proceedings Zach let out a long, contented, and loud sigh. This caused John to look toward us. What he saw was a young boy sitting on his loving father’s lap, the child’s head resting peacefully on his father’s chest. That vision brought a broad, beaming smile to John’s face that I have not forgotten. Zach’s eyes must have met John’s as well, something I feel good about.

Disillusionment among many of John’s admirers, myself included, followed as his divorce and remarriage, the decline in his musical career, and dysfunctional personal habits tarnished his reputation – and his ability to inspire.

Not long before his death I bumped into John’s mother in the lobby of St. Joseph Hospital here in Denver. We had a lovely chat, though she expressed some concern about him over the well-publicized personal difficulties he was having. I told her how much John had meant to my family and me. What I chose not to tell her was that I felt so betrayed by John’s behavior that I had vowed not to spend any more money on his recordings. Then, we lost him, and perhaps the final lesson was learned. I thought about just how much his work and (most of) his life had helped me to evolve and learn. Upon that reflection I vowed to not so easily give up on people in the future - a vow I have kept.

Today, I think of John as fondly as ever, and play his music as much as ever - grateful for the music, but also for the hope he helped me see, and for that loving smile.

-- Lawrence J. Hergott, M.D.