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 Don Robertson and The Iopan
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Don Robertson tells how he got started in folk music at The Iopan in Santa Barbara.
I had been introduced to folk music by Guy Carawan, a California folk singer from the San Diego area, who had come to my college to do a concert. He stayed in my room overnight. It was my introduction to folk music. I never forgot the music I heard that night, including a song about a dog, Old Blue. That dog became a very good friend.
It was 1961, and the promise of a good job had brought me from New England to Santa Barbara, California. In 1960, I had taken a course at New York Institute of Photography, and while there had met another student. He asked me to dinner at his uncle's place in Brooklyn. The host turned out to be Lee Hayes of the Weavers. Cisco Houston was also there, and we listened to a tape of his upcoming album dedicated to Woody Guthrie. In subsequent weeks the nephew took me to Gerde's Folk City on Monday night, in Greenwich Village. The house act was a black blues singer, Brother John Sellers, and a young harmonica player who later became Bob Dylan.
Throughout it all, I'd never really been to a “Coffee House.” Now I stood in front of the Iopan, which was located in a beautiful Victorian style house. I entered and walked into a large room warmly lit by candles on each table. There was a well-lit, low stage that was on the street side of the room. Someone was singing, and the few people in the room were paying rapt attention. That's what folk music was all about. I made my way to an empty table in the back.
It wasn't long before I was approached by a comely and pleasant waitress. “Hi, I'm Marilyn, what would you like to drink?”
“Just some plain coffee,” I answered.
I had placed my instrument on the tabletop and just sat drinking in the atmosphere and the music. There was a smell of apple and cinnamon and coffee blended with smoke and the emotions being painted by the singer. At the break, there was the quiet buzz of conversation.
A slim, fairly bald fellow came to the table and introduced himself. “Welcome,” he said, “my name is Dan.” Eyeing my instrument, he asked, “Do you sing?”
“A little,” I said truthfully.
“Just what is that instrument?” he asked with furrowed brow.
“This? Just a uke with a hormone problem…a baritone uke,” I laughed.
Another man came up to the table, and Marilyn arrived back to see if I needed coffee.
“This is Bill and Marilyn Berner. We run the place. What's your name?”
“Don Robertson,” I said. “Nice place you've got here!” People came and went, and the singer was in the middle of the second set. Dan came back and sat down. After awhile he casually asked, “Would ya like to sing the break? Do maybe three or four songs?”
People chuckled as I walked up to the stage. I made a strange sight; a fat guy clutching the neck of a smallish baritone uke!
I did a strong version of Pretty Polly, a Child ballad, and Old Blue. It was my first performance in Santa Barbara: my first gig in a Coffee House. I sang there often in the ensuing months.
Bill and Marilyn and Dan were the first people to start me on my way as a working folk singer. I had a lot of very good company: Tony Townsend, who later bought The Rondo, Todd Grant, the Channel Singers, René Leyva, Johnny Swingle, Phil Campos, and Joe & Eddie. Those were great days. It was so wonderful playing to audiences that listened!
Don Robertson
December 2004
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