Over the past week, the world lost two great musicians. One of them was a legend, the other was a family friend.

Levon Helm, best known as the singer and drummer for The Band, died of throat cancer last week. His body will be bequeathed to the soil he so loved in Woodstock, New York. Helm will lie next to Rick Danko, The Band’s singer and bassist who died in 1999. If you put your ear to that spot where Helm rests, you can probably hear his music. Fitting, because Levon Helm’s music was like putting your ear to the dirt roads, the roots, the rust, the cemeteries and the rolling hills of America. He was one of the last of a dying breed of artists who filtered the pathos and tropes of our collective national conscious into something rhythmic that stirred your soul.

Levon Helm did not deal in artifice or imitation — he was the real deal. His voice wasn’t contrived to entail authenticity, nor did it pay homage to some grand tradition — Helm was the tradition. His music was a vehicle listeners could use to travel the open road of the American experience — with its drunkards, dreamers, derelicts and manifest destiny that we all still hold out hope for.

Four days after Levon Helm passed, I learned my dad’s good friend Jerry Joseph had also succumbed to cancer. You may not know Jerry’s name, but there’s a good chance you’ve heard his music. Conga Jerry, as he was known, slapped skins on albums with the Allman Brothers Band, The Marshall Tucker Band,  Sea Level, Eric Quincy Tate and others who recorded at the legendary Capricorn Studios in Macon, Georgia.

Before I knew Jerry’s music, I knew him as my mom and dad’s fun friend with the big smile. In the late 70s, my parents would drive me out to Jerry’s hilltop cabin that he shared with his girlfriend Theresa in Pine Mountain, Georgia. I was around five or six, but I have vivid memories of the cabin on the hill. It was more like a farm, with cows,  a beautiful pond and a beautiful view of pine mountain. The air was fresh, except for the occasional smell of cow dung and weed.

What I remember most are the musical jam sessions that would break out in the barn/shack that was on the property. Some of Macon, Georgia’s musical royalty would come over and jam with Jerry as families mingled, swam in the pond and picnicked. I can remember getting up close to the musicians and receiving a wry smile as they sipped their beers and played their songs. It was an experience that left an indelible impression on me and taught me everything I’d ever need to know about friends and fellowship.

I never got a chance to reconnect with Jerry. I’ll just remember him as a sweet, affable, bearded guy who was always so kind to me as a little boy. He continued to tour and record over the years, and he and my father stayed in touch. Jerry fought a tough battle with the bottle, one that he was never able to win. It certainly didn’t help with his fight against cancer.

Check out comedian Rob Delaney’s Tumblr page  for a great essay on Levon Helm and why, in this current socio-political climate, his music is more important than ever. Also check out the blog post my dad’s old friend Carlton Higgenbotham wrote about “Conga” Jerry Joseph.