The epicenter of the acoustic blues scene was the original barbershop, located at 2007 Bunker Hill Road in Northeast Washington, DC. On Saturday afternoons at 1 PM, the proprietor Archie Edwards, from Franklin County, Virginia, closed shop and musicians of all skill levels showed up for jam sessions. The liquor bottles came out, everybody smoked and drank and between the social banter and fellowship they played the blues. By all accounts there was so much smoking that nicotine and cigar smoke stained the walls. An old refrigerator in the back held the supplies. Archie drank Budweiser and liked mixing moonshine and orange juice. It was his kingdom. He was in charge and the king of the hill. Mike Baytop explained[1],
It was, “Rend unto Caesar what Caesar” – if you weren’t in the barbershop, Archie didn’t pull any rank. He only pulled rank when he was in the barbershop. That’s where he was king, you know? Otherwise, he’d let you – you know, you want to be the boss, you could be the boss. That’s okay. But you couldn’t run anything in the barbershop.
For any community to thrive and sustain, a central meeting place is needed to bring like-minded people together, coupled with people willing to lead, support and nurture. The barbershop was that central pivot for the acoustic blues community, perhaps the single largest determinant for the long-term cultural success of the roots blues in Washington. The “Big Three” – John Jackson, John Cephas and Archie Edwards – formed the nucleus as both role models and teachers. The acoustic blues scene, centered in Archie’s barbershop, flourished and sustained over decades through a healthy combination of friendship and rivalry, a sense of musical kinship and shared mission, mutual respect and competition. People were drawn to the barbershop to play, learn and exchange. Over the years, players of all stripes came through, both locals and transients. Mississippi John Hurt, a musician who Archie idolized and emulated, became his friend when Hurt was brought to D.C. Hurt and Archie became friends and often jammed together at the barbershop. In his song The Road is Rough and Rocky, Archie sang, “John Hurt was my best friend. Now the poor boy is dead and gone. Poor boy is dead and gone.” Eleanor Ellis reminisced[2],
Archie told me that he looked for John Hurt when he went in the service but he never could find him. I think he was driving a cab at the time– it was always half mystical– and he said, “I told my wife, ‘Save the Sunday paper, there’s something in it I need to see.'” So he went out, he was driving around in the cab. He came back and he saw an ad that John Hurt was playing at Ontario Place Club, which was in D.C. at the time – yeah. So he went down there, and that was how he met him. Now, that’s a story I heard. Apparently, Skip James was on the same bill, and he was so drunk that he was bent over, and so Archie was telling John Hurt, “I can play guitar. You want me to play, I’ll play.” So finally Skip James was in such bad shape Archie came up and finished up the gig with John Hurt. Archie wasn’t that fond of Skip James. He said Skip James had kind of nasty disposition.
Archie was a skilled fingerpicking and slide guitarist in the Piedmont style, the same fingerpicking technique used by John Hurt, who was not a typical Mississippi Delta Blues player.
It’s almost impossible to accurately record all the musicians that came through and jammed at the barbershop over the years. Visitors such as Jerry Ricks and Moses Rascoe came in frequently from Philadelphia. John Dee Holeman came up from Carolina. Some were famous, some obscure, some are now passing memories. At Archie’s barbershop music was center, and along with the highly skilled and famous professionals came the local players, people who would never make a living with music but they played for the fun and the love of it. Everybody came to Archie’s – professionals and amateurs, photographers, writers, musicologists, musical novices and blues fans, black and white. The doors were open to everyone. It was a scene, a community of blues fans. For some of the noteworthy characters, Archie’s was the main place for their musical participation. They may have been relatively unknown, but they were good, and in some cases extraordinary. Most of the regulars at the barbershop never achieved fame, most of them worked day jobs just as Archie did. Some were retired, some just getting started.
The barbershop was a place that welcomed everyone. The generation that carries on the Piedmont blues today all were mentored in the barbershop. A young woman from Louisiana, Eleanor Ellis, was welcomed and became an integral part of the scene. Phil Wiggins, Michael Baytop, Michael Roach, Neil Harpe, and Rick Franklin, the new generation in the 1970s and ‘80s, are the mentors and teachers today who, in turn mentored musicians who carry on this blues today.
Michal Baytop reminisced[3],
Archie had this personality I just couldn’t resist. I never met anybody like him before in my life. Through him I met all of his friends, like Eleanor and John Cephas and Phil and John Jackson. The grasp that he had on the music – he was like a walking encyclopedia, and he could sit there and tell you about all these people with little anecdotes. Archie would get into explaining things and he was a fountain of knowledge.
He made me understand a lot of things. One of the things that always tickled me was that John Jackson, John Cephas and Archie – who we called “the Big Three” – all three of them would play the same song so differently. Then Archie would say something like, “Ah, man, John Jackson, you promised me you wouldn’t play my song. Doggone it, now you’re playing my song.” But they didn’t sound anything alike at all…Here in Washington, D.C., we had an amazing scene happening at the barbershop. When Archie and all the rest of the guys that came –the Gaines Brothers – and all of them, the people that had been forgotten, they now had a place to belong where they could come play and be part of the fellowship. Archie used to tell these stories about these great musicians that used to come by the barbershop. They were gone and forgotten. Nobody would remember those guys because they weren’t that famous but they were great. Little Jimmy Smith, Leroy Smith, NJ Warren, Louisiana Red, Larry Johnson. Archie would always bring up the Gaines Brothers, because they were a good example of the caliber of musicians that came through the barbershop, good friends of Archie and fine players. Everybody at the barbershop listened to Archie’s stories and even if we had not met the Gaines Brothers, soon we would know them well enough to tell stories about them.
If you really wanted to hang around Archie, unless you were Mr. Bones, you had to play guitar. NJ Warren, Mr. Bones, Mr. O’Neil would hang out at the barbershop. For many of these old musicians, this was the place for them to go. They used to come around to the barbershop and hang out and play music and whatnot, and I just can’t try to imagine what Mr. O’Neil would do if there wasn’t a barbershop there – and all those guys – NJ, Mr. O’Neil – Archie – all the guys that were alive when Archie passed away.”
Mr. Bones
There was the well-respected bones[4] percussionist, Richard “Mr. Bones” Thomas, a barbershop regular. Phil Wiggins still refers to him as “A real sweetheart of a guy. He had a beautiful smile. He was real easygoing.”
He recorded a superb album Blues ‘N Bones in 1989 with Archie Edwards and the D.C. harmonica player Mark Wenner, who achieved international fame with the blues-rock bar band the Nighthawks. Mr. Bones may have ranked among the best players of this traditional percussion instrument. The Archie Edwards Blues Foundation reports,
Mr. Bones was a fixture in the Washington music scene for at least seven decades. Born in Pomonkey, Maryland, on July 30, 1922, he was raised in Washington, D.C., from the age of six months. He developed an interest in the bones at the age of six, after seeing a Vaudeville performance by Sammy Davis Jr. He crafted his first set of bones from a cigar box. He then began fashioning them from wood and finally settled upon using 6- to 7-inch beef rib bones — a process that takes approximately nine months. During World War II, he was drafted into the Army and was a member of the famous Red Ball Express. During the war, he earned four Battle Stars. After the war, he worked a series of jobs in both the private and public sector until his retirement. Mr. Bones met Archie Edwards in 1989 at the recording of Blues and Bones. After making the recording, they performed at the Chicago Blues Festival, and in 1997, they performed at the St. Louis Blues Festival. His percussion on the bones – which sounds similar to castanets and tap drums – was compatible with a wide range of musical genres, including blues, jazz, folk, and Latin. He can be heard on Blues and Bones with Archie Edwards. He also recorded with Michael Roach on the CDs Ain’t Got No Home and The Blinds of Life. His amazing talent on the bones and his winning personality made Mr. Bones a crowd favorite when he performed with members of the barbershop. He was a hit at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, the Bull Durham Blues Festival, Blues in the Burg (where he was a featured performer), the DC Blues Society Festival, and other local festivals. He also performed community service benefit shows at hospitals, schools, and civic events.[5]
Mike Baytop recalled,[6]
Mr. Bones and Archie, they were really special human beings. Heck, you couldn’t miss if you had Archie in one pocket and Bones in the other. You couldn’t miss. Archie told great stories, and I could repeat Archie’s stories almost like I’d been there. I used to listen to Mr. Bones tell his stories – just go over to his house and just sit there half the night and just listen to him talking about everything, anything. He talked about Sammy Davis Jr. as the guy that inspired Bones to learn to play the bones. Sammy Davis Jr. traveled with a vaudeville show that came to D.C. Sammy Davis, Jr., his father and his uncle – they used to travel around on the train. Every time the train would stop they would jump out and do their little act outside the train car. And so, yeah, Mr. Bones saw them perform, that was where and when he decided he wanted to play bones… Mr. Bones would tell about when he used to go hang outside at the Howard Theater, and sneak in to see the piano player
Fats Waller…They even had a bones convention – yes, they actually have those things. At that convention everybody knew who he was and he was a big celebrity, and it rubbed off on me because I learned from him. People were impressed, saying things like “ Wow, he studied with Mr. Bones.” Or “I was trying to get to D.C. to meet him and I couldn’t meet him.” He could get more out of those bones than anyone there.
Joe Watson
Joe was one of Archie’s friends, a regular, and a true character who spent much time hanging around the barbershop. Everybody who remembers him says that he basically only knew one song, which he played consistently, and very well at that. The Archie Edwards Blues Foundation reports,
Joe Watson was born in Goochland, Virginia, and moved to Washington, D.C., in 1941. He worked at the Harrington Hotel for 40 years before retiring. Joe and Archie were very good friends, as evidenced by their constant banter and insults aimed at each other. He played the guitar and sang. He is most famous for his song Can Do Bad By Myself, a Barbershop favorite. Joe performed with the Barbershop at the Smithsonian Folk-life Festival, the Herndon Blues Festival, and other local festivals. Joe had a gentle but fun-loving personality with a deep love and appreciation for the blues. He was a barbershop regular until his health prevented him from participating.
Mike Baytop reminisced[7],
Archie had this friend Joe Watson. One day I went into the flower shop next door to the barbershop because Archie was sick and I thought I’d pick something up for Archie. The owner of the shop said to me, “Hey, man, come here, you’ve got to go find Archie’s friend, because this little fellow he comes around here every day and he sits around here sad and lonesome every day waiting for Archie.” Joe had no idea what happened to Archie. So I went around the corner to Joe’s house, and he was all upset, “What happened to him? Where’d he go?” He was looking for his buddy, you know. So I told him, “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you around to Archie’s house where you can see him.” Joe wasn’t really that good a player, but he was Archie’s friend. So I went over to Archie’s house to see if I could bring Joe over, “Archie, Joe’s been coming around, sitting around here waiting day in and day out, because he had no way to get in touch with you.” So he said, “All right, you can bring him by,” he said, “But don’t have him bring no instruments.”
The thing about Joe – he had this voice that sounded – a gravelly old blues voice. He’d go, “How you doin’? My name is Joe Watson, I’m going to be singing the blues for you.” He got mad, you know. Every time he had the chance he would sing Can Do Bad By Myself. He was determined that he was going to do that song, and he did. Nobody could understand what he was saying because of his gravely singing. He sang his one song Can Do Bad By Myself in open D. And I’ve got a story about that. We were at the Folklore Society Festival, and young Neil Johnson was hanging out at the barbershop at the time there was old Neil, who was Neil Harpe from Annapolis. So, Joe had a guitar that he could hardly hear because his hearing was bad, so he didn’t know from tuning to not tuning, and he certainly did not know how to tune to an open tuning. So young Neil was sitting next to him and Joe was trying to warm up and practice the song before we went on stage. And young Neil says, “Hey, man, that’s a nice guitar. Can I play it?” And of course Joe thinks, “Yeah, sure, here you go, young fella.” So the first thing Young Neil does is he strums it and then he tunes it to open D and he plays a little something on it, and he gives it back to Joe – perfectly in tune – and nobody is the wiser. Yeah, and Joe sounded good that evening.
One time in the barbershop Joe had his guitar and couldn’t tune it, so Archie said, “Well, I’ll tell you what, Mike,” he told me – “take this guitar, give it to Joe, have him tune his guitar to this guitar” – because Archie tuned to open D. So Joe said, “I’ll come back later on,” and he left with the guitars. So later he came back and Joe said, “Oh, yeah, Archie’s guitar was a little bit out of tune but I fixed it for him.” Oh, my god! I don’t know what he did to that guitar. I think Archie had a week to get that thing back in tune.
Both of them were kind of old and balding. They had little wisps of hair on top of their heads. One day Joe was sitting in the barber chair, and he bragged, “Yeah, I’m going do this, I’m going to do that,” and Archie went over there and blew on the top of his head. Joe went, “What you doin’, man?” Archie said, “Oh, I’m taking care of the top of your head. All I have to is blow on the top of it and brush it off and your hair was down.” Then they got to arguing about who had the most hair on top. “Archie, I got more hair than you. I got more hair than you.” “No, you don’t, Joe. Joe, you don’t have more hair.” “I’ve got more hair.” And both of them were bald as cue balls, you know. When they finished arguing about that they’d move to something else and started arguing about that. Archie didn’t let Joe get away with nothing when it came to playing. So Joe would wait until Archie wasn’t listening or wasn’t looking, “I’m going to bang on this here” with his gravelly voice and he would give it to me when Archie wasn’t around, asking “That was all right. Wasn’t that all right? Wasn’t it?” We’d say, “Yeah, Joe. Fine, Joe.” But there was nothing Joe could do that was right for Archie. Joe just wanted Archie to say, “You sound good, Joe.” I think it would have killed Joe if he had said that. It would have killed Archie probably. There was no way he could tell Joe that. They just used to crack me up. They’d be fussing at each other. And both of them were little old men – little, teeny guys. Skinny little guys. “I can play, Archie.” “Archie, I can play.” “No, you can’t, Joe. No, you can’t. You can’t.”
Every now and then there’d be some guys from Baltimore or some radio guys or somebody writing an article, but basically there were not ever like throngs of people there. And it wasn’t constant music. Sometimes it was music. Archie would sit in that barber chair, which was over there – that was like his barber chair. He would direct things if he needed to. One time a radio reporter came to the barbershop – maybe it was NPR– it was a long time ago. They came to the barbershop and they were going to do a program on it. As they were getting background information they started talking to Joe. Joe told them that he’d been to music school, that he was an accomplished musician, and that he played for years. They were eating it up, taping him and everything, and Joe was sitting up in the chair, and Joe seemed like he was authentic. He had a right voice, he was holding the guitar, and he had a nice gig bag and nice guitar, and you know, it just seemed like they discovered a new talent. He was stealing everything from Archie. In actuality he had one song and a little bit of another, Spanish Fandango.
Joe loved going to gigs. I have a picture of him that I took of him outside of the barbershop one day before a gig he was going to. He always wore a hat. Joe wasn’t much taller than a little boy, and he had this white straw cowboy hat on – that looked like a Roy Rogers hat. He had a really nice gig bag, a nice guitar, and he was dressed in this gorgeous iridescent suit. So for this one gig somehow word got to Joe that he should dress up. Joe put on that suit, it was shiny beautiful. He was cleaner than a board of health. And we were all like, “Look at you, Joe.” And the old guys could go back and forth together like that, and that was part of the beautiful thing about that barbershop is it was a place where they could all gather and talk.
I think that’s what he was buried in, that suit.
Napoleon Brundage
He was a D.C. local by way of New York City, originally from Georgia, a capable harmonica player, and a regular at the barbershop. He played Hohner Special 20 harps, a serious player who picked up the harp late in life. He used to be a record store owner in Washington, D.C., and a music lover with a good ear. Most of his style was developed in the barbershop.
NJ Warren
Navy veteran NJ Warren was an affable, polite guy from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, and he played in a slow, languid typically Delta-style and sang in an ethereal, deep blues voice with a low, gravelly voice. Unlike the other players at the barbershop, he did not play the intricate fingerpicking style popular in the Piedmont. If he was discovered today, playing in a backporch in the Mississippi Delta someplace, the blues world would whip itself into a frenzy for having “discovered” a truly authentic roots & blues player. But at the time, he was just another local retired D.C. guy that was part of the Archie’s barbershop scene, a fixture of the local blues scene and by all accounts quite the ladies’ man.
Mike Baytop recalled[8],
We did this gig at the Kennedy Center and NJ was in there with a white hat, got his sports coat and slacks, nice shoes, and he was carrying a guitar, and people were mistaking him for BB King. Walking in the Great Hall of the Kennedy Center people would say, “Oh, so good to see you. How you doin’?” NJ always wore dark glasses even if it was pitch black, midnight –and he chewed green gum. So Rick Franklin– to mess with people he said, “No, you know who that is? NJ Warren. Hey, man, that’s NJ Warren, remember that name, remember that name.”
Phil Wiggins recalled,
I love NJ. I remember I was at the barbershop jamming with NJ, and at the end he looked at me and he said, “Man, you just make a person really want to play.” NJ played a very simple, very hard driving, medium tempo blues– and the coolest thing about NJ was he was a great singer. He really put a lot of stock in people’s ability to sing, and it is the singing that really separates the men from the boys or the pretenders from the real deal. He was a great singer. The only way I can categorize it is straight-up blues, a lot of feeling, in the Delta style. I remember that for an older guy you could tell that in his prime he was very strong and muscled. He had like big kind of gnarly muscular hands and broad shoulders and you could tell he had been a very strong physical person. Of all those old guys who hung out at the barbershop, he was my favorite. NJ maybe knew four licks on the guitar, but he made the most of those. But he was such a great singer and I mean he just had the feeling that came straight from the heart, soulful and real. He sang pretty much the same way he spoke: there was no separation between him as a musician and him as a singer and him as a person.
Outside of playing the barbershop scene in and around D.C., NJ Warren was largely unknown and even now, after his death, his legacy would be forgotten were it not for the people who loved and remembered him.
Theorin O’Neil
The Archie Edwards Blues Foundation reports:
Theorin O’Neil, who liked being called Mr. O’Neil, was from Pittsylvania County, Virginia, which bordered on Franklin County, Archie’s home. However, they did not meet and become friends until they both moved to the Washington, D.C., area.
Although Mr. O’Neil’s guitar playing style was different from Archie’s, their common roots were still evident. Mr. O’Neil was a tall, reserved, and sober man. He was also shy and very dignified. He was a regular at the barbershop for many years until his failing health prevented him from attending the Saturday sessions. A truck driver for a moving firm until his retirement, Mr. O’Neil enjoyed gardening. He and his wife raised six children.[9]
Ben Andrews
This player, who died a tragic death in 2011, was a founding member of the D.C. Blues Society and a well-known and highly regarded member of the local acoustic blues community. He was one of the most brilliantly talented, and also the most troubled, of the acoustic blues community.
Ben started to study guitar at age 8 and gravitated to blues after hearing Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee and Big Joe Williams at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival at the Mall. The Mapleshare recording artist was a virtuosic player of world-class skill. He had regular gigs at the Grog and Tankard and Madam’s Organ clubs. He was internationally renowned and widely accepted within the barbershop community as one of the best players in the region.
Michael Baytop recalled,[10]
Ben Andrews sometimes got gigs for Archie and me. That was one of the reasons I got to play with Archie and Mr. Bones, because Ben was easygoing. Ben was about my age, and he was a superb player and he loved playing with Mr. Bones and Archie. He would bring Bones and Archie along on tour to different parts of the country. The only thing they didn’t like was the way he’d be drinking when he drove. They would say, “Mike, you want to come with us?” At first Ben didn’t like that and he would say, “I don’t want him coming.” They were like, “No, Mike don’t go – we don’t go.” After a while we got to be all right. After Archie passed Ben still wanted Mr. Bones to come along and play with him. Ben let me open the show and then Ben would take over with Mr. Bones. So it was fun for me too.
Ben performed solo and also with the Blue Rider Trio, with Jeff Sarli on bass and Mark Wenner, of Nighthawk fame, on harmonica. Mark Wenner was part of the D.C. blues community, the harmonica player for the famous internationally renowned blues rock band the Nighthawks and a founding member of the D.C. Blues Society. Although not typically a part of the barbershop scene, he was well known and highly regarded by all. Phil Wiggins, in particular, respects Mark’s playing and regards him as one of the top harmonica players nationally. Mapleshade Records founder Pierre Sprey recalled[11]:
But Mark’s signature harp sound, playing electric with the Nighthawks, has not prevented him from developing as a virtuoso acoustic harmonica player, often seen on stage with all kinds of acoustic blues greats. I first saw him at a mid-eighties blues festival in D.C. in a head-to-head cutting contest with one of the greatest acoustic harmonica players in the country, Phil Wiggins (of Cephas and Wiggins fame). To this day, that half-hour exchange remains the most exciting blues harp playing I’ve heard in my life. Around this time, Mark was having a lot of fun sitting in regularly with Ben Andrews at Ben’s weekly solo gig at Madam’s Organ in the heart of Washington’s jumping Adams Morgan music scene. Fans loved their collaboration; out of that grew the Blue Rider Trio.
After Archie died
Eleanor Ellis reminisced[12], “After Archie died the group of friends and regulars thought that if we all put in a little bit of money, maybe we could keep the shop open and we could pay the rent. So we decided to form a nonprofit organization.” Miles Spicer recalled[13],
We had just an amazing run of luck when Jeff Glassie was introduced to the barbershop. When he came to our first meeting we were talking about forming a foundation. He raised his hand and said, “Well, I’m a corporate lawyer and we can incorporate you. I work with nonprofits all the time – and I’ll take you on pro bono.” So we got our 501(c)(3) incorporation done through his law firm for free. That’s how the Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation was created in 1998, to perpetuate Archie’s legacy and to keep the jams going. In the years that followed the foundation has held workshops and concerts by professional acoustic blues musicians. While the original site in Washington, D.C., is now a dentist’s office, the organization found suitable space nearby at 4700 Queensbury Rd. Riverdale Park, Maryland. Visitors come from all over the country and the world.
The “new” barbershop – the Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation – is located in a former used bookstore. The building is simple but functional, anything but fancy. The members preserved Archie’s old barbershop chair in what looks more like a clubhouse than a museum, because in this place it’s not only about the past but dedication to carrying the music into the future. The walls are adorned with some of the original photos, plus new images of more recent times. A small stage, a piano, an honor-system refrigerator, and a long guitar rack indicate that this place is alive, and indeed, on Saturdays the local musicians come from near and far to join into jam sessions, just as they did in the old days. Musicians of various skill levels congregate. The new barbershop swells to capacity when renowned musicians tour and play the small venue. Recent performances have included a range of acoustic blues luminaries: Guy Davis, Scott Ainslie, Lauren Sheehan, Piedmont Bluz, Austin Walking Cane, Jerron Paxton, Rory Block, Mary Flower, Del Rey, and many more. Just about everybody signed their name on the bathroom wall, which has now become an enshrined part of the history.
Musicians who would normally fill medium sized venues love playing the small clubhouse to the knowledgeable acoustic blues fans. It’s a win/win. There is usually a good turnout and the musicians make enough money to take home a fair wage, and the audience is treated to an inexpensive, intimate show with some of the best acoustic players on the scene today.
This type of non-profit, community based, self-directed entertainment is becoming more popular all over the country. Old churches and warehouses are being converted for locally orchestrated events, run by the locals for the community. This community centered entertainment is not unique, but on a national level the Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation is outstanding in that it is seemingly the only organization dedicated to acoustic blues, with the core mission of offering educational programs, concerts, jam sessions – and most importantly, carrying on the important function of offering a central meeting place for musicians and music lovers.
Dennis Herndon is a board member of the foundation. He explained[14],
We have done performer workshops, hands-on workshops on to how to fix harmonicas, how to fix your guitar, how to do sound for acoustic performing and recording. We are totally separate from the DC Blues Society, which is mostly electric. We are an all-acoustic scene. Other than amplification it is all acoustic music. Right now we have a mailing list of over 400 members. We perform at local concerts and festivals, where we also have informational tables. ”
[1] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[2] [2] Interview with Eleanor Ellis. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[3] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[4] Bones are two carved flat pieces of either wood or bone that are used as clappers.
[5] Generation to generation. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. http://www.acousticblues.com/Generation/gen2gen.html
[6] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[7] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[8] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[9] Generation to generation. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. http://www.acousticblues.com/Generation/gen2gen.html
[10] Interview with Michael Baytop. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[11] Mapelshade Artists: Mark Wenner. http://www.mapleshaderecords.com/artists/mark_wenner.php
[12] Interview with Eleanor Ellis. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[13] Interview with Miles Spicer. The Archie Edwards Blues Heritage Foundation. Riverdale Park, Maryland. November 11, 2014.
[14] Phone Interview with Miles Spicer. 2014.