Jim Croce died tragically in a plane crash on this day back in 1973, ironically, just as his music career was taking off. He was returning from a long time away playing gigs on the road, looking forward to a reunion with his beloved wife Ingrid and his two-year son, A.J. Even more ironically, he had decided to quit music, get a more stable job, to spend more time with his family, and wrote a letter to Ingrid with this intention, one which arrived after his death. He was 30 years old.

This poignant ballad was also released Jim had gone from this life, which makes it all the more evocative. As I mentioned in class the other day, it is perhaps providential that ‘sing’ and ‘sign’ have the same letters, for there is no better way to signify something than to sing it. And, to paraphrase a previous Bard, what better theme to sing of, than love?

 

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