NOTE:  in 2005, my friend and mentor, Jack Segal passed away.  At the time, I was on the board of the directors at the Songwriters Guild with Jack.  They asked me to write something for publication.  Here's what I wrote. 

Jack Segal: Reflections on a Songwriter by Phil Swann 

I thought this was going to be easy. I have so many Jack Segal stories that I figured I could just dash off some paragraphs on the wit and wisdom of the man with no problem. I was wrong. There are just too many stories. So, here are a few of my own random recollections. To those who knew Jack (many far longer than I did), they won’t be that enlightening. But for those who never had the pleasure, let me introduce you to one very special guy I got the privilege to call friend.

The Teacher:

I first met Jack in 1988. It was suggested to me (I don’t remember by whom) that I check out the songwriting workshop at the Songwriters Guild of America. I couldn’t have been less interested. I had been a struggling songwriter for a number of years, had attended every songwriting workshop from New York to LA, and was certain that another class would have nothing new to offer. But then I learned the guy teaching the workshop wrote “When Sunny Gets Blue.”  Well, if you play piano (as I do), and have spent endless hours in nameless piano bars (as I had), you play “When Sunny Gets Blue.”  So, I decided to give it a try. From the very beginning, Jack, was a thorn in my side. He was direct (some say ruthless) with his critiques and unforgiving when it came to structure. He was also seldom, if ever, wrong. And that, maybe more than anything else, pissed me off beyond all reason. I remember walking out of the workshop every week swearing to never return. But I’d get home, stay up to the wee hours going over Jack’s notes (always in red ink), and rewrite to the point of a stroke. By morning, I couldn’t wait to get back to the workshop and show that “bastard” what I’d done. Getting the nod of approval from Jack felt like winning a Grammy.

The Mentor:

In 1994, I was asked to teach a songwriting workshop at the guild. There were so many reasons why I wasn’t the guy to teach a workshop - others having better resumes topping the list. But my biggest hang-up was “what would Jack think?”  After all, this was Jack’s domain. Hell, the big black chair in the meeting room practically had his name on it.  So, I called Jack and told him that I was considering teaching a workshop. His reaction? “It’s about damn time!”  Then I expressed my concern that I wasn’t the right guy for the job because (fill in the blank).  He told me to shut the @#%& up and that I was the right guy for the job because I was going to be the guy in front of the room, that made me the right guy for the job.  To this day I’m still fuzzy on that logic.  But then he said: “Phil, treat every songwriter with respect and remember just how hard it is to write a good song.  You do that, you’ll be fine.”  I was never fuzzy on that logic.

The Songwriter:

Jack was one of those songwriters that you sharpened your pencil for and wrote down everything he said. He was a walking rhyming dictionary and spoke in poetry.  Collaborating with Jack was just plain fun.  A few years ago we had a writing date set up. Now by this time we had written a number of songs together so I knew Jack’s routine and wasn’t surprised when he arrived early.  On this day however, Jack, was a little earlier than usual - and he didn’t walk into my office so much as he danced in. “Phil, let me play you my Sinead cut!” Sinead O’ Connor had covered Scarlet Ribbons and Jack was blown away by her arrangement.  What blew me away was how this almost eighty-year old guy was bouncing off the walls about his “Sinead cut.”  Like it was the first cut he’d ever gotten. I didn’t even know he knew who Sinead O’Connor was.  I remember thinking at that moment, “There’s a songwriter. Can I be him when I grow up?”

The Storyteller:

Some of my favorite times with Jack were spent on the golf course.  Though not a long hitter, Jack, was always down the middle of the fairway and flat-out wicked around the green.  I, on the other hand, was usually two hundred fifty yards to the right and in the woods (I also couldn’t read a putt if my mother’s life depended on it). But none of that mattered because golf with Jack meant stories. Truly a history lesson in early pop music: Mercer, Kahn, Porter, Gershwin, Nat, Bird, Sinatra, Billie, and on and on. From Tin-Pan-Ally to 52^nd street, from Broadway to Hollywood, Jack had lived it and talked about it.  Not in an “I remember when” kind of way, more in a matter of fact kind of way; like those legendary people and places were my realities as well as his and I somehow was worthy to be a part of the conversation. I should have told him what that kind of inclusion meant to me as an insecure young songwriter.

The Counselor:

A few years ago I was going through a rough time personally. Jack and I got together for lunch one day and he asked me, “How you doin’, pal?” Uncharacteristically for me, I told him. He sat there and listened as I poured my heart out.  He didn’t judge, he didn’t ridicule, he just listened for over an hour.  Finally, I asked him what he thought.  But instead of answering me directly he started sharing some of his darker times. That led me to share some more dark times. Then it was his turn again. Eventually it got to the point that Jack blurted out in the middle of me talking, “Goddamn, I wish I could still drink - this is depressing!”  I almost fell out of my chair laughing.  It was a wonderful afternoon.  I’ll never forget the last thing he said to me that day. He said, “Swannie, you know you don’t have to live the songs you write. Right?” 

The last time I talked to Jack was about five months ago. We’d written a song together and he called wanting to rework it.  But I was out of town and told him that it would be a few weeks before I could get to it.  He understood but said that he’d had a revelation on the song and was anxious for us to fix it. We never did.  That was our last conversation.

Whatever success I now enjoy I owe in large part to Jack Segal.  He taught me more than how to write a song.  He taught me how to be a songwriter; to see the world differently, to not settle for just okay, to take five minutes more and make it perfect. Not a bad lesson for life when you think about it. Jack, in his later years, became a man of great faith. That comforts me. Because in my mind, Jack, is somewhere at this very moment fixing that song of ours. If that’s the case, then I’m also sure tonight he’ll be holding court over one really cool workshop. And if John Lennon, Stephen Foster and Mozart know what’s good for them...they’ll do the rewrites. Read the red ink boys.

We’d just be nudging the border further south - we’d still have to protect it. True. But take a look at a map.  The closest foreign northern border for the new state of Mexico would be...Canada! The western border would be the Pacific Ocean, the eastern border the Gulf of Mexico - both rather large bodies of water and therefore pretty daunting obstacles to penetrate. As far as the southern border, that would be a 750-mile patch of rugged mountains and forests near Guatemala. Compare that with the 2000-mile border we are currently trying, and failing, to protect. Which do you think would be easier?

There’s an awful lot of poverty in Mexico. Can we really afford this? Absolutely. There’s no reason why the Mexican people should not be one of the most prosperous peoples anywhere – sans the fact that the Mexican government is one of the most corrupt governments in the western hemisphere. A confidential informant who worked deep inside the Mexican government for more than four years told a U.S. Federal Judge, “The Mexican government, the police and most of the military authorities in Mexico have been corrupted by drug smugglers - everybody’s on the take.” He continued by saying that these officials often sanction and carry out kidnappings and killings on the orders of the drug cartel bosses. This, if for no other reason, is a good reason to annex Mexico. The government is broken beyond repair and the people are suffering because of it. It’s a human rights issue. We’ve invaded countries for far less. Which leads us to the second aves: America’s dependence on foreign oil.

Mexico is the largest oil supplier in Latin America with an output of 3.4 million barrels of oil per day. It surpasses both Venezuela (who hates us by the way and is an ally to Iran but we still buy their oil) and Brazil. Oil provides for one-third of Mexico’s national income (for the reason why it doesn’t trickle down to the population see the previous paragraph). Furthermore, over half is exported to - you guessed it - the U.S.A. There’s also this; Mexico is not a member of OPEC. Want to stick it to the Saudis? We drill our own oil and what we don’t use...WE EXPORT!

And it’s not just oil. Eighty percent of all Mexican manufactured goods are exports to the United States. Once Mexico becomes a state, we’ll stamp “Made in America” on all those goods. And speaking of exporting and importing, the ill-advised North American Free-trade Agreement (NAFTA) would just go away. This treaty, which was suppose to encourage free trade between the three North American countries (United States, Mexico and Canada), has only served to let big American companies relocate manufacturing jobs to Mexico where they can get slave-cheap labor with little or no safety oversight from the heretofore mentioned corrupt Mexican government. Once Mexico becomes a state, that ends.  Mexican workers in La Paz will be paid the same as workers in Pittsburgh. Also, health and safety standards will be enforced just as they are everywhere else in the U.S. The Mexican people will enjoy better jobs, safer working conditions, with better pay. And the U.S. will add millions of people to the tax base. This is the ultimate win-win for everybody.

This sounds a lot like manifest destiny. Wrong. This is a pragmatic solution to an irresolvable problem. There’s nothing Divinely destined about it.

Then it’s colonization. No, this is Imperialism. But benevolent Imperialism, so it’s okay.

What about the Monroe Doctrine? Yes, the Monroe Doctrine is tricky but should be easily circumvented. After all, we had no problem getting around warrant-less wiretaps and due process under the law – can you say The Patriot Act?  Besides, find ten random people on the street and ask them if they know what the Monroe Doctrine is. The Monroe Doctrine won’t be a problem.

Americans will never accept the Mexican culture. Are you kidding me? El Torito, El Pollo Loco and Taco Bell can be found off the exit ramp of practically every freeway from Raleigh, North Carolina to Boise, Idaho. Nachos are the food of choice when watching the “national pastime” and Ugly Betty has been one of the most popular shows on television in recent years. From fashion to music to your high school Spanish class, Mexican culture is America - or vice versa.

This doesn’t really have a downside. You could say, that Mexico, as is, would be too large to be a state but that could be handled by splitting it up like we did the Virginias, the Carolinas and the Dakotas – North Mexico and South Mexico. We also might have to build a few more jails for some ousted politicians and police – hey, maybe we can find a use for Guantanamo Bay, after all.

You’re starting to think about this, aren’t you? You’re asking yourself, “Why couldn’t this work?’ You’re thinking to yourself, “Hmm, we’d also get Cancun, Acapulco, and Puerto Vallarta.”

Margaritas, anyone?

I’m paying more attention to “signs” these days; God’s little omens that are offered up to us as forecasters about the road we’re on or about to go down. For instance: chopping a good chunk of my little finger off Tuesday morning ...