Midnight Cowboy, 1969

When film composer John Barry died January 30th I heard this melancholy instrumental for the first time in decades.
It took me right back to 56 Union Street in the mid-70's, raking leaves under the chestnut trees, shooting baskets on the dirt driveway, to bowls full of shelled walnuts and tins full of Pennsylvania pretzels.
Dad and Sam kept their record collection in the old saltbox's borning room. A tiny space with slanted wood floors built for women to give birth. We used it as a place to toss our coats, gloves and boots.
Barry won a Grammy for this record. It had already made its imprint on my soul long before I ever saw Midnight Cowboy in college.