Not that I had ever met John Prine in the flesh, but after listening to his gentle, funny wisdoms for nearly 50 years I felt I knew him pretty well.
Prine was born in a suburb of one of America's largest cities — Chicago. But he made his name as a country-folk singer with songs about the struggles of ordinary people. He sang about the loneliness of old folks, the trauma of returned Vietnam soldiers, his aunties and uncles, prison life, junkies, and the pains and joys of love.
It all sounds like heavy stuff, but somehow he made it all seem amusing with his gravelly voice and his funny-sad one-liners like: "There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes."
His deceptively simple but finely crafted songs were lauded by the greats — Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson and Bruce Springsteen and may others.
Prine's own story is one of survival against the odds. He served in Vietnam and got throat cancer in his early 50s, which nearly destroyed his voice. Six years ago he had a half a lung removed but he continued to sing and write songs. He finally succumbed to the coronavirus this week aged 73.
I came across his first record, called simply John Prine, when I was about 17 years old in 1972. The cover showed a rather shy young man in denim sitting on a hay bale, his guitar off to the side. I was still learning how to play guitar, how to speak to girls without stammering, and how to sound wise and witty at the same time. Prine taught me a lot.
I've waited every year since for a fresh dose of the Prine magic. My days and nights, sometimes lonely and sometimes reflective or slightly wine-sodden, have always been made lighter by a Prine song.
At the root of all this reverence is a simple enough concept — the power of the arts during difficult times.
Here we all are, locked in our houses and brought low by a microscopic virus and talking to each other on social media. After the panic, the toilet roll fights and the endless statistics and graphs, what are our conversations about?
They are about the things that sustain us.
People are sharing their favourite songs, favourite films, books, poems, and stories.
People are posting Zoom concerts and choirs; pottery lessons; Netflix recommendations and fave TV series from the past; wacky costume videos; guitar lessons; recorder lessons; solo violin pieces and balcony concerts.
The world is awash with the arts as it was during the 1930s and 40s when economic depression and war was looming.
In times of crisis we turn to the arts.
But today, the arts are in crisis. Hundreds of thousands of events have been cancelled because of lockdown, and artists whose day jobs were in retail or hospitality are now jobless.
I hope when all this is over, the Federal Government remembers what people were doing to keep themselves sane.
As it now stands, there is no federal recognition of the part arts play in our lives. Last year, the arts were absorbed into the Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development and Communications, as if arts were an expensive indulgence.
I hope someone in government plays a John Prine song as a reminder of what's important on this long strange journey we are on.
They could start with his last song: When I Get to Heaven.
It's funny and sad and full of life.
Stay safe and connected everyone.