This song is dedicated to Ronnie Van Zant, the great singer-songwriter and founder of Lenyrd Skynyrd, who died tragically in a plane crash in 1977. Ronnie grew up in a poverty stricken area of Jacksonville, Florida in 1948. He wrote with candor and movingly about life in the South, the experience of poverty and other problems of life, including alcoholism and drug abuse. He also displayed in his songwriting a keen sense of the intricacies involved in striving to maintain a relationship, or in failing to do so. A major theme in his writing focused on the struggle preserve a sense of rootedness, when one is, at the same time, driven to explore new vistas while exercising creativity. 

I never had the pleasure of meeting Van Zant, or even attending one of his concerts, though we both grew up in Florida at about the same time, and under circumstances with some parallels. Years later, I have come to appreciate his gifts as a songwriter and vocalist. 

Ronnie and his cohorts struggled with many personal problems, including substance abuse and general hell-raising, as well as broken relationships. But it appears that near the end of his life Van Zant was making a serious attempt to stay clean and sober and alter his life style. He even wrote a song which was intended to be a warning to Gary Rossington and others in the group regarding the dangers of continuing on a pathway leading to addiction.   

Tragically, Van Zant and several other group members were killed in the plane crash before they had a chance to realize the full measure of their creativity and (we could only hope) personal growth.

But the gift Van Zant gave to the world in terms of music and lyrics lives on. That is why my own song, The Ballad of Joe Carbone and Me, is dedicated to him. This song depicts my own experience of poverty and homelessness in adulthood, in 1998, caused by the progression of up-to-then untreated Bipolar Disorder. Fortunately, through my experience of "hitting bottom," I was induced to come to grips with my illness and to seek appropriate help, which, thankfully, was made available to me by Health Care for the Homeless in Massachusetts. 

With regard to substances, I had stopped using "pot" and psychedelics in 1979, except for a short relapse in 1988, but getting clean did not address all of my problems.

Since getting help for Bipolar, and staying clean, I have steadily moved in the direction of inner and outer stability, while my creativity has only blossomed. I can only guess how much further growth as a person and artist Ronnie would have experienced had he lived past his twenty-ninth birthday.

This discussion also reminds me of my own father, Pat Frank, who was a best-selling author, but suffered from untreated alcoholism, and died prematurely at age 57. How much more could he have achieved, and how much more could our relationship have grown, had he lived on? I miss him very much, as well as the relationship we could have had after his passing.

I am not famous like Van Zant and my dad, but my life story dovetails with theirs in some important respects. 

On second thought, I also dedicate this song to father, as well as to all other creative folks who are struggling in their recovery from substance abuse, addiction, or mental illness.

The Ballad of Joe Carbone and Me

When Joe Carbone rides out one night exploring destiny, will fate demand he sell his soul or rescue you and me? A homeless man, a ragged car, a fallen family tree…will Joe Carbone preserve our hope, or cast it to the sea?

You know, homelessness is no fun game that's played with ecstasy. A shelter is a place to sleep for folks like Joe and me

His father drank himself to death somewhere in Albany. Did fate demand he sell his soul, then die in misery? His mother shut the door on him when he was 23. Did fate demand she hide her face, prolong his agony? Will someone liberate the son or throw away the key? Will fate demand he sell his soul or share his love for free?

Will Joe Carbone preserve our hope, or cast it to the sea? Will fate demand he sell his soul or rescue you and me? Will Joe soon pawn his sweet guitar along with mystery? Will Joe Carbone preserve our hope, or cast it to the sea?

The loan sharks snare the desperate poor, the folks like Joe and me. Will fate demand we sell our souls or save integrity?

When Joe Carbone rides out one night exploring destiny, will fate demand he sell his soul or rescue you and me?

Copyright 2009 by Patrick Frank