Music had been interwoven with my life since the tender age of eight. Even as high school days spurred me to form a rhythm-and-blues ensemble, embarking on an entertainment career wasn’t on my horizon when I relocated to New York City in 1959. I was a mere 20-year-old college dropout from Michigan State University, whose fleeting fascination with photography led me to a position at a photographic chemicals firm in Manhattan.
Evenings transformed into social gatherings with colleagues at Greenwich Village coffeehouses, where chess games filled our time. One evening, the nascent stages of a stage caught my eye in a corner. The manager divulged auditions for performers were scheduled later that week. By the weekend’s arrival, armed solely with songs born from my high school and college years, I unexpectedly found myself stepping into the realm of show business.
My day job was relinquished, and I embraced the roles of singer, comedian, and master of ceremonies at the Gaslight Cafe. The profound simplicity of folk music’s legacy increasingly captivated me. Each night, nestled between my sets, I immersed myself in the performances of countless others.
One evening, after my performance, Albert Grossman, a respected figure in folk music management, beckoned me to his table. My hopes soared, envisioning a solo record contract and tour. Instead, he posed a question that deflated my expectations: “Have you ever considered performing in a group?”
Despite my initial disappointment, fate took an unexpected turn. Months later, I found myself alongside Mary Travers and Peter Yarrow in my Lower East Side apartment, exploring vocal ranges and harmonies. Our voices harmonized effortlessly, a mutual appreciation for each other’s talents blossoming. After a year of dedicated preparation, guided by Albert’s expertise, our group—Peter, Paul and Mary—emerged onto the scene, gracing radios and record charts with melodies like “Lemon Tree,” “If I Had a Hammer,” and “Puff (The Magic Dragon).”
These were exhilarating times. A palpable sense of change permeated the nation. A youthful president resided in the White House, optimism soared, and a new era seemed to dawn.
Then, a descent into despair. The assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy cast a devastating shadow. The arts mirrored the nation’s somber mood, dreams of a brighter future fading. Cynicism or escapism seemed the only available paths.
This resonated deeply within me. At 30, the allure of success waned. Peter, Paul and Mary’s escalating popularity inversely correlated with my growing emptiness. A chasm widened between my demanding career and my family, the anchors of my life.
Performing occupied 150 nights annually, with the remaining days consumed by photo shoots, interviews, recordings, and television appearances. I felt increasingly disconnected from the very values I championed in song.
Backstage at peace rallies, disillusionment grew as I witnessed arguments and manipulation supplanting genuine solidarity. Questions gnawed at me: Is life merely a relentless pursuit of advantage? What is the ultimate purpose? If life held inherent order, how could one discern it? Was this “order” synonymous with what some called God?
During this introspective period, a visit to a friend in Woodstock, recuperating from a motorcycle accident, offered unexpected guidance: “Read the Bible.”
I embraced this suggestion earnestly. Commencing with Genesis, I immersed myself in the Bible whenever time allowed. While fascinating, it felt like studying distant history. Then, following a concert in Abilene, Texas, a fan introduced me to the promises of Christ. He prayed with me, and I knelt, praying to a creator I had only hoped existed.
A profound, comforting certainty washed over me.
Subsequently, prayer became a constant companion. I sought divine guidance for even the smallest decisions, from choosing an elevator to selecting a seat, to discerning the right words to speak.
An extraordinary intimacy unfolded. God became an ever-present friend, walking alongside me in every circumstance.
Thus, it was natural to turn to this newfound source of solace when, during the trio’s 1969 fall tour, Peter requested a song to bless his wedding. My immediate “Of course” masked the unspoken truth: the blessing wouldn’t solely originate from me.
Upon returning home, I sought refuge in the small basement studio. After tuning my 12-string guitar, I paused in contemplative silence.
Lord, I prayed, Your presence is the ultimate blessing for this wedding ceremony. How would You manifest Yourself?
And the lyrics flowed:
He is now to be among you
at the calling of your hearts,
Rest assured this troubador
is acting on My part.
The union of your spirits here
has caused Me to remain,
For whenever two or more of you
are gathered in My name
There is love…
Over the next hour, I wove these lyrics into a song structure. The concluding verse echoed a sentiment shared by fellow songwriter Jim Mason, who had posed the question, “Do you believe in something that you’ve never seen before?” The song affirmed, “There is love.” This powerful message of love became the cornerstone of “The Wedding Song There Is Love”.
Just an hour before the wedding ceremony, I shared the song with my wife, Betty. “It’s beautiful,” she acknowledged, “But they might misinterpret ‘He is now to be among you.’ They might think you’re claiming to be God.”
Her insight resonated, prompting a slight lyrical adjustment.
At the ceremony, the song was sung with the revised lyrics: “He is now to be among you…” The blessing sought had been bestowed. This song is for Peter alone, never to be sung again, I thought.
Weeks later, backstage before my solo segment of a Peter, Paul and Mary concert, Peter inquired, “Why don’t you sing the song you sang at my wedding?”
“I couldn’t,” I demurred. “It was specifically for your wedding.”
He responded thoughtfully, “My bride is in the audience. Would you sing it for her?”
And so, I sang it that night, and subsequent nights. Each performance resonated deeply with the audience, and I was continually surprised by the universal appeal of such a personal song. Is this Your intention, Lord? I wondered. Was this song meant for everyone?
Less than a year after Peter’s wedding, the trio embarked on a performance hiatus, each of us pursuing solo albums. By then, “Wedding Song” was destined for my album, yet a dilemma arose. How could I ethically copyright a song divinely inspired in my name? Conversely, without claiming authorship, the record company would seize the royalties.
Ultimately, I established the Public Domain Foundation to manage publishing rights and receive composer royalties. All income generated by the song would be channeled to deserving charitable causes.
To my astonishment, shortly after the album’s release, “Wedding Song” was released as a single and swiftly climbed into the Top 30 charts. The unexpected success of “the wedding song there is love” was truly humbling.
Concurrently, I prioritized family time, seeking a simpler life removed from the pressures of performing. I contemplated retiring my guitar and leaving professional music behind.
Then, one afternoon, surrounded by family and friends in our backyard, an excited call from the record company shattered my quiet contemplation. The Tonight Show requested a performance of “Wedding Song” on national television. “This could launch your solo career!” the representative exclaimed.
Once, this was my ultimate aspiration. Now, I possessed a different understanding. “No, thank you,” I replied.
Twenty-two years have passed since the Public Domain Foundation’s inception to manage “Wedding Song” royalties. Two million dollars have been distributed to charitable organizations across the United States, from soup kitchens for the homeless to research on computer interaction for hospitalized children. The enduring legacy of “the wedding song there is love” continues to give back.
Each year, I decline numerous requests to perform “Wedding Song” at wedding ceremonies nationwide. “It’s not my song,” I can sincerely say. “Wedding Song (There Is Love)” belongs to every bride and groom blessed by a friend’s guitar and heartfelt serenade at their wedding.
God entrusted me with a song. It was mine to freely give away. The essence of “the wedding song there is love” lies in this act of selfless sharing and its ripple effect of love and charity.
