Doug James, a longtime Woodstocker who died just shy of 88 years old on Nov. 22 at Hudson Valley Hospice House of pneumonia-related illnesses, lived an increasingly reclusive life. However, his crucial contributions to Woodstock culture, as well as his own privately remarkable nature and personal accomplishments, remain incalculable in the two days since his passing. Until I complete next week’s fully deserved, lavish celebration of the life of Douglas Craig James, here is a rich if brief indication of a “one-off” by his best friend, the one and only John Simon.
— Tad Wise
“Doc”
I knew Doug James for 66 years.
I met him at Princeton University when I entered as a freshman and discovered that he, a class ahead of me, was a fine drummer and, later, a real pal.
Princeton had a no-cars rule, but as a drummer with a set of heavy equipment to transport to various girls’ schools, he was allowed a vehicle. And what a vehicle — a candy-apple red Mercedes 300SL, the gull-wing model, a mark of supreme auto hipness.
And some wealth. Doug’s forbears did make money: John Deere, Clark Thread. But as Doug said, “I have a lot of brothers and they have a lot of kids.” He wasn’t as rich as you’d imagine.
Doug didn’t fit the Princeton mold, either. And, of course, neither did I. We were both renegades, so we really enjoyed each other’s company.
He was generous in so many ways, and never more so than with compliments. There were many occasions when he stoked my creative fires by encouraging me forward.
In 1960 we took a band to the very first Georgetown University Intercollegiate Jazz Festival. We were one of six finalists chosen from around the country. Paul Winter’s band was a finalist the next year.
After graduation, Doug worked a little as a publicist, notably for TV star Graham Kerr, the Galloping Gourmet. Doug kept a tiny pied-à-terre in Greenwich Village where friends like me could crash when necessary. The floor was slanted; the plumbing seldom worked. Doug liked it because he said it reminded him of Paris.
After I settled in Woodstock, Doug came to visit and fell in love with the Catskills. He said it reminded him of the research he’d done while writing a paper on Washington Irving in college.
He stayed.
He was often a visitor at our house. Our kids heard his name as “Doc Ames,” so that’s what we called him. “Doc” for short.
He became instrumental in supporting the arts and performing in Woodstock, and loved the town. He was one of the last musicians to collaborate with Paul Butterfield.
He was bright, funny, kind, tasteful, appreciative, modest and just delightful.
From the 66 years I knew him, I have not a single bad memory.
He is missed.
— John Simon
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