When Community Is Contagious

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Edited this post for clarity in August 14, 2018.

This editorial was originally published by Prescription Bluegrass on May 4, 2014.  It must have caused quite a stir because, shortly after its publication, Gene Libbea issued a retraction of sorts on Facebook.

It had be been pointed out to him, he said, that his infection could have come from anywhere. He continued with a pile of ostensibly-credible medical factoids, although he did not name the source(s) or list their credentials. Prescription Bluegrass followed with a brief recap of Libbea's retraction.

He sounded beaten, cowed. 

No. He sounded terrified. Somebody had clearly ordered Gene Libbea to STFU.

Libbea's original Facebook post on his illness, as well as his apologetic follow-up, were originally public posts. Today, Libbea no longer shares any of his Facebook posts with the public. 

Even though I found my original editorial on the Prescription Bluegrass website, it did not come up in site searches for "Gene Libbea". Likewise, the PB story (which included a link to Libbea's original Facebook post) and the retraction that PB  subsequently published. If you click the link to PB's original story (below, in my original editorial), you will find that it no longer exists.

Make of all that what you will. Whether Gene Libbea caught a mysterious, near-fatal bug from the girl or not, she was ill with strep throat when she attended that camp.

Someone -- perhaps a friend of Ventura Fiddle Girl who has significant influence in the bluegrass community (and something on Libbea?) -- may have tried to shut Libbea up. I'll be damned if they shut me up. So, go ahead and come at me. I'll be here -- along with my original editorial:

Gene Libbea, giving new meaning to the phrase "Typhoid Mary"

On April 25, Prescription Bluegrass Blog published this story of bassist Gene Libbea's mysterious illness. While working as an instructor at a fiddle camp, Libbea was exposed to strep throat by an infected student, whom he calls "Ventura Fiddle Girl". Ventura Fiddle Girl was there with her mother. While sitting across from Libbea at breakfast, the girl confided that she had strep.

Just a few days later, Libbea became seriously ill. After 12 days of suffering from an infectious illness that five doctors could not diagnose, and a subsequent five-day hospital stay, Libbea announced that he had been discharged from the hospital. That part of his story, at least, has a happy ending, but what are we to make of the girl?

Ventura Fiddle Girl, I get it: In 1953, Bill Monroe survived a head-on collision and 19 broken bones to return to full-time touring just eight months later. In 1982, he underwent emergency surgery for an enlarged prostate, and was onstage three hours later, playing and singing for a 60-minute show. We share these true stories over and over again to strengthen the bluegrass community by imbibing the mythos of bluegrass culture. We share them to bind ourselves in spirit to the Father of Bluegrass, and to inspire ourselves to heroic deeds, both musically and personally.

Maybe you're not a sociopath who runs roughshod over everyone in your ruthless quest for ... whatever it is you're after. Maybe you're just a crazy kid who wants to make her mark on bluegrass music. Maybe we can say the same about your mother who, doubtless, was the driving force behind your reckless decision to attend that camp.

But broken bones and an enlarged prostate are not contagious (You do know that, right?). Strep throat most certainly is.

You held on to your deposit, and in so doing, saved a few hundred bucks. You cost Gene Libbea many times that in doctor's visits, a lengthy hospital stay, and everything that goes with it. You cost his friends, fans, family, and colleagues fear and anxiety. You cost his mother the emotional turmoil of a 125-mile trip, not knowing if her son would be alive when she got there.

Your intentions may have been benign, but actions have consequences. Your actions had malignant -- maybe even fatal -- consequences. There's no telling how many other people you may have infected.

So, Ventura Fiddle Girl -- and all you other aspiring bluegrass legends -- the next time you want to be a hero, save somebody else first.