BETWEEN 1964 AND 1966, if you wanted to hear folk music, the only place between Washington and Florida was the Sidetrack coffee house in Raleigh, North Carolina. It was started by John Peden, then 18 years old and in his first year at N.C. State. Before that, John had been sent off to boarding school in the Boston area and in his spare time, he went to Cambridge and hung out at the Unicorn coffee house and the Folklore Center music store.

Back in Raleigh in the summer of 1964, John decided he wanted a coffee house for folk music, like the ones in Cambridge. Southern-fried Club 47. He set up shop in the corner of an office building of a steel fabrication plant, a former retail center that sold bolts and steel plate. Architecture students at the N.C. State School of Design volunteered, and they built a stage, put up a sign, brought in tables and chairs, and even concocted a bit of sculpture from old boards to decorate the place.

People started drifting in. And the musicians came. Doc Watson. Hedy West. Jim Kweskin and his jug band. John Hammond. Charlie Byrd. Patrick Skye. Len Chandler. They were open five nights a week. There was jazz night. Poetry night. Folk night. It was all about music, causes, girlfriends, and motorcycles. They were 19 and 20 years old, in their first years of college. There was no alcohol, no drugs, and not enough money to matter. John Peden and friends lived in the abandoned office building upstairs. There were no showers “which didn’t bother us” remembers John, “but we noticed that when we went to the movies, people got up and moved away.”

The Sidetrack had a good reputation with the police. The station was a couple of blocks away, and the police would pick up runaway teenagers and, without any better alternative, would bring them to the Sidetrack. But they were into causes enough to be threatening to the Old South, and one night, they were visited by the KKK, who silently filed in and sat down. Six squad cars pulled up outside and parked. The Klan got up and moved away.

In March 1965, back from Vietnam and dressed in his old Army fatigues, Peter Stanley wandered in on a Saturday night. As John Peden described it, “You know, you have sort of a natural reaction to a fellow who wanders in a coffee house with a guitar, and you think ‘Oh God, here’s another one. Oh boy, he’s going to want to sing.’ And so we went back to explain to this poor fellow that he just wouldn’t be able to sing on a Saturday night ’cause it was very busy, and he went into a few runs… and started playing a little harmonics… and we decided maybe we’d be a little flexible that Saturday night! And we’ve been being pretty flexible ever since, and we’re not sorry in the least.”

The performance that night was electrifying. Peter was in peak form, and his fingers flew over the strings with such speed, closing with “Darling Corey”, that John Peden was exhausted just from listening, and he told the crowd, “As you’ll notice, my hat’s off! I’ve got two guitars for sale. Until tonight, they weren’t bad guitars! Good Lord! I don’t know why I’m so worn out. A blown mind!”

Peter Stanley returned to the Sidetrack many times, and always to an appreciative audience. The Sidetrack closed in early 1966, when John Peden went to San Francisco. He’s now a photographer in New York.