Jeff Hardy
by David Massengill

Jeff Hardy 1955 - 2001

Bassist for a plethora of Greenwich Village songwriters for more than two decades, Jeff Hardy will be remembered for his decency and charm, his loyalty and devotion to family. He played the stand-up bass, and it is said by many that he never hit a wrong note. Affectionately known as "Moose," he is survived by his wife Suzanne and sons Max and Duncan, as well as his parents Mr. and Mrs. Gordon A. Hardy, two brothers Jack and Chris, and sister Susan Seuchting.

I first saw Jeff 25 years ago performing on stage with his brother Jack at Folk City. Like answered prayers, they made the kind of music I'd hoped might be part of this new folk scene I'd heard about. Before I knew it, both Jeff and Jack were playing behind me when I had a gig. That's the way it was in those days. We slept on floors and spare beds, we ate together, traveled cross-country tours, went to baseball games, played softball.

There might have been a party or three, too. We shared a special bond. We were a community. And always there behind the scene, serving people, keeping things together, was Jeff.

Jeff played with everybody. Easy-going. Amiable. A big handsome lug to boot. A partial listing of those he played with include his brother Jack Hardy, Tom Intondi, his "Mets Brother" Willie Nininger, Hugh O'Dougherty, Steve Forbert, Lili Anel, Willie Nile, George Gerdes, the Roches, Nancy Baxter, the Song Project and many Fast Folk shows. I never heard him ask what key a song was in, and subsequently he never asked you to change the key. As sidemen go, that fact alone qualifies as near sainthood.

Jeff was immensely fond of the outrageous in others. Whenever I might contemplate cutting certain over the top verses, Jeff would insist I keep them. Usually though, he was most persuasive without verbal hydraulics. His most common admonishment was an amused look with a slightly raised eyebrow and a wry smile. If you had ever been lucky enough to be on the receiving end of one of those looks, you would understand why I simply couldn't say no to him.

Jeff was a surprise gift giver. Often after a gig, we might drive back to the city. We'd get settled into the car and Jeff would point to a cloth and say, "What's that?" I'd pull the cloth aside and there would be a plate of cheese and various delicious snacks, and perhaps a small cooler full of exotic libations on ice. He'd beam like a parent enjoying their child's delight at an unexpected gift.

In his professional and personal life, he was the benevolent ringmaster. Without fanfare he would do the driving, the cooking, arrange the entertainment. At Jeff's call, we never left a Mets game early, even when the team seemed impossibly behind. I can hear him saying now, "Don't worry. They're going to do it." He would have been proud of his gallant Mets as they made a run late in the season for the pennant.

I am a better person because I knew Jeff. His generosity of spirit was irresistible and tended to rub off on those of us of a coarser nature. When in Jeff's presence, you couldn't help but think there might be magic in this world.

Jeff sang with perfect pitch and his bass work was without parallel. His work is recorded on dozens of Fast Folk records, now being reissued by the Smithsonian. He's also on eight of his brother Jack's records on Prime CD.

Jeff had arranged his schedule as chef for the securities firm Cantor
Fitzgerald, located on the 101st floor, North Tower of the World Trade Center, to allow him time to be home when his sons came home from school.

He was as good a dad as he was a husband, friend, brother and son. On Sept. 11, 2001 Jeff's life was taken from those of us who loved him dearly. He is still alive in the hearts of those who knew him.

Jeff possessed the quiet heroism of courtesy. I never heard him brag. He did not humiliate. He stood tall. Sweet dreams, Jeffrey.

- David Massengill

Reprinted from Sing Out! v.45 #4 ©2001 Sing Out!
Used with permission. All rights reserved.