We came to hear “O Death,” humming to ourselves, O Death, O Death— won’t you spare me over ’til another year, but sat through him selling books and telling stories. He said no one could keep him from going by “Dr.” just because it was honorary— nothing honorary about (and I’m paraphrasing) a bunch of Lomax-loving poindexters who tell him it’s charming to learn what’s what with his own hands. That, in short, he’s earned it. He’s Dr. Ralph Stanley. Then he sang a song about trains.