BeauSez Remembering
wasthetallest,baddest,strongest,bravest manIeversaw.Andforthis12year-old sittinginthefrontrowoftheconcert,I wastransfixedbythepowercoming fromthismandressedinblack.His suitwasblack,hishairwasjetblack. Thiswasaman’sman.Thiswasthe manallusboyswantedtobecome.He waslikeourfatherswhohadfoughtin WWII,imposingandtrue.Hisvoicecame fromdeepdowninhissoul—itsoundedlike America. Thismanwasn’tfromtheslickcity,hewas fromthatpartofAmericawherethereal peoplewere.Sure,hemayhavedrivena fancycar,buthewasamazedandamusedby it.Hemayhavewornaflashyring,but therewererawplacesonhisguitar thatwerewornawayfromsinging songsabouttheAmerican heartland.
Hesangabouttrainsandcotton fieldsandthetruelovethatonly existsintheuncomplicatedrural worldwhereamanandawoman
Theyearwas 1959andIwasin sixthgradeatTom Williams elementaryschool inLasVegas, Nevada.Theschool wasnotfarfrom NellisAFBandat lunchtimewecould seethe Thunderbirds practiceintheir beautifulF-100 SuperSabres.We weresoclosetothe basethatfouror fivetimesadaythe buildingwould rattlefromtheBaBOOMofjet fightersbreaking thesoundbarrier. Inthosedaysthe casinoshad matineesforkids, duringschool
neededeachother becausethefamily wassacredand neededamother andafather. Hesangabouta countrywheremen gaveanhonest day’sworkout thesun andthey builtthingsand grewthings.The steadythumping rhythmofLuther Perkin’sguitarwas asreassuring, steadfastand straight-aheadas thechuffingofa steamlocomotive. Oh,yes…thiswasa Everythingabout himwasmanly,and Iwantedtobelike
wasthedaywegot toseeacountry musicshowatthe ElRanchoCasino. FromwhatIcould seesittingtherein theconcert,every sixthgraderintown wasinthecrowd. Thiswastheold Nevada.Itwasa community,andthe communitytriedto help.Mostofthe casinoswere privatelyowned andtheowners considered themselvespartof thecommunity.Bill Harrah,ownerof Harrah’sclubupin Renorefusedto cashpaychecks becausethey wantedmento
taketheirmoney
hometotheir families,notlike todaywherethe casinosarerunby corporationsand theygiveyoua bonusifyoucash yourwageswith them. Inthosedaysthey hadconcertsforus kids.InSouthLake Tahoe,Harrah’s clubhadamatinee forusandwewere honoredtosee HarryBelafonte andMiriam Mikeba.Themagic ofMikeba’ssong PataPata withher tongueclicks,stays withmestill.The NuggetinSparks gaveuskidsat SparksHigha privateconcert/ assemblystarring PonciePonce whowasaTV starontheshows 77SunsetStrip and HawiianEye.He wasawesomeanda greatnightclub performer.Hehad tobesharpto survivewerowdy Railroadersat SparksHi. Thenextyear,the footballteamand cheersquadwere guestsofJohn Ascuagaathis NuggetCasinoin Sparks.Itwasa dinnershow starringthe legendaryAndrews Sistersand comedianNipsy Russell.Duringhis set,Russell introducedbigtime heavyweightfighter EddieMachen whichwasabig thrillforusguys. Buttheconcert withJohnnyCash
hours!Myfavorite
inVegaswas special.Hewasa star,abigstar.My fatherboughtallhis recordsandIloved theechoeystudio soundoftheold SUNlabelrecords. Imemorizedallof hissongslike: TrainofLove,Big River,IStillMiss Someone,andGet Rhythm.Itwas honest,straight ahead,no-frills music.Straight fromtheheart. Aswesteppedoff theschoolbusand filedintotheEl Ranchoconcert room,thestagewas bustlingwithpreshowsetupandI wasstunnedtosee familiarfacesup there.Therewas HankPennyand SueThompson! Thiswaswhenthey wereduo,before
andhewasa snappydresserin hisspangled countrycutsuit.
Theannouncer settleduskids down,andthen introducedthe openingactsof HankandSue,and whentheywere done,MerleTravis played delight. Butthemainevent wascomingandI wasn’tpreparedfor howpowerfulit wouldbe.Now,I’d neverseenamajor starinalive performancebefore. I’dseenlotsof localperformers, butnonewhose recordsIlistenedto everyday,nonewho
SueThompsonhad
hissetmuchtomy
herlaterhits, Sad Movies(MakeMe Cry) andthe teenagerinlove song, Norman.I hadseenthem regularlyinLos Angelesonthe localTVshows: CliffyStone’s Hometown Jamboree,andthe Squeakin’Deacon (SqueekeeDeaky) radioshow. Andsetting uphisamp wasthe legendary MerleTravis whoseguitar fingerpicking intriguedme.I hadseenhimin themovie HereToEternity andIloved his music. His
guitarwasgaudy
homestereo,that mybodyshivered andshookin sympathetic rhythm.Theamp wasrightthere,I couldseethe knobs! ThenHewalked out.Thespotlight lithimuplikeagod descendingfrom someheavennot yetimagined.I thoughtIwas seeingagod.Agod fromsomeother placethanwhereI livedinNevada. Andthenhestarted tosing.Asthe sayinggoes,you hearwhatyousee, andit’strue.That deeprumbling southernironic voicecomingfrom hishugeframe madehimlookten feettalland invincible.The roomvibratedwith histhunder, lightningsparked fromtheringonhis righthandandas Godismywitness, atthebeginningof thesecondverse,a jetfighterscreamed overheadand
wekidsweregiddy
speakersonour
“Ladiesand gentlemen,boys andgirls,”saidthe announcerfrom someinvisible placelikethe WizardofOz, “Pleasewelcome thestarofour show,Mr.Johnny Cash!”Andthen LutherPerkinslet forthwiththe openingriffof I WalktheLine,andI wastransportedto anotherplace.The soundwaspureand cleanandonly fifteenfeetaway.It wassomuchmore glorious,louderand immediatein personthanthetiny
innervous expectation. Youthfulemotion overpoweredusand wewiggledinour seatsandgiggled softlytoeachother.
meanttobe—itfit perfectly.Thiswas power,thisishowit shouldbe. I’dneverseen anythinglikehim before,andI’ve neverbeenso impressedsince. Therhythmandthe warpofthe music increasedjust becausehewas there.Hewas strongyet humble.Stern yethumorous. Seriousyet havingfun.If mydescription heresounds breathlessand naïve,sobeit. Butthiswas myfirstbig— timeconcert anditchanged thecourseof mylife.Many kidswere affectedbythe I’msurethatI’m theonlyonewho chasedthemusic dreamashardasI didbecauseofthat day. Hesangmy favoritesongs,and Ifeltlikedancingin theaislewhenhe playedthesong OneMoreRide. Therailroad chuffingsound pervadedmyguts anddraggedmeto yetanotherplace again. Then,afterthat songhepausedand talkedtous.“Well, IknewIwasgoing tobeplayingfor youkidstoday,”he saidinthatslow rumble,“soIwrote thissongforya’last night.It’sjustfor youkids,Ihope youlikeit.”Then hesang Don’tTake
withasonicboom thatfitperfectly withthethunderof JonnyCash’svoice. Everyone,including theband,flinchedat thesonicblast,but notme.Iknewthat explosionwas
blastedtheplace
musicthatday,but
Ifthatdialogue andsongofa gunfightwereto happentoday,irate momswhoareup totheirbobbed nosesandbigboob jobsinpolitical
correctwokeness wouldfilelawsuits againsttheconcert fortraumatizing theiryoungwimpy sonswithsongsof gunsanddeath.So, inretrospectthe concertwasallthe morepreciousfor that. Whenitwasover, Iwaschanged.I wassomeoneelse.I wasadifferentkid walkingoutofthe concertthanIwas walkingin. IthoughtIwas worldly.IthoughtI wastallerand smarter.IthoughtI wouldliveforever becauseI’dheard themusic. Astheyears passedIlearnedto playthemuteguitar likeLuther,andlike therestofAmerica Iwatchedevery episodeofJohnny Cash’sTVshow.I wasopeningactfor hisdaughter RoseannCash,and shewasvery gracioustome. WhenImovedto Nashville,Iwas bombardedwith JohnnyCash stories,sometrue, someapocryphal, butIlovedthemall. WhenJohnnyCash died,thewhole townmourned. Blackbunting hangedfrommany balconiesandthere wereendlesslocal specialsabouthim. Andtheyoungkid whosawhimin 1959inthefaraway deserttownofLas Vegas,mourned himmostofall.
Sittingtherein thefirstrow,I mournedhisdeath. (Historyrecords thatthesongwas releasedayear beforetheconcert, butIdon’tcare.If Johnnysaidhe wroteitforus,then byGod,hewroteit forus!Theremust havebeensome sortoftimewarp goingonbecauseto thisdayIbelieve Johnny’swords.)
Thesongwasabout ayoungmanwho thinkshe’sabadass gunslinger,butgets shotinabarroom scuffle.
YourGunsToTown.