JohnnyCash Remembering
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ohnnyCashwasthetallest,baddest,strongest, bravestmanIeversaw.Andforthis12year-old sittinginthefrontrowoftheconcert,Iwas transfixedbythepowercomingfromthisman dressedinblack.Hissuitwasblack,hishair wasjetblack.Thiswasaman’sman.Thiswastheman allusboyswantedtobecome.Hewaslikeourfathers whohadfoughtinWWII,imposingandtrue.Hisvoice camefromdeepdowninhissoul—itsoundedlike America. Thismanwasn’tfromtheslickcity,hewasfromthatpartof
Hesangaboutacountrywhere mengaveanhonestday’swork outunderthesunandtheybuilt thingsandgrewthings.The steadythumpingrhythmof LutherPerkin’sguitarwasas reassuring,steadfastand straight-aheadasthechuffingof asteamlocomotive.Oh, yes…thiswasamanalright. Everythingabouthimwas manly,andIwantedtobelike him. Theyearwas1959andIwas insixthgradeatTomWilliams elementaryschoolinLasVegas, Nevada.Theschoolwasnotfar fromNellisAFBandat lunchtimewecouldseethe Thunderbirdspracticeintheir beautifulF-100SuperSabres. Weweresoclosetothebasethat fourorfivetimesadaythe buildingwouldrattlefromthe Ba-BOOMofjetfighters breakingthesoundbarrier. Inthosedaysthecasinoshad matineesforkids,duringschool hours!Myfavoritewastheday wegottoseeacountrymusic showattheElRanchoCasino.
bonusifyoucashyourwages withthem. Inthosedaystheyhadconcerts foruskids.In SouthLake Tahoe,Harrah’s clubhada matineeforus andwewerehonoredtosee HarryBelafonteandMiriam Mikeba.ThemagicofMikeba’s song PataPata withhertongue clicks,stayswithmestill.The NuggetinSparksgaveuskidsat SparksHighaprivateconcert/ assemblystarringPonciePonce whowasaTVstarontheshows 77SunsetStrip and Hawiian Eye.Hewasawesomeanda greatnightclubperformer.He hadtobesharptosurvivewe rowdyRailroadersatSparksHi. Thenextyear,thefootball teamandcheersquadwere guestsofJohnAscuagaathis NuggetCasinoinSparks.Itwas adinnershowstarringthe legendaryAndrewsSistersand comedianNipsyRussell.During hisset,Russellintroducedbig FromwhatIcouldseesitting thereintheconcert,everysixth graderintownwasinthecrowd. Thiswastheold Nevada.Itwas acommunity, andthe community triedtohelp.Mostofthecasinos wereprivatelyownedandthe ownersconsideredthemselves partofthecommunity.Bill Harrah,ownerofHarrah’sclub upinRenorefusedtocash paychecksbecausetheywanted mentotaketheirmoneyhometo theirfamilies,notliketoday wherethecasinosarerunby corporationsandtheygiveyoua “Inthosedaysthehadmatineesfor kidsduringschoolhours!”
Aswesteppedofftheschool busandfiledintotheElRancho concertroom,thestagewas bustlingwithpre-showsetupand Iwasstunnedtoseefamiliar facesupthere.TherewasHank PennyandSueThompson!This waswhentheywereduo,before SueThompsonhadherlaterhits, SadMovies(MakeMeCry) and
FromHereTo Eternity,andI lovedhis music.His guitarwas gaudyandhe wasasnappy dresserinhis spangled countrycutsuit. Theannouncersettleduskids down,andthenintroducedthe openingactsofHankandSue, andwhentheyweredone,Merle Travisplayedhissetmuchtomy delight. Butthemaineventwascoming andIwasn’tpreparedforhow powerfulitwouldbe.Now,I’d neverseenamajorstarinalive timeheavyweightfighterEddie Machenwhichwasabigthrill forusguys. ButtheconcertwithJohnny CashinVegaswasspecial.He wasastar,abigstar.Myfather boughtallhisrecordsandI lovedtheechoeystudiosoundof theoldSUNlabelrecords.I memorizedallofhissongslike: TrainofLove,BigRiver,IStill Miss Someone, andGet Rhythm.It washonest, straight ahead,nofrillsmusic. Straight fromtheheart.
theteenagerinlovesong, Norman.Ihadseenthem regularlyinLosAngelesonthe localTVshows:CliffyStone’s HometownJamboree,andthe Squeakin’Deacon(Squeekee Deaky)radioshow.
Andsettinguphisampwasthe legendaryMerleTraviswhose guitarfingerpickingintrigued me.Ihadseenhiminthemovie
performancebefore.I’dseenlots oflocalperformers,butnone whoserecordsIlistenedto everyday,nonewhowasalready alegend.Andtoo,atmyyoung age,adultstoweredaboveme andeveryoneseemedbig. Whenthehouselightscame down,wekidsweregiddyin nervousexpectation.Youthful emotionoverpoweredusandwe wiggledinourseatsandgiggled softlytoeachother. “Ladiesandgentlemen,boys andgirls,”saidthe starofourshow,Mr.Johnny Cash!”AndthenLutherPerkins letforthwiththeopeningriffof I WalktheLine,andIwas transportedtoanotherplace.The soundwaspureandcleanand onlyfifteenfeetaway.Itwasso muchmoreglorious,louderand immediateinpersonthanthe tinyspeakersonourhome stereo,thatmybodyshivered andshookinsympathetic rhythm.Theampwasrightthere, Icouldseetheknobs! ThenHewalkedout.The
soimpressedsince.Therhythm andthewarpofthemusic increasedjustbecausehewas there.Hewasstrongyethumble. Sternyethumorous.Seriousyet havingfun.Ifmydescription heresoundsbreathlessandnaïve, sobeit.Butthiswasmyfirst big—timeconcertanditchanged thecourseofmylife.Manykids wereaffectedbythemusicthat day,butI’msurethatI’mthe onlyonewhochasedthemusic dreamashardasIdidbecauseof thatday. Hesangmyfavoritesongs,and Ifeltlikedancingintheaisle whenheplayedthesong One MoreRide.The railroadchuffing soundpervaded mygutsand draggedmetoyet anotherplace again. Then,afterthat songhepaused andtalkedtous. “Well,IknewI wasgoingtobe playingforyou kidstoday,”he
placethanwhereIlivedin Nevada.Andthenhestartedto sing.Asthesayinggoes,you hearwhatyousee,andit’strue. Thatdeeprumblingsouthern ironicvoicecomingfromhis hugeframemadehimlookten feettallandinvincible.Theroom vibratedwithhisthunder, lightningsparkedfromthering onhisrighthandandasGodis mywitness,atthebeginningof thesecondverse,ajetfighter screamedoverheadandblasted theplacewithasonicboomthat fitperfectlywiththethunderof JonnyCash’svoice.Everyone, includingtheband,flinchedat thesonicblast, butnotme.I knewthat explosionwas meanttobe—it fitperfectly. Thiswas power,thisis howitshould be. I’dneverseen anythinglike himbefore,and I’veneverbeen
WhenImovedtoNashville,I wasbombardedwithJohnny Cashstories,sometrue,some apocryphal,butIlovedthemall. WhenJohnnyCashdied,the wholetownmourned.Black buntinghangedfrommany balconiesandtherewereendless localspecialsabouthim. Andtheyoungkidwhosaw himin1959inthefaraway deserttownofLasVegas, mournedhimmostofall.
AstheyearspassedIlearnedto playthemuteguitarlikeLuther, andliketherestofAmericaI watchedeveryepisodeofJohnny Cash’sTVshow.Iwasopening actforhisdaughterRoseann Cash,andshewasverygracious tome.
saidinthatslowrumble,“soI wrotethissongforya’lastnight. It’sjustforyoukids,Ihopeyou likeit.”Thenhesang
Ifthatdialogueandsongofa gunfightweretohappentoday, iratemomswhoareuptotheir bobbednosesandbigboobjobs inpoliticalcorrectwokeness wouldfilelawsuitsagainstthe concertfortraumatizingtheir youngwimpysonswithsongsof gunsanddeath.So,inretrospect theconcertwasallthemore preciousforthat.
Don’tTake YourGunsToTown. Thesong wasaboutayoungmanwho thinkshe’sabadassgunslinger, butgetsshotinabarroom scuffle. Sittingthereinthefirstrow,I mournedhisdeath.(History recordsthatthesongwas releasedayearbeforethe concert,butIdon’tcare.If Johnnysaidhewroteitforus, thenbyGod,hewroteitforus! Theremusthavebeensomesort oftimewarpgoingonbecauseto thisdayIbelieveJohnny’s words.)
Whenitwasover,Iwas changed.Iwassomeoneelse.I wasadifferentkidwalkingout oftheconcertthanIwaswalking in. IthoughtIwasworldly.I thoughtIwastallerandsmarter. IthoughtIwouldliveforever becauseI’dheardthemusic.
