REFLECTIONS
On the
BEAT words by THE REV. GREG JONES photography by SMITH HARDY
58 | WALTER
H
e grew up in a blue-collar family outside of Nashville, Tennessee. He started playing the drums when he was ten because he couldn’t afford to take up the sax. Hewgley’s, the great music store once located on Commerce Street in Nashville wouldn’t rent band instruments in those days, and shiny new saxophones cost more than $200 in 1957. But drumsticks cost only a dollar a pair, and the lesson book was 85 cents. David Crabtree could swing that. His brother made him a practice pad out of a block of wood with a piece of inner tube stretched thin on top. He played the pad and started cutting grass. He used to mow the lawn of Hank Cochran, a neighbor, and composer of I Fall to Pieces, the tune Patsy Cline made great. The young drummer finally mowed enough grass to buy a set of Ludwigs and he played them hard. Legendary guitarist Chet Atkins once heard Crabtree play the drums and he said, “Son, you might want to tone it down a bit.” Crabtree thought about music non-stop, going to sleep at night and waking up in the morning with a transistor radio playing under his pillow. Like a lot of guys in Nashville in the 1950s and early 60s, he ended up playing professionally in bands and even did session
