Tony Joe White

City Stages 2004 City Stages

Tony Joe White

“Nobody knows if I’m white or black” has always been one of Tony Joe White’s favorite descriptions of himself. On the telephone, it really is impossible to distinguish his heritage, but there’s no mistaking the deep voice with the exotic Louisiana drawl on the other end of the line. It’s the growl heard on the spoken introduction to “Polk Salad Annie,” Tony Joe White’s signature tune and one of the classic examples of a lost genre known as Southern soul music. “I was raised on polk, and my momma used to get us to eat it all the time,” White says of the inspiration for his 1969 hit during a telephone conversation from his Nashville home. “We lived in a cotton field down there [in Louisiana]. It was growin’ wild, and she’d cook it like greens.”




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Raised in the swamps of Goodwill, Louisiana, Tony Joe White had little interest in music until one day his brother brought home a Lightnin’ Hopkins record. “Yeah, when I was 15 or 16 my brother played that thing for me. Before that, music meant nothing.” White began playing in roadhouses several years later. “Well, at that time I was playin’ clubs in Texas and Louisiana, doin’ Elvis covers, John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ Hopkins covers . . . In the early days I used to comb my hair like Elvis [who recorded a dynamite version of 'Polk Salad Annie']. Before I started writin’, I had him down pretty good . . . I actually had a little microphone that fit around my neck, and I could play the guitar and do the legs [like Elvis] all at the same time. He was a heavy influence on them early days for me,” White remembers.

But it was the Bobbie Gentry hit “Ode to Billie Joe” that inspired White to give songwriting a shot. “I heard that song on the radio, and I thought, ‘Man, how real can it get. I am Billie Joe.’ So, I decided that if I ever was goin’ to sit down and try to write, I was goin’ to try to write somethin’ I knew about, and somethin’ that was real. And in a couple of weeks time I started on ‘Polk’ and ‘Rainy Night in Georgia.’ So both them tunes came about the same time.”

In 1970, singer Brook Benton recorded “Rainy Night in Georgia,” an intensely gorgeous tune whose inspiration holds less mystique than its timeless quality might suggest. “Later on after high school, I went to Marietta, Georgia, and drove a dump truck for the highway department, stayed with my sister some,” White explains. “Down there when it was rainin,’ I knew I didn’t have to go to work the next day, and I could sit and play my guitars.”

“Meetin’ Lightnin’ Hopkins was just like meetin’ Elvis or Tina Turner for me.”

White eventually met his boyhood idol Lightnin’ Hopkins thanks to an invitation to play on a session with the blues singer. “Yeah, that was after ‘Polk’ was out, and he was in L.A. at the same time I was. And the record company invited me down to play guitar and a little harmonica with him on the album called L.A. Mudslide. Meetin’ him was just like meetin’ Elvis or Tina Turner for me.” Meeting Tina Turner, however, was more than a simple thrill for Tony Joe White. The introduction resurrected his career, which had entered a lull in the late 1980s. In 1990, Turner recorded four of White’s tunes on her multi-platinum Foreign Affairs album. One, “Steamy Windows,” was a worldwide hit. He’ll never forget Turner’s reaction the day he walked into the studio. “She just died laughing when she met me. Her manager and me came into the studio, gettin’ ready to do that album with her and she looked up and just started rollin.’ Yeah, she said she always thought I was a black man,” he remembers, laughing.

Among White’s lasting memories of his many years on the road were the shows in the 1970s that he did with Sly Stone, who had a reputation for making audiences wait, if he bothered to show up at all. “Sly was always a problem. He was always late for the show, and the crowd was always nearly in an uproar,” White says with amusement. “And when a white boy started walkin’ out on stage in front of all them people, they was hollerin’ at me and everything. As soon as I’d talk or hit a lick on my guitar, they’d go, ‘Hey, alright!’ It was pretty spooky. In fact, a couple of times up north, I’ve had promoters offer to pay me my money not to go out on the stage. They said it’d be too rough on me. I’d say, ‘Well, I flew a long ways, man, to play some music. Sure hate to go back and not play nothing.’ Yeah, Sly always made sure he was an hour late. He was at the Isle of Wight Festival with me in 1970 [Jimi Hendrix was on the same bill]. Anyway, Sly wanted to come on at sunrise instead of his regular time [earlier in the evening]. There was 600,000 people there. Well, here comes Sly and the band up through the woods, all these tambourines shaking and making this beat and smoking and singing. And 600,000 people are in their sleeping bags asleep. And, man, he kicked into one song and a few woke up and kinda got up, and he played another and a few more got up. And he started into a third one, and all of a sudden he just walked off stage,” White said, laughing throughout the story.

Jimi Hendrix also left a lasting impression on White at the Isle of Wight. “I saw him on the airport runway there where they had a little four-seater carrying us back and forth over to the island. And he had managed to get out on the runway in a very high state of mind, and he was thumbing the plane when we landed—like he was trying to hitch a ride. He had on plaid pants, a leather jacket, and a big quilt. And he almost got hit by the damn plane. And then a few days later he died.”

The lack of interest in rhythm and blues among the current crop of black musicians is disappointing to White. “There’s more white people playin’ blues now than there are the other way,” he says with more than a hint of resignation. “I think rap knocked it all the way out. Most bluesy people, you know, all blacks and everything, they’d rather have an electric drum kit and sit there and yak about what happened in the street that day than learn how to play a B3 organ or learn how to do an Otis Redding moan or shout.” &

Tony Joe White performs at the Blockbuster stage on Sunday, June 20, from 4:20 p.m. to 5:20 p.m.

Loretta Lynn

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By Ed Reynolds

Loretta Lynn has always cherished her role as a rebel in the country music industry. In perhaps the oddest collaboration in Nashville’s storied history, Lynn’s newest release, Van Lear Rose, was produced by rocker Jack White of The White Stripes (the band dedicated its third album, White Blood Cells, to Lynn, and White has called her the greatest female singer/songwriter of the 20th century). The result is the most gloriously unrefined recording of Lynn’s long career. White’s signature guitar is evident throughout the CD, especially his red-hot slide work. He even joins Lynn at the microphone on “Portland, Oregon,” a charming duet about a drunken one-night stand, an endearing track since White is 28 while Lynn is 70 years old.

An afternoon telephone conversation with Lynn that took place before her new album was recorded reveals a woman completely unaffected by notoriety. Lynn sounds as though she were still a Butcher Holler farm girl, speaking in a rural dialect that contradicts her stardom. The singer doesn’t pull any punches. Hit her once and she’ll hit back twice. Her husband Doolittle’s (Doo) philandering and chronic alcoholism provoked more than a few violent episodes during their 48-year marriage. She knocked two of his front teeth out one night, pleased as she could be that his cheating was put to rest until he could get new teeth. Their marriage is tumultuously detailed in her second autobiography Still Woman Enough, an entertaining but brutally honest account of Lynn’s life as one of America’s greatest country music performers.

. . . Lynn told Sinatra it was the worst song she’d ever heard and suggested they sing “Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man.” Sinatra told her when she had her own television show she could sing whatever she wanted.

Lynn literally defines country. The names of her children read like a hillbilly sitcom: Betty Sue, Ernest Ray, Patsy, Cissie, and Jack Benny. Married at age 13 in Kentucky coal-mining country, Lynn and her husband moved to Washington State a year later so Doo could pan for gold and Loretta could pick strawberries. Though noting there were anecdotes in her autobiography that she couldn’t have written if her husband were still alive, Lynn is unwavering in her devotion to the man directly responsible for her success. Doo convinced Loretta to sing in Northwest honky tonks despite her severe stage fright. Lynn began to build a following in Canada but noticed that her most loyal fans were suddenly absent for a couple of months. When she finally confronted them about where they’d been, they explained that they had given up Loretta for Lent. The singer said the only “Lent” she was familiar with was the kind that gets on your clothes. Doo later chauffeured her on a blitz tour of radio stations around the country to convince disc jockeys to play her first single “I’m a Honky Tonk Girl.” And it was her husband who got her on the Grand Ole Opry after her first record entered the charts. She was invited to sing on the Opry for the next 17 weeks, receiving $18 per night (with three additional bucks if she sang an extra song).

Being an Opry star didn’t change Lynn much. She continued to slaughter her barnyard chickens for dinner and shop for material at the Salvation Army thrift store to make her own stage outfits. She was once chastised by a ranking Opry official who saw her coming out of the store. He told her it “cast a bad light on the Opry when local folks saw the show’s singers acting like poor people.” She didn’t know how to use a credit card until Conway Twitty instructed her in the late 1970s.

Influenced by nothing more than Saturday night Grand Ole Opry broadcasts and her delight in rhyming words with siblings as a child, Lynn displayed a remarkable ability for writing songs. “Doo got me a book that showed how you wrote ‘em. It was called Country Roundup, I think. I just looked at the songs and I said, ‘Anybody can do this.’ The first spanking Doo ever give me was because I rhymed a word. And it rhymed with door—you know what it was—and I didn’t know what it meant. It was raining and cold and he let the door open and I said, ‘Shut the door you little. . . .’ And I got a whippin’ for that—and he’d promised Daddy he’d never put a hand on me. And that was the next day after he’d married me. He throwed me over his knee and busted my butt.”

In 1963, the singer was asked by her childhood idol Ernest Tubb to record a series of duets. “I never dreamed I’d ever sing with him, ’cause when Daddy had that little radio, we’d listen to the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday night and the news, ’cause the war was goin’ on. But I’d start to cry when Ernest Tubb started to sing. And Mama would say, ‘I’m gonna turn the radio off if you don’t quit cryin’.’” Tubb was instrumental in establishing Lynn as a country institution. “When I come to Nashville, MCA Records, which was Decca at the time, they asked Ernest to record with a girl. And he said he wanted to record with me. He did so much for me. The last time I sang with him, it was like standin’ up by a big monument. I even went to Billy Bob’s [famed Fort Worth bar, the largest honky-tonk in the world] and did a show for him to buy medicine with, ’cause he had run out of money. He helped everybody in Nashville, but no one would go help him.”

But it was her series of duets with Conway Twitty that placed Lynn on the same “classic duo” pedestal occupied by George Jones and Tammy Wynette. “Yeah, I loved Conway. He was like a brother, and he would give me advice. If he thought I wasn’t doing things right, he’d tell me, ‘This is how you do it,’ and I’d say, ‘No, that’s how you do it. This is how I’d do it,’” she laughs. Their string of soap-opera-style hits included “Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man,” “You’re the Reason Our Kids Are Ugly,” and “Backstreet Affair.” In a strange twist of fate, Conway Twitty unexpectedly died with Lynn at his bedside in a Missouri hospital in 1991 after Twitty was overcome with a stomach aneurysm while touring the Midwest. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, where Lynn happened to be waiting as Doo recovered from open-heart surgery. She thought that Twitty had decided to drop by to visit her husband. “I watched Conway’s bus come off the exit. I run downstairs to let him know what room Doo was in, and they come draggin’ him in. Blood’s comin’ out of his mouth and his eyes was tryin’ to focus on me and he couldn’t. I almost fell out right there. The chaplain came in and told me that Conway would not live through the night, so he told me if I wanted to see him I should go on back there. I went in his room and patted him on the arm and said, ‘Conway, you love to sing, honey, don’t you leave me.’”

Staunchly defiant, Lynn was a fly in the conservative ointment of the Nashville music industry. She was the first to write and sing about women’s issues. “The Pill” was the first of several of her songs to be banned, but Lynn was smart enough to recognize a marketing opportunity as women flocked to her side. “It’s all because I’d get down and talk to the women. All of ‘em were taking the pill and they weren’t wearin’ bras [pronounced 'braws']. Everybody was taking the pill, why not talk about it. Everybody was havin’ kids just like I was, why not say, ‘One’s on the way.’ I couldn’t understand why the public was worried about my songs. And when ‘Rated X’ come out, just the title of it, they started banning the record. And they didn’t listen to it. It was about a divorced woman. Nothin’ in it was bad. When ‘Don’t Come Home a-Drinkin” come out, the big 50-watt [sic] station in Chicago didn’t play it, ’cause they thought it was dirty. It went number one, they started playin’ it.”
Loretta Lynn’s music was a stark contrast to Tammy Wynette’s songs that advised women to stick with their man, regardless. Ironically, Wynette went through five husbands, while Lynn’s only husband was Doo. “Tammy Wynette was outspoken about standing by her man, and I’d done hit mine over the head with a rollin’ pin,” Lynn laughs. “Tammy said, ‘I’d be afraid to sing that, afraid they wouldn’t play my record.’ But it didn’t hurt me. They’d ban ‘em and they’d go number one.” Lynn took Wynette under her wing when she arrived in Nashville, just as Patsy Cline had done for her when Lynn first moved to town as an unknown. “Oh, Tammy was my best girlfriend. First girlfriend I had, except Patsy. I never did get that close to all the artists. All of ‘em have their own way of doin’ things, and I think they kinda stayed away from me because of the songs I wrote. They shoulda liked ‘em, they might’ve rubbed off on ‘em. They could’ve wrote their own.”

Lynn also didn’t think twice about crossing racial divides. “When Charlie Pride won Singer of the Year, I was the one that was supposed to give the award. So they said, ‘Loretta, if Charlie wins, step back one foot and don’t touch him.’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearin’ ’cause I’d been livin’ on the West Coast for 13 or 14 years,” Lynn remembers, still appalled. “Charlie is just another singer to me. When it comes to color, I’m colorblind, ’cause I’m part Cherokee. So when Charlie won, I stepped up and hugged him and kissed him. They got a little upset about it. I thought, ‘Well, Charlie shouldn’t even sing for ‘em if that’s the way they feel about him.’”

One of her champions in Nashville was the Carter Family, who at one time asked her to join the group. Lynn refused because she felt she couldn’t sing their harmonies properly. She remembers trying to get a sulking Johnny Cash on stage. “Poor little ol’ Johnny. They couldn’t get him out on stage. Johnny Cash has always been good to me. He was the first one that took me out of Nashville on a tour. Him and the Carter Family, we went to Toronto and Ontario [sic]. He was not having too good a night. Mother Maybelle, June . . . they were all mad at him. I said, ‘Come on, baby, it’s time for you to go on.’ He jerked his coat down and there was a bottle of pills—a hundred-aspirin bottle of pills, but it wasn’t aspirin. I didn’t know what they was ’cause I’d never seen a diet pill in my life. And they went all over the floor and they was all different colors. And Johnny said, ‘Don’t leave any,’ and I sat down on that floor and picked up every pill and put them back.”

Refusing to sway from her convictions, Loretta Lynn has remained her own woman. Her forthright honesty provoked a showdown with Frank Sinatra, who invited Lynn to duet on what had been his first hit, “All or Nothing at All.” She told Sinatra it was the worst song she’d ever heard and suggested they sing “Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man.” Sinatra told her when she had her own television show she could sing whatever she wanted.

Her simple approach to life and refusal to bow to showbiz expectations also left a lasting impression on Dean Martin. Martin had been so taken with the Carter Family’s performance on his show that he asked them to recommend another Nashville artist. They suggested Lynn, who refused to sit in Martin’s lap, as was customary when he sang duets with female performers. Instead of being offended, Martin decided her spunk was the perfect ingredient to spice up the “Dean Martin’s Celebrity Roast” show featuring Jack Lemmon. Lynn picks up the story in her autobiography: “Well, I’d never heard of a ‘roast.’ I thought Dean Martin was inviting me to dinner with his Hollywood friends. So I dressed up real nice. They made a special dress for me out of material flown from Paris, France. I couldn’t understand why they wanted me to eat in that fancy dress. They made me read from a Teleprompter and I told Dean I was scared to death and didn’t read so good. But I didn’t have a choice. I was stuck. Making me feel worse, I started in saying the most awful things about Jack Lemmon. I didn’t know they was jokes. So each time I said something, I turned to Jack and said, ‘I didn’t mean that, honey. I don’t even know you. I’m just saying what’s on that there card.’” &

Loretta Lynn performs at the Blockbuster stage on Sunday, June 20, from 8:40 p.m. to 9:55 p.m.

Editor’s note: After this issue went to press, Loretta Lynn cancelled her tour due to back problems. She will not appear at this year’s City Stages.

Gyrations Galore

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2004-06-03 Diversions

Gyrations Galore

By Ed Reynolds

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	Dressed to Kill: Elvis impersonator David Lee. The 4th Annual Elvis in Dixieland competition will take place at the BJCC on Saturday, June 19.

Ladies, it’s that time of year again, when plunging necklines on rhinestone-studded jumpsuits reveal hairy chests glistening with sweat as grown men imitate the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. On June 19, at 2 p.m., popular Elvis impersonator David Lee stages his Fourth Annual Elvis in Dixieland competition in Ballroom A at the BJCC. Past contestants in the impersonator showdown have presented every phase imaginable in the King’s celebrated career: the dashing 1950s Elvis with hips too hot for “The Ed Sullivan Show;” the Las Vegas Elvis (including a couple of guys who look as though they might have eaten too many fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches in preparation for their roles); and one inventive fellow who recreated Presley’s character in the film G.I. Blues.

This year’s festivities include special guest Edie Hand, Elvis’s cousin and a former actress on the soap opera “As the World Turns.” And if that’s not excitement enough, there will be children impersonating Elvis in two categories, one for contestants younger than five, and another for older kids. Imagine, a three-year-old sporting phony sideburns and singing “In the Ghetto.” Proceeds from the competition benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. For more information, call 205-266-3030 or visit www.elvisindixieland.com.

City Stages 2004

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City Stages 2004 City Stages

Blockbuster Stage

Friday, June 186:30 p.m. Ray Lamontagne7:50 p.m. Los Lonely Boys

9:15 p.m. Keb’ Mo’

11 p.m. The Robert Cray Band

Saturday, June 19

1:45 p.m. June Star




Shelby Lynne (click for larger version)

2:40 p.m. Clare Burson

3:45 p.m. D.B. Harris

4:50 p.m. Chris Knight

6 p.m. Steve Forbert

7:25 p.m. Drive-By Truckers

8:50 p.m. Lynyrd Skynyrd

Sunday, June 20

1 p.m. The Scott Ivey Band

2 p.m. Adam Hood

3:05 p.m. Meteorite

4:20 p.m. Tony Joe White

5:45 p.m. Dave Alvin & The Guilty Men

7:10 p.m. Shelby Lynne

8:40 p.m. Loretta Lynn

(Artists are listed alphabetically by first name.)

Adam Hood

Currently based in Auburn, Hood sounds a lot like Steve Earle searching for long-lost James Taylor and Joni Mitchell roots. —Ed Reynolds (Sunday, June 20, 2 p.m. to 2:45 p.m.)

Clare Burson

Clare Burson’s voice has a particular lucidity—a Southern ease. Though most of the tracks on her 2003 full-length debut album, The In-Between, are forgettable, Burson has her moments. The subtle, girlish vocals that dominate most of the album turn unexpectedly sultry with “Don’t You Do Me,” a song with a sedated yet seductive sound (Old World-inspired accordion, and mandolin riffs) and vocals that are reminiscent of—dare I say—Fiona Apple? Burson’s overall style is no doubt influenced by her ear for bluegrass and Irish-inspired music, which she learned from playing violin for more than 18 years. But it wasn’t until her college years that she taught herself to play guitar and write songs—most of which are lyrically sweet and innocuous.

The In-Between is just what one would expect in a first effort from a 28-year-old singer/songwriter steeped in her Tennessee roots—plainspoken love songs, earnest musings about long dusty roads to Memphis, and a crew of acclaimed Nashville musicians to beef up her songs with bass, drums, lap steel, organ, and accordion. —Danielle McClure (Saturday, June 19, 2:40 p.m. to 3:25 p.m.; and also at City Stages Unplugged: Friday, June 18, 11:55 a.m. to 12:20 p.m.)

D.B. Harris

Now based in Austin, Texas, this Birmingham native’s band features cry-in-your-beer country music, Tejano, rockabilly, and some material that wouldn’t sound strange coming from Joe Ely. Definitely worth checking out. —Bart Grooms (Saturday, June 19, 1:10 p.m. to 2:10 p.m.; and also at the Blockbuster Stage: Saturday, June 19, 3:45 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.)

Dave Alvin & the Guilty Men

Any hack will tell you that Dave Alvin grew up under the buzz of the high-tension wires strung across rural California. Big deal. There’s plenty of old folks living under high-tension wires strung across suburban America, and you don’t see them churning out terse, bluesy tunes. Alvin’s spent more than 20 years as a critic’s darling, and that might help explain why his best album remains a live effort that frees him from his studio indulgences. He seems to understand better than his supporters that his music only truly matters when he’s playing with his longstanding touring band. A live set from Alvin can even make his crappy old college-rock tunes (anybody remember The Blasters or X?) sound fresh, immediate, and really, really important. —J.R. Taylor (Sunday, June 20, 5:45 p.m. to 6:45 p.m.)

Drive-By Truckers

Sure, they’ve cornered the market on Southern Rock, but how hard was that when the competition was Nashville Pussy? Last year’s Decoration Day has now lead to a solo album, Killers & Stars, from band leader Patterson Hood, and both projects suggest that the Drive-By Truckers are, in fact, doomed to be constantly undervalued in the musical marketplace. They might as well reject the rock world that will only marginalize them and begin their rightful stance as displaced folkies simply trying to make sense of their surroundings. Lesser albums such as Warren Zevon’s The Wind and Neil Young’s Greendale will get more unabashed hype, but that’s okay. England Dan & John Ford Coley outsold Dirk Hamilton, too. —J.R. Taylor (Saturday, June 19, 7:25 p.m. to 8:25 p.m.)

June Star

These guys like to crank up the alt-country rock, beer-joint shit-kicker style, but they truly shine when easing into country ballads that feature pedal steel, harmonica, and mandolin. Andrew Grimm has a melancholy voice that is both gruff and twangy, and his songs fall somewhere between Gram Parsons and early R.E.M., but they are definitely rougher around the edges (a good thing in this case). Although June Star often recall late-model Byrds, Neil Young’s all-but-forgotten outfit The Stray Gators, or even Poco, it’s difficult to say if this versatile band is better suited to “Austin City Limits” or “A Prairie Home Companion.” —David Pelfrey (Saturday, June 19, 1:45 p.m. to 2:20 p.m.)

Keb’ Mo’

Keb’ Mo’ (that’s Swahili for Kevin Moore . . .) has a new album called Keep It Simple. The CD’s cover pictures the artist in Depression-era costume, seated in what looks like an old shack somewhere along the Mississippi Delta. On the title track, our back-to-basics bluesman sings, “I just wanna go somewhere and use my hands and keep it simple, real simple.”

Well, actions speak louder than lyrics, and here’s how Mr. “Mo’” keeps it simple: keyboards, violin, dobro, several guitars, synthesizers, a few back-up singers, six contributing artists from as many labels, four different recording studios, five engineers, and one assistant engineer.

There’s nothing wrong with taking full-blown, obsessively detailed advantage of today’s recording resources, unless you are posing as an authentic Delta blues artist cranking out some gritty, raw masterpieces for Fat Possum Records. Keb’ Mo’, by way of contrast, is making slick, blues-lite music that Disney might commission for its next big animated feature, assuming NPR doesn’t get to him first. Honestly, it makes Eric Clapton look like Howlin’ Wolf. This is music for fans of Randy Newman, Phil Collins, Bette Midler, Billy Joel, and sundry other middle-of-the-road, over-the-hill performers who, by the way, do indeed find gainful employment with Disney from time to time. “But wait,” Keb’ Mo’ fans and enablers reply, “He’s won two Grammy Awards.” To which one can only say, “Precisely.” —David Pelfrey (Friday, June 18, 9:15 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.)

Loretta Lynn

There’s not a single Trent Reznor song to be found on Van Lear Rose. In fact, 70-year-old Lynn has wisely dodged Johnny Cash’s mistakes and has utilized an influential young connection—that being highly-touted producer Jack White of the White Stripes—to record her first album comprised solely of originals. (At least, as far as I can tell from my collection of Lynn 8-track tapes. Is there anything more irritating than rock critics who suddenly become experts on country music once there’s a hipster angle?)

Anyway, Van Lear Rose snuffs out a thousand snide comments by being a truly great album. It doesn’t even sound like White had to step in to save the compositions. He’s still certainly responsible for several amazing moments where Lynn’s country stance succumbs to a British blues influence. A striking range of emotions is clearly the Lynn legacy, though. Now, there’s still the small matter of finding out how much daring new material will be sacrificed in favor of crowd-pleasing classics. Actually, who cares? (See interview, this issue.) —J.R. Taylor (Sunday, June 20, 8:40 p.m. to 9:55 p.m.)

Los Lonely Boys

Not since Mick Ronson co-produced the band Los Illegals has . . . oh, wait, nobody bought that Los Illegals album. Come to think of it, that whole thing was a crappy generic-rock effort distinguished only by some Spanish vocals. In sharp contrast, the self-titled debut of Los Lonely Boys features only a couple of crappy power ballads. The rest of the album—co-produced by Keb’ Mo’—is perfectly swell blues-rock. Never mind that the slick production makes the band sound more like Carlos Santana than Doug Sahm. Their shallow attempt at mining rhythm ‘n’ blues still allows the band to stumble upon plenty of greatness. Maybe they’ll even become successful enough to finally bury the Tejano genre. —J.R. Taylor (Friday, June 18, 7:50 p.m. to 8:50 p.m.; and also at City Stages Unplugged: Friday, June 18, 1:15 p.m. to 1:40 p.m.)

Lynyrd Skynyrd

Lynyrd Skynyrd have always been way over the top, whether it’s the barrage of three guitars when two would do or the incessant, countless guitar solos that made each weary version of “Free Bird” seemingly never end. The band transformed the Confederate flag into a worshipped icon while making the term “redneck” a proud label for men sporting mullets and women wrapped in halter tops. (Appropriately, the original Skynyrd boys were dropouts from—you guessed it—Robert E. Lee High School in Jacksonville, Florida.) Lynyrd Skynyrd simply refuses to go away. They’re back with their first studio album in three years, and, quite frankly, it’s the same tired Southern boogie-woogie they’ve recycled for years. It’s no surprise that they named it Vicious Cycle.

When original singer Ronnie Van Zant, who was fondly remembered by his wife in a VH-1 special as “just a redneck who loved to fight,” died in a 1977 plane crash, many thought that “Free Bird” had finally been grounded. Instead, the song became a request literally screamed at every concert, regardless of which band was performing. The only bright spot in the ongoing saga is the return of Blackfoot guitarist Rickey Medlocke to the Skynyrd fold. Medlocke played drums in the band in 1971, left for a year, and then returned briefly when the band featured a two-drummer lineup. The next time around, Medlocke returned as the third guitarist.

Guitarist Gary Rossington and keyboardist Billy Powell are the only other original members. Johnny Van Zant, who was 13 when Skynyrd first hit the big time, replaced his late brother as lead vocalist. He was recently interviewed by comedic hipster Dennis Miller, who asked Van Zant if he realized the band had a monster hit in the works when he recorded the vocals for “Free Bird.” Van Zant simply smiled and politely told Miller that it was his late brother Ronnie who had originally sung the song. Lucky for Miller that Ronnie’s dead, because he would have kicked Miller’s ass all over the television studio. (See interview, this issue.) —Ed Reynolds (Saturday, June 19, 8:50 p.m. to 10:35 p.m.)

The Robert Cray Band

Although guitarist/vocalist Cray inevitably gets called a bluesman, he’s never stayed in the blues mainstream. With a smooth vocal style that owes more to soul and gospel than any blues singer you can name, Cray and his longtime mates (keyboardist Jim Pugh, bassist Karl Sevareid, drummer Kevin Hayes) continue to work at evolving a blues-influenced mainstream R&B/rock hybrid. Cray and Co. may not always hit the heights of early successes like the breakthrough Strong Persuader album (1986), but at their best, they make terrific, moving music indeed. Cray’s songs have been covered by artists as diverse as Albert King, B.B. King, Eric Clapton, Del McCoury, and Tony Bennett, and Mick Jagger has been heard to kvetch admiringly about Cray’s vocals, instrumental talents, and the fact that he’s good looking as well. “It’s not fair,” whined the Stone. See for yourself. (See interview, this issue.) —Bart Grooms (Friday, June 18, 11 p.m. to 12:30 a.m.)

Shelby Lynne

2000′s I Am Shelby Lynne was a brilliant pop album that defied years of record company oppression. The record’s surprising success put the country songstress in an ideal position to dictate her next big move, which turned out to be the moronic sellout of 2001′s Love, Shelby. That joke just gets funnier every time it’s told. Anyway, Lynne tried rebounding with last year’s Identity Crisis, and it was a nice step away from the gloss toward minimalism. Interestingly enough, it’s even as much a step away from I Am Shelby Lynne as it is from her previous disaster. The only problem is that Lynne’s true love seems to be slick balladry. She remains a fine songwriter, but that haphazard career still makes her the kind of musician who makes illegal downloading seem totally understandable. (See interview, this issue.) —J.R. Taylor (Sunday, June 20, 7:10 p.m. to 8:10 p.m.)

Steve Forbert

See interview, this issue. (Saturday, June 19, 6 p.m. to 7 p.m.)

Tony Joe White

Tina Turner opened the door for his European comeback in the early ’90s, but Tony Joe White is mostly forgotten in the places he defines. Even the most suburban Southerner can relate to White’s “Homemade Ice Cream” and “Rainy Night In Georgia,” although his “Polk Salad Annie” remains a novelty on the level of Jerry Reed’s “Amos Moses.” On the other hand, Tom Jones and Elvis Presley both found “Polk Salad Annie” worth covering. There was a time when White was positioned as a similar chest-hair-sporting stud during his short heyday as the Swamp Fox. He even attempted a perfectly legitimate bid for disco stardom back in ’76. Today, however, White’s very reliable as a funky bluesman with an offhand manner toward his fine guitar work. Fans on other continents already know all this, but here’s a rare chance for his countryfolk to catch up with the legend. (See interview, this issue.) —J.R. Taylor (Sunday, June 20, 4:20 p.m. to 5:20 p.m.) &

City Hall — Elusive Animal Control Contract Baffles City Officials

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2004-05-20 News

Elusive Animal Control Contract Baffles City Officials

The City of Birmingham is under pressure to sign a new animal control contract that the Jefferson County Commission has yet to produce.

By Ed Reynolds

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For months, the city of Birmingham and the Jefferson County Commission have been at odds over pursuit of a joint contract on animal control services. The never-ending drama took a predictable turn on May 4, when the County Commission awarded the contract for animal control services to current provider, Steve Smith, president of BJC Animal Control.

The commission had given the City until May 18 to decide whether it would maintain joint animal control with the County or seek separate services. On May 11, the Birmingham City Council voted to ask the commission to delay signing the contract for 30 days. (If the contract is not ratified by the City, the County will proceed with a separate agreement for animal control services without the City.) Should the contract be terminated at the end of that period, according to Birmingham Mayor Bernard Kincaid, the City will have had some time to determine the appraised value of the animal shelter and other assets. (Birmingham would have to pay the County 45 percent of that appraised worth 14 days following dissolution of the contract.) The City would then be forced to provide animal control without the County. Birmingham is currently receiving services under a series of extensions of the contract that BJC Animal Control has held since 1997. In a May 13 meeting, the County Commission decided to delay signing the contract until June 1, allotting the City half of the time requested.

“No elected official with an ounce of sense would approve something they’ve never seen before.” —City Councilor Valerie Abbott

According to Charles Long, assistant to County Commission President Larry Langford, the final draft of the contract is not yet complete due to “caveats” that include education and a low-cost spay and neutering program requested by the Animal Control Advisory Board created by the County Commission. The deadline for completing the contract is June 1, the same day the City must make a decision to stay with the County or go it alone. Long could not give even a ballpark date for when the contract will be completed. “Between now and June 1, a contract will be drafted,” said Long in a May 14 interview. “The City will have the opportunity to take a look at that contract when it’s completed.” He added that the County’s purchasing and legal departments understand the importance of allowing ample time for the contract to be reviewed. “We’re not working to alienate the City in giving them an opportunity to take a look at the document,” he said. “It’s just to make sure that we get it right, because everyone expects us to get it wrong.”

Mayor Kincaid, however, questions the County Commission’s urgency to get the contract signed. “Why is there such an accelerated pace to get this signed in the face of their own advisory committee advising against it?” (The advisory board recommended the contract be awarded to Dan Bugg of Hot Springs, Arkansas, though his bid was $1.6 million, as opposed to Smith’s bid of $1,052,000, primarily due to Bugg’s inclusion of “significant capital expenditures”—four new vehicles, necessary improvements to the physical facility, an increased training budget, and more personnel).

Kincaid has criticized the County for ignoring the City’s input on the RFP (request for proposal) that was sent out to solicit bids from prospective vendors. At a May 11 press conference, Kincaid reiterated his opinion that the RFP was written to benefit the current vendor, BJC Animal Control. “You’d think that anyone paying two-thirds of the freight would probably not be the tail wagging the dog when it comes to this. We’ve asked for reasonable input into the RFP so that it would not appear to be slanted toward one provider,” said Kincaid, complaining that the City was paying the lion’s share of the current contract, more than $600,000 a year, while surrounding municipalities contract with Steve Smith for services at $75 an hour. “I would defy the County to have the quality of animal control that they have had for $350,000, because that’s all they’re putting in.” Kincaid added that he has not received a satisfactory response from the County regarding an audit of the escrow account, which is maintained to make improvements to the animal control facility.

Dr. Barbara Monaghan, chairperson of the advisory board created by the County Commission, expressed concern that the contract being considered by the County Commission has two one-year extensions, potentially extending the contract with Smith through 2007. “It’s my opinion that we should not maintain the same relationship with (Smith) for the next three years,” said Monaghan. “At every 12-month period there ought to be a quality review, and we need to lift the standards incrementally every year that he has the contract until we are in the place where we need to be.” Monaghan also wants the standards of the adoption and education programs that were to be built into the contract to increase every year. She has no illusions that all of the board’s wishes will be addressed. “I’m not naïve enough to think that if I took issue with a specific point of the contract that they would likely review it and change it. I’m becoming a little more cynical about the way things are,” said Monaghan in a May 13 interview.

“That’s very nice of them” was City Councilor Valerie Abbott’s sarcastic response to the County Commission granting the City 14 days instead of the requested 30-day period. “Considering that we don’t even have a copy of the contract to look at, that’s very generous of them,” said the councilor. “From the City of Birmingham’s standpoint, if we don’t get any extra time, of course we can’t approve it. No elected official with an ounce of sense would approve something they’ve never seen before. Or approve something they’ve just been handed. Surely the people at the County Commission don’t think we’re that stupid. So, I’m just assuming that the reason they decided to give us that very generous 14 days was the fact that even they haven’t read the contract yet because it hasn’t been written. But, of course, that’s just my guess, because the County doesn’t communicate with us.”

In an interview directly following the May 13 County Commission meeting, Commissioner Bettye Fine Collins expressed dismay that the City and County could potentially have separate animal control services: “I think it would be far better for us to have a cooperative agreement on this operation, so I hope it can be worked out . . . In the best of worlds, I think it would be better if some agency like the Humane Society had control of this.” Collins added she did not initially vote for Steve Smith to have the contract. “I didn’t vote for him to have that contract originally because he worked for the Health Department and apparently inspected restaurants. I didn’t think he had the background or training for it,” explained the commissioner. Collins seemed unaware of the advisory committee’s recommendation of the higher bidder instead of Smith. “I don’t know when they [the advisory board] meet,” said Collins. “I probably need to start going to some of the meetings to hear what’s happening.” She added that none of her suggested appointees to the advisory board membership were chosen.

Collins said she has not been a party to negotiations, as animal control does not fall under the purview of her office. Regarding criticism that BJC Animal Control has not been properly audited, Collins responded, “If you give a person a contract, and they are to operate under that contract, I’m not too sure that after you agree to pay them this amount of money that it’s our role to do a financial audit on the operation. He’s an independent contractor, and he contracts to us for a service . . . I don’t really know if it’s a matter to be audited . . . then I would think that the Office of Public Examiners would require us to do that. The only thing that I can suggest about that would be that we set up some form of evaluation for his operation.” Collins said she’d like some input to set up an evaluation for independent contractors. “All I can do is just evaluate their performance, . . . and how the monies are spent to provide that service would not be mine to judge, I would think,” she concluded. At the end of the interview, Commissioner Collins told this reporter to stop by her office that afternoon to pick up a copy of the contract. Twenty minutes later, someone from her office phoned to say that there was no finalized contract available. &

Bombers Invade Birmingaham

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Bombers Invade Birmingham

Bombers of yore land at the Southern Museum of Flight.

By Ed Reynolds

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Two WWII era vintage airplanes, the B-29 and B-24 bombers, will be on display at the Birmingham International Airport through Sunday, May 23. (click for larger version)

Two of America’s most lethal weapons from its past military arsenal, the B-29 Superfortress and the B-24 Liberator, will be on exhibit at the Southern Museum of Flight through May 23. The Superfortress, which eventually replaced the B-24 and B-17, has been hailed as the weapon that won the war against Japan. With a range of 3,700 miles, the bomber was considered ideal for the Pacific war theater and its long over-water flights, and did not participate in European combat missions. In 1945, the most destructive bombing raid in history was carried out by 299 B-29s as they leveled 17 square miles of Tokyo. In August 1945, a pair of Superfortresses dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, forcing the Japanese to surrender. Among the B-29′s novel features were pressurized crew areas and guns that fired by remote control. The B-29 later operated in Korea, and the last Superfortress was retired from duty in 1960.

The B-24 Liberator was designed in 1938 as an improvement on the B-17. Approximately 19,000 were produced, more than any U.S. warplane of any era. Deployed in both Europe and the Pacific, the Liberator flew more combat missions than any other aircraft in World War II. The B-24, the only plane to be used by all U.S. military branches, was a production marvel. Its construction was so precisely engineered that a bomber could be built every 100 minutes. The Liberators were the top anti-submarine aircraft in World War II and were credited as the main reason for the German U-boat’s demise.

The B-29 that will arrive in Birmingham is the only flying Superfortress in the world. The accompanying B-24 is the oldest Liberator still in operation. Tours of the bombers are $10 for adults and $5 for children ages 7 to 18. A limited number of half-hour local flights will be available for $400. For more information, call 833-8226

Wax Country Music Stars Face Homelessness

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2004-05-06 Culture

Wax Country Music Stars Face Homelessness

Someone in Nashville is moving a ton of wax, and they’re not selling records.

By Ed Reynolds

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“Nobody’s ever tried that in their life, to sell a whole wax museum!” laughs John A. Hobbs, his booming Southern drawl reminiscent of Looney Tunes rooster Foghorn Leghorn. Hobbs currently has his entire 55-figure Music Valley country music star wax museum in Nashville up for auction on eBay. He’s asking $750,000, but will settle for $450,000. The current leading bid is $200,000 as of press time. The auction ends May 7, after which Hobbs will consider options to sell the stars individually. “We were trying to sell the whole family at one time, to keep the family together. But if we have to, we’ll deal them one at a time. Some of the stars wanted to buy their own, some of the managers of the stars wanted one . . . [television comedy host] Jimmy Kimmel wanted to buy Minnie Pearl.” Hobbs says that the individual figures should fetch $3,000 to $15,000 each.Music Valley Wax Museum, the last wax museum in Nashville, will shut its doors for good on July 31. The city’s original wax museum, The Country Music Wax Museum, closed in 1997 after 26 years. “We had a big tourist attraction back then, but now we’re changing our whole look in Nashville,” grumbles Hobbs. “It’s not that much toward country music, it’s more toward conventions and football. And they put country music on the backburner. The other museum closed up ’bout several years ago. This ‘un done pretty good [Music Valley] but the land’s too valuable to leave a museum on it.”




Wax likenesses of country music artists Minnie Pearl and Alan Jackson. (click for larger version)

Hobbs also owns the Nashville Palace, a swanky nightclub where real live country music legends, as opposed to wax figures, can be spotted almost nightly. Many of the young stars got their start there, according to Hobbs. “Randy Travis washed dishes for four years; Lorrie Morgan worked there at age 16. Alan Jackson sang there for free. Vic Damone and the Smothers Brothers worked there. George Jones used to be there nightly, where he’d often hop on stage,” laughs Hobbs. “I’ve seen George at his worst and at his best. I’ve seen George when we wouldn’t let him go on stage!”

Most of the museum’s figures were made in California by wax artist Rio Rita, who created the replicas of film stars in the Hollywood Wax Museum. Hobbs sent Rio Rita four photos of each country star’s face, including a facial front shot, two profiles, and an angular shot combining face and profile. Each figure is garishly displayed in shiny, waxy living color on the eBay web site, with “Dueling Banjos,” the theme song to Deliverance, casting a surreal pall over the macabre auction. The stage outfit worn by the Ernest Tubb mannequin is the same one he wore throughout his career, as is the flowing gown adorning Loretta Lynn. Lynn’s figure also includes a plate used in her famous Crisco commercials. The Chet Atkins figure includes one of his original guitars, while Buck Owens is wearing the actual hillbilly overalls and straw hat that he sported on the “Hee Haw” set. The cornfield where the buxom “Hee Haw” babes popped up to shake their breasts and deliver ridiculous one-liners is also included. While a few figures resemble their breathing—or once-breathing—counterparts, most require an observer to use some imagination. Willie Nelson looks more like hobo singer Box Car Willie, who in turn looks like NASCAR racer Dale Earnhardt, Jr. Roy Acuff favors crooner Andy Williams, while Minnie Pearl is a dead ringer for the puppet Madame from the “Waylon and Madame” ventriloquist act.

“Marty Robbins liked his wax figure so well he used to come down there ’bout once a month, and he’d bring a beautician and get her to comb his hair.”

Hobbs’ personal favorite is one of the newer figures, country singer Alan Jackson. “Alan looks like he could just walk right up and talk to you. Marty Robbins liked his so well he used to come down there ’bout once a month, and he’d bring a beautician and get her to comb his hair and everthang . . . Ernest Tubb wouldn’t even look at his figure,” remembers Hobbs. “He’d say, ‘My God, I’d think I was dead. I don’t want to go and look at that damn thang.’” &

The web site address for the Music Valley Country Music Star wax museum auction is: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=15825&item=2393694283&rd=1

Beauty and the Beasts

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2004-04-22 Diversions

Beauty and the Beasts

By Ed Reynolds

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On Saturday, May 1, at Oak Mountain State Park, pug owners will shamelessly dress up their ugly little dogs in a wild array of colors and fabrics for the annual pug beauty contest at Pugs On Parade 2004. The annual event is a fund-raiser sponsored by Alabama Pug Rescue and Adoption, and will be held at the fishing center in the park from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Until you’ve seen pugs all dolled up in silk, cashmere, organza, or crushed velvet, you don’t know what true beauty there is to behold in this world. For more information, call 205-688-3324 or visit www.alabamapugrescue.org. &

Cash Flow

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2004-04-22 City Hall

Cash Flow

A selective list of major and minor requests for funding approved by the Birmingham City Council.

By Ed Reynolds

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(Dollar amounts and the name of the organization or firm that received the city funds are followed by a description of how the money is to be used. These descriptions are taken, verbatim, from the Council’s meeting agenda.)

April 6, 2004

Item 11

$90,000 to Jefferson County Board of Health

“To provide services to Birmingham City middle and high schools, which include health classes, summer workshop participation, mentoring program for girls 9th through 12th grade, and providing consultation and mini health programs for students in selected schools related to pregnancy prevention, obesity, tobacco, diabetes, nutrition, and physical fitness.”

Item 12

$17,500 to Literacy Council of

Central Alabama

“To provide literacy information and services for children, adults, and families within the city limits of Birmingham.”

Item 13

$63,000 to YWCA—Homeless Program

“For consultant service, which includes providing emergency, transitional, and permanent supportive housing for victims of domestic violence and their children, providing case management and supportive services for homeless and near-homeless women and providing housing information and assistance for city residency program through YW Homes.”

Total expenditure during the last two weeks: $170,500
Total expenditure since October 7, 2003: $135,818,606.67

King of the Road

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2004-04-22 Features

King of the Road

A hitchhiker’s memories of a bygone era.

By Ed Reynolds

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Many years ago, there was no greater freedom than standing on the side of a highway with an extended thumb, hoping (and sometimes praying) that the next vehicle roaring past would stop to transport me a little closer to my destination. Hitchhiking was pretty exciting, fairly reliable, and an expense-free method of going from town to town when my car was deemed not road-worthy.

I was initiated into the world of hitchhiking during the summer of 1975, when bumming rides became my only mode of getting to work each day. I was selling Bible reference books and study guides door-to-door in the summer student program for Southwestern Company out of Nashville, and the company had assigned two students and me to the Athens, Ohio, area. They had automobiles, but I didn’t. Each day, I was up at 6 a.m., walking to a nearby county road where I hitched rides through a three-county area to peddle my Bible wares.

We arrived at a trailer in the middle of the south Mississippi woods where the drummer lived. The guy had hooks instead of hands, but he drummed like a champ.

On July 4, I got my one and only ride from the law. An early ’70s Opel Cadet with a municipal tag pulled over, and a man in a floral-print shirt and Bermuda shorts climbed out and flashed a badge. He was the constable of Nelsonville, Ohio, and he asked to see my peddler’s license. Not having one, I was placed under arrest and taken to the mayor’s house, where a barbecue was underway. As I stood in the mayor’s kitchen watching her stir a pot of beans, she informed me that if I purchased a peddler’s license I would be “set free.” I forked over my $25, the mayor wrote out a license on the kitchen table, and I was pointed back toward the road without so much as an offer to join them for lunch—or a ride back to the road.

The brother of my best friend in Selma died of leukemia later that year after their family had moved to Dothan. I got a ride out of Auburn the morning of the funeral, but getting picked up on the Montgomery bypass is an arduous endeavor. Dothan is a good two hours from Montgomery, and I found myself 120 miles away from a funeral that was scheduled to start in 90 minutes.

I had almost abandoned my plans and decided to head back to Auburn when a black Trans Am pulled over. I told the driver of my predicament, and suddenly I was frozen in my seat as we zoomed south at 100 mph. He dropped me off at a traffic light just inside the Dothan city limits, with the service scheduled to start in 15 minutes. From out of nowhere, I heard my mother shout my name. The church I had attended with my best friend in Selma had sent a van with my mom and a half dozen others to Dothan for the funeral, and it was waiting at the stoplight three cars behind the Trans Am. Mom always insisted that God had arranged the Trans Am ride, but I had my doubts.

By spring 1975 I found myself mesmerized by English sheepdogs after seeing the movie Serpico. A week later, I grabbed a couple of weeks’ pay saved from my dorm cafeteria job and went to the highway to come to Birmingham to purchase a sheepdog I’d found in the “puppies for sale” section of a Birmingham newspaper. A guy in an old pickup truck stopped for me after I had gotten on the north side of Montgomery, but 10 or so miles later he started asking intimate, suggestive questions. I yelled at him to let me out immediately or else, so he pulled over near the Millbrook exit. I bolted.

Half an hour later, another man offered a ride, asking, “Can you drive a stickshift?” He was carrying a gun, and a parole officer identification badge was mounted on his chest. I got behind the wheel while he dozed for 45 minutes. When he awoke, we began to chat. He told me he had spent the weekend in Dothan. I told him I had friends in Dothan who once lived in Selma, and he asked in shock, “Their name wasn’t Hartzog, was it?” I said yeah, it was, and, sure enough, he had spent the weekend with my Selma buddy and his family. We marveled at how tiny the world was before he dropped me near the farm where I bought an eight-week-old English sheepdog puppy.

The return trip was a breeze. Instead of sticking out my thumb, I merely had to cradle the puppy I’d named Sebastian in my arms. Four rides later I was back in Auburn. Two of the rides had been from women—the only time that has ever happened on my hitchhiking journeys. I later told my mom about the guy who had stayed with the Hartzogs giving me a ride, and she insisted that it was God who told the guy to stop. Again, I had my doubts.

Among my fondest hitchhiking memories are several rides that took me from Birmingham to New Orleans to visit my brother. On one such trip, my first lift got me to the Mississippi state line. I had taken a guitar along, as I had a theory that a guy toting a guitar case looked relatively harmless. It began to drizzle, so I made a mad dash for an overpass that I could see about a half mile down the highway. There I found another hitchhiker with a guitar, so we sat and played together for about a half-hour until the rain stopped.

Eventually, I walked further and got a ride from a drunken middle-aged man in a car loaded with six young children. He explained that he had kidnapped the kids from his alcoholic ex-wife. The children stared at me wide-eyed as the fellow sipped from a bottle of Thunderbird. He offered me a drink, but having experienced a Thunderbird hangover once in my life, I declined. Finally, he started crying and began to confess how screwed up his life had become. Suddenly, he told me that he knew he couldn’t take care of his children and he had decided to take them back to their mother. I thanked him when he let me out and contemplated calling the cops at the exit where I had been dropped off, but decided it was not a good idea because I might be implicated in the kidnapping.

An 18-wheeler stopped for me around mid-afternoon—the only time in my life I was ever picked up by a trucker. I’ll never forget sitting in the cab of a tractor-trailer, high above the highway with a commanding view as we bounced down the road. After stopping at a McDonald’s where the trucker bought me lunch, we were again headed west when we spied a young couple and their three children stranded beside a broken-down automobile. The family climbed into the cab with us. The wife sat in the husband’s lap in the passenger seat as I crawled into the sleeper behind the driver with the three kids. The couple thanked the trucker profusely, and repeatedly told us we were “angels sent from God” to rescue them. We dropped them off in Laurel, Mississippi, and went on our way, but half an hour later the trucker began to chat with a woman on his CB radio. “What you haulin’, Mexican Cowboy?” the woman asked. “A big ol’ load of smelly fish,” the Hispanic trucker replied (which he was indeed carrying). The trucker pulled off at the next exit for a rendezvous with the woman, who promised to meet him at a local motel, sight unseen. “This is as far as you go, boy,” he told me with a grin, adding that he “really liked her voice.”

I jumped down from the towering cab and headed toward Hattiesburg, 20 miles down the highway. It was getting dark by this time, and a fellow in a pickup truck stopped for me. He was immediately interested in my guitar and told me he had just gotten off work and was going to a band rehearsal. He invited me to come play with his group, and for some reason, I foolishly said yes. We arrived at a trailer in the middle of the south Mississippi woods where the drummer lived. The guy had hooks instead of hands, but he drummed like a champ. I felt as though I’d been dropped into an episode of “The Twilight Zone.” We played for a couple of hours, and since they appeared to be decent folks, I felt no reason to fear for my life.

The guitar player who had picked me up invited me to stay at his house with his wife and two young sons for the evening, as it was now after 10 p.m. When we arrived at his home all hell broke loose, with me cast as the villain. He had gone into the bedroom with his wife, and I could hear her shouting, “What the hell are you doing bringing this stranger to our house? He could be a serial killer!” The guy emerged from the room to tell me his wife was terrified of me and that I was welcome to sleep on an air mattress in the back of his truck unless I wanted him to take me back to the highway. I opted for the highway at midnight, three hours from New Orleans. Two hours went by and no one stopped, so I climbed a fence and tried to sleep in a field. Back on the highway, I walked several miles before getting a ride to Slidell, Louisiana.

It was an hour before sunrise when an offshore oil-rig laborer picked me up on his way to work. Talking nonstop in a thick Cajun dialect, the toothless fellow began to preach to me about Jesus and the many sins that the Lord had removed from his life. He had once raised champion pit bulldogs, which had ruled Louisiana dog-fighting rings, and had been a heroin addict for 10 years. Detailing the desperation of his life as a junkie, he told of his daily struggle to score enough dope to feed his addiction. He spoke of how badly his wife and children had suffered, and how he had lost all of his friends. Then one day Jesus appeared to him while the junkie oil-rig laborer was lying in bed going through withdrawals. He never wanted heroin again.

“Praise Jesus!” he began to shout as we rode over Lake Pontchartrain, the sun coming up in the rearview mirror. Suddenly, he grew very quiet and serious as he turned to me and said, “You know, buddy, there’s a lot of bad things in this world that Jesus don’t like, things that Jesus will save you from if you’ll only invite Him into your life.” As I nodded in agreement, he grinned and whispered, “But there’s one thing that Jesus don’t mind.” And with that, he pulled a joint from behind his ear. All I could think about through the cloudy haze and lovely sunrise was that perhaps my mom had been right all along about the Lord and the kindness of strangers. &

Staff writer Ed Reynolds currently drives a 2001 Dodge Stratus.