Category Archives: 20th Century Culture

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.”




(click for larger version)

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.

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

All-American Jewboy

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2004-03-11 Features

All-American Jewboy

Author, humorist, beatnik, and professional hanger-on Kinky Friedman takes his show on the road to promote his new book.

By Ed Reynolds

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Penning a variety of oddball country songs that celebrate his life as the world’s most famous Jewish cowboy (“Ride ‘em Jewboy,” “They Ain’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore,” and “Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed”), Kinky Friedman has been making records with his band, The Texas Jewboys, since the early 1970s. His most fondly remembered tune is “The Ballad of Charles Whitman,” an ode to the Texas architectural student who killed 16 people from a tower at the University of Texas in 1966. Friedman has also written 17 dark comedy thriller novels that feature himself and dozens of famous friends as characters. He loves animals; has a wealth of pals that includes President Bush, former President Clinton, Willie Nelson, Robert Duval, and Bob Dylan; and is currently considering a run for governor of Texas. “I have no skeletons in my closet,” Friedman readily admits. “The bones are all bleaching down at the beach.” He’s already designed his bumper sticker: He Ain’t Kinky. He’s My Governor.

Friedman currently has two new books he’s peddling, The Prisoner of Vandam Street and Curse of the Missing Puppet Head. He will sign copies of his novels at Alabama Booksmith on Thursday, March 18, and then deliver a lecture of sorts at the Reynolds-Kirschbaum Recital Hall at the Alys Stephens Center later that evening. As to whether or not he’ll read excerpts from his novels, tell jokes, give a stump speech, or sing, we have no idea. Neither does Friedman.



Author Kinky Friedman relaxes with a few of his buddies in Texas. (click for larger version)

B&W: Ever been to Alabama before?

Kinky: Yeah, the Jewboys played with B.J. Thomas in 1973 in Dothan. I played with the Rolling Thunder Revue in Mobile . . . I know the most famous man from Alabama—Jim Nabors. He’s a pretty good American, a funny guy. I just saw him last month in Hawaii. He was telling me that he went to this dinner given by an Asian friend of his in Hawaii. And when he showed up, he was the only white guy there. Everybody else was Oriental. So they sat Jim at the table, and the guy to his left looks like a guy from his health club. So Jim turns to the guy and says (with a Gomer Pyle inflection), “What actually do you do?” So the man says, “I’m the president of South Korea [laughs].” And then Jim says, “Well, I knew that, what else do you like to do?” That’s my Jim Nabors story.

B&W: Your publicist said that you were in Vietnam recently.

Kinky: Yes, just got back a week ago. I was visiting my sister, who’s head of the American Red Cross in Hanoi . . . It’s a beautiful, magical place, 80 million people. No Starbucks, no McDonalds, nothing like that . . . They love Americans.

Friedman is currently thinking about running for Governor of Texas. He’s already designed his bumper sticker: He Ain’t Kinky. He’s My Governor.

B&W: Were you in the Vietnam War?

Kinky: No, I was in the Peace Corps in Borneo, where I worked for several years as an agricultural extension worker helping people who have been farming successfully for more than 2,000 years.

B&W: Have you seen The Passion of the Christ yet?

Kinky: No, but you know, it’s doing pretty well. It might make a pretty good book!

B&W: Did it strike you as odd when Bob Dylan became a born-again Christian?

Kinky: Yeah . . . but actually, not with Bob. Bob says that art should not reflect a culture, it should subvert it. And he’ll try anything. So that’s one thing he tried.

B&W: Were you tempted to follow him?

Kinky: No. And it’s funny, because I’m not a very religious Jew at all. I’m not a practicing Jew, or as many people have commented, if I am, I need to practice a little bit more. I’m just a Jew in terms of the trouble-making aspect of the Jewishness, which is something that probably started with Jesus and Moses and descended all the way down to Groucho Marx, Karl Marx, Lenny Bruce.

B&W: I guess you’ve heard about our Ten Commandments judge here in Alabama.

Kinky: Roy Moore? He sounds like my kind of boy. The kind of man we need in my campaign for governor of Texas in 2006. The current governor has a hell of a lot of Gray Davis potential. I’d like to get the politicians out of politics. I’m a writer of fiction who tells the truth . . . George W. and Bill Clinton are fans of mine. I promise not to kiss any babies, I’ll just kiss their mothers. During the Friedman administration I’ll probably be spending most of my time in Vegas.

B&W: If you were elected president, would you free Tommy Chong? [Chong is currently serving a nine-month sentence for his affiliation with a company selling bongs featuring his autograph on the Internet.]

Kinky: President? That’s too hard a job. Too much work. I just want to be Texas governor . . . But I would certainly free him if I was. I’ll put in a good word with George next time I see him, because that’s ridiculous. Really ridiculous . . . I urinated next to Donald Rumsfeld a few months ago in Washington. I told him that he was not the most famous person I’ve ever urinated next to. That was Groucho Marx. But he was very nice.

B&W: Groucho or Rumsfeld?

Kinky: Rumsfeld. Groucho was not very nice. It was toward the end of his life.

B&W: How was sleeping at the White House?

Kinky: It was great. Laura is terrific. She was really my friend before I ever met George. I’ll tell you, it’s a looser ship than was run by Hillary Clinton, as far as smoking goes and things like that. You wouldn’t think so, but the Bushes are much looser about it. With the Clintons, you couldn’t smoke a cigarette or cigar anywhere.

B&W: Did you sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom?

Kinky: No, I visited the Lincoln Bedroom. I bounced on the bed a little bit. I was in a family compound on the third floor. When I visited the White House when the Clintons were there, Bill tried to get me a movie deal. That was very sweet of him. He brought in whatever the hell this woman’s name is who’s head of Paramount. He sat me next to her and she tells me during the meal, “The President says your books are great and that they’d make great movies. But who do you see playing Kinky?” I told her I see Lionel Ritchie. And negotiations broke down from there. But Bill tried.

B&W: Tell me about your animal rescue efforts on your ranch.

Kinky: It’s our fifth year and there are more than 500 animals that we’ve adopted out by this time. All kinds of abused and stray animals. We’re a “never kill” sanctuary. It’s really been great. If I’m elected governor, I’ll make this a “no kill” state . . . for animals, not criminals.

B&W: Does that mean you’ll put an end to hunting?

Kinky: No . . . Well, I might, but I’m not going to campaign that way. And of course you know my views on abortion: I’m not pro-choice and I’m not pro-life, I’m pro-football!

B&W: Did you ever cross paths with Gram Parsons?

Kinky: No, I didn’t, but I’m a great admirer of his. And I’ve always said that I’d rather be a dead Gram Parsons than a live Tim McGraw . . .

B&W: You’re a dead ringer for Warren Oates in the photo Don Imus took for the back of The Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover.

Kinky: I take that as a great compliment. Imus and I met at the bottom of both of our lives. [Imus makes no secret that he had a serious cocaine habit at one point in his life.] I met him when we did a show together at the Bottom Line [famous New York City nightclub]. He’s a sick f**k.

B&W: What prompted you to switch from singing to writing?

Kinky: Desperation. I was in New York doing a lot of Peruvian marching powder, and pretty broke and playing the Lone Star Café once a week. I took a twirl on the writing—Greenwich Killing Time [Friedman's first novel]. I think about 25 publishers passed on the manuscript, and by that time, of course, we knew we had a pretty hot property [laughs]. And sure enough. So now this is about the 17th book that I’ve turned out . . . uhh, I mean ‘carefully crafted.’ I write on a typewriter. I’m getting a little tired of the characters, so I’m killing them off in the new book. Number 18 will be the end of the Kinkster. It’s called Ten Little New Yorkers. Unless we hear the great acclaim from the literary world that we must bring the Kinkster back, we’ll let him rest in peace.

B&W: You often cast your famous friends as characters in your novels. Anyone you haven’t cast that you’d like to?

Kinky: Bill Clinton, he wants to be a cameo character. He’s read all the books. I just don’t know how to work him in. Maybe I can work him into this last one. Now George . . . I’ve been told by a number of the press that I’m the President’s favorite author, but, of course, I always like to point out that he’s not that voracious a reader [laughs]. But Bill Clinton was.

B&W: Do you think that George sometimes gets a bad rap from your liberal friends?

Kinky: Yes, absolutely. I think he’s a smart guy. And I think that as far as foreign policy goes, I’m pretty much in agreement with him. On domestic policy, I’m pretty much not in agreement with him. I’m not a John Ashcroft fan.

B&W: Do you approve of gay marriage?

Kinky: Yeah, sure, why not? Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other. What the hell. Probably most of the people who vote for me are gonna be homosexuals anyway.

B&W: Are you still a vegetarian?

Kinky: No, I jettisoned that some time ago. I got rid of that. Probably not a good campaign quality to have here in Texas . . . I’m good for three minutes of superficial charm. So if I work a house quickly, people love me.

B&W: Did you ever consider yourself a hippie?

Kinky: No I didn’t, I always considered myself a beatnik.

B&W: Do you miss the ’60s?

Kinky: I missed them when they were happening. I was in the Peace Corps, and I wasn’t around. Probably saved my life. Maybe not. You gotta find what you like and let it kill you.

B&W: Do you remember where you were when Charles Whitman started shooting people from the tower at the University of Texas?

Kinky: Sure I do. I was at the camp for boys and girls that my parents ran here at our ranch. Yeah, that was quite an amazing thing. And that’s probably one of my better songs. That may be one of my better efforts [laughs extensively].

B&W: That was in 1966, and I was 11 years old and . . .

Kinky: You were jumping rope in a schoolyard, and I was selling dope in a schoolyard.

B&W: Did you ever play the Grand Ole Opry?

Kinky: Yeah, of course. Played it in ’73. Played it a couple of times, actually. We had Dobie Gray on with us. Billy Swan and the Jewboys were with me. After we performed, Reverend Jimmy Snow, Hank Snow’s son, introduced me as the first full-blooded Jew to ever appear on the Grand Ole Opry. The crowd went wild. &

Kinky Friedman will sign copies of his latest novels at Alabama Booksmith at 4 p.m. on Thursday, March 18. Call 870-4242 for details. He will give a “lecture” at the Reynolds-Kirschbaum Recital Hall at the Alys Stephens Center at 7 p.m. Admission is $34. For more information, call 975-2787 .

Wright Brothers Replica Coming to Town

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Wright Brothers Replica Coming to Town

By Ed Reynolds

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	John Reynolds spent four years building this replica of the Wright Brothers first airplane, which will be in Birmingham on November 15.

A replica of the first engine-powered airplane that Wilbur and Orville Wright successfully flew will be on display at the Southern Museum of Flight from November 15 to 30. Built by John Reynolds and his wife, Carol, the Wright Flyer celebrates the 100th anniversary of the maiden voyage of an aircraft in sustained, controlled flight. Reynolds describes the project as an all-consuming, “almost religious” task that took four years to complete, much longer than he expected. “I thought I could knock it out in about six months. If I knew then what I do now, I probably could have,” he laughs. The biggest obstacle was visualizing the finished airplane in his mind, explains Reynolds, who completed the project with his wife in 1994. “When you’re working off a set of plans, it’s hard to translate that into a three-dimensional image. I found you just had to make it according to the drawings and it would come to itself, so to speak.” Reynolds relied on drawings supplied by the Smithsonian, where the original is on display. The Wright Brothers left no detailed sketches behind, so the Smithsonian had plans drawn when the plane was restored in 1985.

Reynolds was determined to approach problems of construction much as the Wright Brothers did. “I built the aircraft as authentically as I could, if we assume the Smithsonian is the standard. Some of the [original] fabric and pieces of wood just weren’t practical. The Wright Brothers used Pride of the West Muslin [for the wings] and I just used pima cotton, which approximated the same thread count and density.” He’s amazed that many people don’t realize the lasting impact the Wrights had on the future of airflight. “They were scientists and engineers even though they’d never had any formal training in those areas, and the airplane alone has probably seven or eight inventions that are original ideas developed by them. The propeller, they originally invented that. There was no data on aviation propellers. They started their invention using boat props . . . that just goes to show you how amazing these guys were. They weren’t a couple of kids who got lucky. A lot of people think they just kinda cobbled this thing together and just went out there and flew. But that’s not the case at all.”

John and Carol Reynolds will be at the Southern Museum of Flight on November 15 to introduce the Wright Flyer to Birmingham in honor of the First Flight Centennial at Kitty Hawk on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. And yes, Reynolds’ aircraft was built to fly, though it’s powered by a different engine than the Wrights employed. Reynolds has an 18 horsepower Briggs and Stratton tractor engine because he wanted to fly his plane repeatedly. According to Reynolds, the Wright Brothers’ engine can be made “fairly reliable, but it just doesn’t have the reliability to where I felt comfortable with climbing in the plane.” In the decade since he completed the project, he has yet to try it out. “I built it to fly and I plan to, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to put it in the air,” he says. “I think it’ll be best to wait until after the Centennial celebration (December 12 through 17) that way if I break it, I won’t let anybody down who wants to see it.” Reynolds claims he will fly it himself, eventually. “I don’t think I can find anybody else crazy enough to do it.”

Call 833-8226 for details.

—Ed Reynolds

Mr. Sandman

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By Ed Reynolds

Local Tibetan Buddhist monk Ven. Tenzin Deshek will create a Chenrezig sand mandala from December 5 through 14 at the Energy Pointe Institute in conjunction with “10 Days of Tibet: A Celebration of Tibetan Buddhist Culture.” The mandala, which means “circle” in Sanskrit, is used as a meditation aid. Tibetan monks build sand mandalas symbolizing the residence of Enlightened Beings to help people as they meditate on the vast and profound enlightened state. Chenrezig refers to the Buddha of Compassion (a deity). The Dalai Lama, who is currently in his 14th incarnation (the first Dalai Lama was born in 1391) is the manifestation of Chenrezig. The primary deity of each mandala is located at the center of the design, which is the location of the throne within each palace.

“Meditation is trying to reduce our negative part, our negative actions . . . We are trying to gain a positive part,” Ven. Tenzin Deshek explained one recent afternoon at the Energy Pointe Institute, where a group meets each Tuesday evening to meditate. Deshek, who readily expresses appreciation that he is living in a country that allows him to practice his religion, fled Tibet for India in 1969, eventually arriving in the United States in July 2000. He has been in Birmingham since August 2002. In the past year, the meditation group has grown from half a dozen people to more than 25 weekly participants. The Tibetan monk, who has participated in the creation of approximately 25 mandalas over the past two decades, admits that Buddhism is perhaps not for everyone. “Different people have different tastes, you know?” said Deshek, whose Western influence is evident in the number of times he employs the phrase “you know” as he explains the elements of Buddhism.

This is his first time to create a mandala alone, and he stresses the importance of meditation in keeping his hands steady while delicately pouring the colored sand into impossibly precise patterns and shapes through the chakpur, a metal funnel. When asked if there is any significance to creating a sand mandala this time of year, Deshek responds, “It’s the best weather.” He adds that December 10 is the anniversary of the Dalai Lama receiving the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize.

The opening ceremony is Saturday, December 6, at 10 a.m. The mandala’s progress can be observed from 1 to 7 p.m., Monday through Friday; Saturday, 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., and Sunday, 1 to 6 p.m. Admission is free. For more information, call 262-9186. &

To Hell with the Grand Ole Opry

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To Hell with the Grand Ole Opry

A visit to a Montgomery memorial for Hank Williams, Sr., yields an encounter with the guitarist who backed Williams in the 1940s.

By Ed Reynolds

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“Well, Hank, we hope you’re gonna be around with us for a long, long time,” quipped singer Red Foley as he introduced Hank Williams at the Grand Ole Opry in 1949. “Well, it looks like I’ll be doing just that, Red,” replied the singer with weary confidence. Three years later the Opry grew tired of Williams’ unpredictable no-shows and drunken performances, so they fired him. Within a year his lifeless, 29-year-old, morphine-addicted body was discovered in the backseat of his baby blue Cadillac by Charles Carr, who was driving Williams to a New Year’s Day show in Canton, Ohio.

Fifty years after Williams’ death, Carr stands beside the singer’s big, gaudy tombstone in a Montgomery, Alabama, cemetery on a cold, windy New Year’s Day. The former chauffeur autographs miniature replicas of the Cadillac, lending an eerie touch of the commercial as a hundred fans gather to commemorate the anniversary of Williams’ passing. Carr recalls that fateful trip, his first driving Williams out of state to a show. “I was home for Christmas holidays. My dad and Hank’s dad were friends-that’s how I got the job. I can’t tell you much about Hank’s life, but I’m an expert on his death ’cause I was the only person there.” He dismisses rumors that Williams died of a drug overdose: “Falstaff and a half-pint of liquor were the only things involved.” Next to Williams’ grave stands the equally ostentatious tomb of first wife Audrey. Red roses adorn Hank’s grave, yellow grace Audrey’s. Between the two lies a small marble slab erected by Williams, Jr., after recent vandalism of the family plot. It reads: Please do not desecrate this sacred site.

A couple of miles from the cemetery the gathering reconvenes at the Hank Williams Museum, a morbid shrine that features Williams’ legendary Cadillac and the clothes he was wearing when he died. The automobile is on loan from Hank Williams, Jr., who drove it around Nashville during his high school years (Dolly Parton reportedly offered Williams, Jr., $100,000 a year to exhibit the automobile in Dollywood, but he lets the museum display it at no charge.) Country Music Television’s new documentary about Williams, portraying him as a drunkard and a junkie, is screened at the museum. Those close to Williams are not pleased with the film. Jimmy Porter, Hank’s original pedal-steel guitarist, registers his disgust. “Why do they have to paint the dark side? Is that where the money is? I never saw Hank ever take a drink.”

Two nights later, one-time Opry star Stonewall Jackson (a direct descendent of the Confederate general) plays the Guest House Hotel in Montgomery to conclude three days of Williams tributes. Only 30 or so fans bother to attend. Jackson spends more time talking than singing as he recalls starting at the Grand Ole Opry in 1955 “when I was too broke to pay attention.” The beefy singer has seen his Opry appearances dwindle to very few, and he doesn’t hesitate to voice displeasure. “If I owned the Opry, I’d start firing people,” he mumbles. He reflects on Williams’ influence in his life. “If it hadn’t been for him, I’d still be in south Georgia somewhere, pickin’ cotton. Hank was more of a poet to me than anything else.” Backing up Jackson is Williams’ main pedal-steel guitarist, Don Helms (1943 to 1953). At one point, Jackson turns to Helms and says, “I wish we had some of those pills with a smiley face on it. I think George Morgan [the Opry star who had a hit with 'Candy Kisses' and father of current Opry member Lorrie Morgan] always had some of those.”

Don Helms’ regular gig for the past decade has been playing pedal-steel guitar for Williams’ long-lost daughter Jett, who had to fight Hank Williams, Jr., for her share of the Williams’ fortune after discovering who her father was in the early 1990s. Helms was asked to play the Opry with Jett on the same Friday night he usually works with Stonewall Jackson. He skipped the Opry to be part of Williams’ 50th anniversary tribute in Montgomery. The 75-year-old Helms sits down on a plush couch in the Guest House lobby late that evening after his set with Jackson to reflect on his decade working with the greatest country music performer of all time.

B&W: So are you going to be in trouble for not playing with Jett tonight at the Grand Ole Opry?

Don Helms: I didn’t know she was going to play until the past week. When I worked with Jett last, which was a couple of weeks ago, we said good-byes and we were off till February. So I told Cecil (Jackson, head of the Hank Williams Museum) I’d come down here. I said, “I’ve celebrated the observance of Hank Williams’ funeral for 49 years in some other city. I’ve always been somewhere else. And this is the 50th anniversary, and I want to come to Montgomery.” I said I’d pay my own expenses and I’d come down there and if you’ve got anything you would like for me to do or be a part of, you have it lined up when I get there.

B&W: Jett does a lot of her dad’s music, doesn’t she?

Helms: Yeah, but she won’t sing “Cold Cold Heart” ’cause that was Hank’s favorite. She, being a woman, I have to play every one of Hank’s songs in a different key than he did-(Suddenly Stonewall Jackson walks by on his way to his hotel room.) Stonewall, I enjoyed it, brother. It was good to see you again. (Helms turns to me and grins.) I always used to call him “Gallstone.”

B&W: I wanted to ask you about a song Hank did called “No, No Joe.”

Helms: He didn’t record that in Nashville, and I didn’t record it with him. But what the song was about was Joseph Stalin, the Russian leader. I don’t even remember what the problem was, but it was some kind of political thing he was trying to do. He was trying to shaft the United States and this song was written about that. I’ve never played it far as I know, ’cause it’s not something he featured on stage. And, too, when the political problem was over, it was out of touch anyway. All those situations. Once the problem’s solved, you ain’t got no need to play it (laughs).”

B&W: Was Hank political at all?

Helms: No, I mean, like we all gripe about elections, and if your man don’t win, you bitch . . . I mean gripe (laughing). . . . An entertainer is a fool to declare in public his preference in religion or his politics. Because the first thing you do, whether you mean to or not, is divide your audience right down the middle, at best.

B&W: Was the Opry a fun place to play in the old days?

Helms: Well, there was always some kind of bull goin’ on, some guy tellin’ jokes, playin’ tricks. It was just a fun place to be. . . . It was a happy place to be. It’s not quite like that anymore. It’s a little more subdued. The camaraderie’s shot to hell. I don’t think anybody has any fun at the Grand Ole Opry anymore. Maybe the audience does. And I don’t work there anymore, so I can say what I please.

B&W: When I watch old Opry clips, I’m always drawn to the interaction between Hank and June Carter. Anything special about their duets that you recall?

Helms: June Carter was that way with everybody. She was just a vibrant, silly little girl that everybody loved. She wasn’t necessarily that way in person, but on the stage she would come across as the lovable little girl with pigtails that could kick her shoes off and make you laugh. There was a certain magnetism . . . Hank was much more attracted to Anita Carter than he was June. So was I. . . . We worked a lot of tours with the Carter Family when they first came to the Opry.

B&W: What did Hank think about people like Tony Bennett making pop versions of his songs?

Helms: He thought that was the greatest thing in the world, for anybody to do his songs. He aspired to be a writer, not a singer. Even up to his death, he would rather listen to somebody else’s record of his song than he would his own record. He aspired to be a writer . . . and I think he made it. &

Wild Blue Yonder

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Wild Blue Yonder

By Ed Reynolds

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	Bob Gilliland, seen here standing next to the Blackbird, will speak about his experiences as a test pilot on November 14 at the Harbert Center.

Bob Gilliland has spent his life as a daredevil, logging more hours at two and three times the speed of sound than any test pilot in history. But he’s never experienced fear. “I never had any fear of flying. I liked it. The faster, the better,” Gilliland quips. Vertigo, on the other hand, is a constant companion. “Vertigo feels like you think you’re in such-and-such a position or bank angle and you really aren’t. It’s like when you out of bed in the morning and you might feel dizzy as you first get to your feet. It would be similar to that.”

Gilliland’s first solo flight was in a T-6, an advanced training plane. “That was back in 1949. The Air Force had downsized after World War II, and they didn’t care if they washed everybody out. They weren’t looking for pilots,” he laughs. In 1964, the one-time Korean fighter pilot became the first to fly the SR-71 Blackbird, the world’s fastest and highest-flying jet, capable of speeds over 2,000 m.p.h. reaching an altitude of 15 miles. He also tested the F-104 Starfighter that Sam Sheppard (portraying his trout-fishing buddy Chuck Yeager) bailed out of in the movie The Right Stuff (Yeager broke Mach 1, the speed of sound, in 1947). The Starfighter was nicknamed the “Widowmaker,” a moniker that manufacturer Lockheed “never did cotton to all that much,” laughs Gilliland. “They preferred ‘Missile with a Man in It.’” The “Widowmaker” nickname came from the F-104 having an unreliable engine and downward ejection rather than upward ejection from the cockpit. Gilliland has never had to eject out of a jet, though he’s experienced five dead sticks. “A dead stick is when you lose your engine power. And you either jump out or you glide the jet around and you land it. In the F-104, I had five of those.”

There’s little difference between flying Mach 1 and Mach 2 as far as what the pilot experiences physically. According to Gilliland, the most difficult aspect of flying at phenomenal speeds is staying alive. “We had an emergency every flight during the development of the Blackbird. One of the two engines would often blow and the other one would operate normally, and suddenly you’re flying sideways. It bangs around and bangs your head around; in the beginning I was concerned it would perhaps cause what we call ‘catastrophic structural failure.’ That means the tail comes off or something’s too weak and it comes unglued. But luckily, I had the greatest aeronautical designer of all time. If it wasn’t for that, I think I’d be long gone,” he laughs.

His last experimental flight was in 1985 at age 59, and Gilliland snickers when asked if he misses it. “Well, it’s certainly exciting and challenging and fun if you like that sort of thing, and it helps if you don’t mind getting killed.” Regarding his flippant attitude about the dangers of flying, Gilliland explains: “No, it is funny. If you’ve been around fighter pilots, they’ll joke about anything. Nothing’s sacred . . . including their own death. If anybody is sensitive about anything you better not let ‘em know it, or they’ll lean on it. That’s how we weed ‘em out.”

Bob Gilliland will speak at the Harbert Center on Thursday, November 14. Admission is $50 and includes a reception, dinner, and presentation. Call 833-8226 for details. An A-12 Blackbird, a Mach 3 spy craft used by the CIA in the 1960s, is currently on display at the Southern Museum of Flight.

Home of the Brave

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Home of the Brave

By Ed Reynolds

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Until 1947, the only war veterans officially recognized for their service were World War I vets on Armistice Day. Birmingham resident Raymond Weeks decided that a day was needed to honor all war veterans, so he traveled to Washington, D.C., to present his plan to Army Chief of Staff General Dwight D. Eisenhower. Weeks then organized the first Veterans Day celebration which was held in Birmingham on November 11, 1947. After being elected to the presidency, Eisenhower was so impressed with the Birmingham effort that he signed a bill in 1954 officially recognizing Veterans Day.

This year’s parade will be held on Monday, November 11, at 1:30 p.m. The procession begins at 8th Avenue North and 19th Street, and concludes at 6th Avenue North. For a complete parade route, call 325-1432, or visit www.nationalveteransdays.org.

Elvis Summer Heats Up

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Elvis Summer Heats Up

By Ed Reynolds

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As the 25th anniversary of Elvis Presley’s August 16 death approaches, the late singer currently has a number one hit in Europe with “A Little Less Conversation.” The chart-topper fulfills Colonel Tom Parker’s prophecy that Presley would be worth more to the manager dead than alive. His 1977 passing also opened the door for a new form of entertainment — the Elvis impersonator.

No one is more shocked by his chosen profession than impersonator David Lee. “It’s beyond my belief,” Lee observes about life portraying the greatest American icon of all time. “I don’t think anybody sets out to make a career being an Elvis impersonator.” The singer is revered as one of the top Elvis performers in North America, currently holding the champion’s title after having won the Canadian Elvis Fest 2001. He also placed third in the number one Elvis contest in the world, Images of the King 2001, which is held each August in Memphis in observance of Presley’s 1977 death.

Lee didn’t start out as an Elvis fan. “My best friend had Elvis playing all the time, and I thought, ‘Man, this guy’s a little strange.’” But he soon became a convert, and began impersonating Presley in 1995 after being told he sounded a lot like him. “Deep down, I’m just a big Elvis fan, but I took it to another level.” He presently owns nine Elvis jumpsuits, including the American Eagle costume (from Presley’s legendary 1973 “Aloha from Hawaii” concert), the Peacock outfit, and the white fringe suit. Lee focuses on the more obscure Presley tunes. “You go to the contests and you hear ‘Suspicious Minds’ and ‘Jailhouse Rock’ 3,000 times. I try to look for songs that people don’t do.

“I try to give the people an accurate account of what it might be like to see Elvis,” Lee says. “Of course, there was only one Elvis . . . So if you can give ‘em just a touch of it, you’ve done your job.”

David Lee will perform at the BJCC Theatre August 9 with the Promised Land band. Showtime is 8 p.m. He will also be at the Birmingham International Raceway August 10 with the Muddy King Orchestra. For tickets or information, call 205-266-3030 or visit www.elvis4u.com.

The Big Squeeze

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The Big Squeeze

By Ed Reynolds

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	Joe Zasa entertains at a family Christmas party in 1941.

Accordionist Joe Zasa winks at a pair of women diners as the romantic, ominous strains of The Godfather theme recast Chez Lulu from funky Paris bistro to a 1960s Sicilian cafe. Zasa, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a grandfatherly Robert De Niro, uses his big hands to press accordion buttons and scurry across the white keys as he roams from table to table to take requests and chat with patrons. One of the women asks for “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” while the other wants to hear “Mack the Knife,” inspiring Zasa to acknowledge, “Yeah, that’s good stuff, ya know?” A flurry of movie themes soon follows as “Climb Every Mountain,” “I Could Have Danced All Night,” and “As Time Goes By” transport the dinner crowd to another place and time.

“Some of this modern music is crap, ya know that?” observes the 82-year-old musician as he sips Sangria and tosses another cigarette butt into the street. Between sets at Chez Lulu’s Sunday night “Monster Accordion Pull,” Zasa sits at a sidewalk table in the sweltering summer heat, complaining that his accordion weighs 40 pounds and recalling how much he despised the instrument when his father forced him to learn to play it at age 15. But it didn’t take long for Zasa to change his mind. Soon he was playing side gigs — something he would continue throughout his career as an electrical engineer. He’s currently the president of the Alabama Accordionists Association, a group of approximately 80 accordion enthusiasts that meets quarterly to share their fondness for the instrument. Association members arrange themselves into ensembles ranging from 3 to 30 accordions, performing everything from Beethoven to the “Beer Barrel Polka.” And while Zasa admits that the accordion is seldom considered among the more cultured of instruments, he is quick to defend his serious study of it. “When people see me play with no sheet music, they say, ‘Oh, you play by ear.’ But I can read music, so I’ve got a trained ear, and I’ve got it all memorized. I know more than 2,000 songs.”

The accordion swells of “It Had to Be You” add a dash of elegance to Chez Lulu’s quaint ambience before Zasa rips into the Mickey Mouse theme while a couple of children giggle uncontrollably.

The Monster Accordion Pull takes place at Chez Lulu on Sundays, from 7:30 to 9:30 p.m. For more information, call 870-7011.