

# Fate, Flukes & Fame

## in Country & Bluegrass

## Music Legends

The quirks of fate and chance happenings that switched on the

spotlight for many of our Country and Bluegrass music legends

by Dennis Goodwin

Cover illustrations by the author

Revised 2020

Copyright 2013 by Dennis Goodwin

All rights reserved. ezywriter47@hotmail.com

Other books by the author:

Ten-minute Tales

Out of the West

Brass Bands and Snake Oil Stands

Lives & Times

More Ten-minute Tales

The Activity Director's Bag of Tricks

Country Music section dedication:

To the "Grand Ole Legends"

of the Grand Ole Opry

To my niece, Bethany...a bona fide

country girl to the tips of her boots

#  Table Of Contents

Country Music Section

The "Voice From The Vent" (Merle Haggard)

An Odd "Stroke" Of Luck (Roy Acuff)

A Very Special Coat (Dolly Parton)

Just A "Little Ole Pop Song" (Patsy Cline)

With The Help Of "Tee-Tot" (Hank Williams)

A Golden Gamble (Loretta Lynn)

Finding The "Bluegrass Recipe" (Bill Monroe)

Lucky Limitations (Johnny Cash)

A Nearly "Unsung" Classic (George Jones)

A Creative Convalescence (Hank Williams Jr.)

Mid-Inning Melodies (Charlie Pride)

The Forming Of A Pearl (Minnie Pearl)

Pork Chops, Produce & Porter (Porter Wagoner)

A "Fortunate Failure" (Tammy Wynette)

"Conventional" Beginnings (The Skillet Lickers)

"Texas" Bob's Tales (Marty Robbins)

A "Bargain Basement" Song Sale (Willie Nelson)

"The Buck Starts Here" (Buck Owens)

Old Cold "Gold" (Little Jimmy Dickens)

Moonshine & Magic (Bob Wills)

Buckets Full Of Blues (Jimmie Rodgers)

Becoming "Everybody's Grandpa" (Grandpa Jones)

Growing The Wildwood Flower (The Carter Family)

The Mystery Picker (Chet Atkins)

A "Call" To Greatness (Ernest Tubb)

An Old Door To A New Door (Uncle Dave Macon)

Words Of Wisdom (Fiddlin' John Carson)

A High-Speed Halt (Randy Travis)

"Mapping" Out A Pathway (Conway Twitty)

"Oh Say Can She Sing!" (Reba Mcentire)

The Reluctant "Queen" (Kitty Wells)

From Spears To Cheers (Garth Brooks)

A Derailed Demo Dream (Lefty Frizzell)

"Just Like Sheb" (Roger Miller)

Paying Dues With Shoes (Webb Pierce)

The Shattering Of The Wall (Alabama)

A Man For Two Seasons (Eddie Arnold)

Bedrest And Blue-Light Specials (The Judds)

Bluegrass section **follows Country Music section**

#  The "Voice From The Vent"

The advice of the "Red Light Bandit" that

helped light up Merle Haggard's future

If Merle Haggard's life had been a horse race, the odds of his even crossing the finish line would have probably been about five million-to-one. Not only had he given up his name for a number - San Quentin's #A-45200 - but now he had landed in solitary confinement. At least he wasn't totally alone. He could talk through the ventilation system to another secluded convict. His neighbor during this period happened to be Caryl Chessman, nationally known as the infamous "Red Light Bandit."

As Merle traded stories with Chessman, his mind flashed back through the years. His early childhood was filled with poverty, but not yet with the anger and confusion that would fuel his teenage rebellion. His parents had migrated to Bakersfield, California after losing their Oklahoma farm to a fire. Their new "home" consisted of a modified railroad boxcar.

The rage and turmoil that would infect Merle's teenage years started at the age of nine when his father died from a brain tumor. Merle's resentment and anger about the loss of his father began to steer him toward the wrong crowd. His mother had tried her best to keep him on the right track, but as his classic fictionalized song "Mamma Tried" would one day explain, she simply couldn't fight the destructive forces that swirled inside the bitter young boy's mind.

Then, frame-by-frame, the pictures of his troubled youth passed across his mental movie screen. First the constant running away from home, then the series of reform schools, and finally the string of petty crimes that eventually grew into car thefts and burglaries.

Then came the most ludicrous scene of all - the drunken burglary in 1957 that had landed him in San Quentin. He vividly recalled the ridiculous evening when he and a couple of equally drunk partners-in-crime, robbed a restaurant. They had carefully removed the back door's hinges and were sneaking in, when the restaurant's owner...and a policeman, suddenly greeted them. Merle could still recall the sinking feeling when he realized it was earlier than they had thought, and the restaurant was still open!

Chessman could sense the hopelessness of Merle's broken spirit. He urged him to try to salvage his life while he still might have time. As Merle soaked in the senseless pictures of his broken life and the sensible advice of the Red Light Bandit, he could see a tiny glow at the end of his long dark tunnel.

When he left solitary confinement, he continued to head toward that glow, working and studying in prison. Then, just as the Red Light Bandit had, another man stepped in to help focus that dim glow - this time, a "man in black." Johnny Cash visited San Quentin to perform for the inmates. His strong character and powerful music rang in Merle's ears long after he left. Watching Johnny reminded him of his earlier love for country music.

Years later, when Merle would meet Johnny, he told him that he had been there when he played at San Quentin. Johnny was puzzled since he couldn't remember seeing Merle playing guitar or singing back up for him. "No Johnny," Merle explained, realizing he didn't understand, "I was there!"

During his prison term, he focused more and more on the vision of becoming a country music performer. He fell back on an early love for the music of Bob Wills, Lefty Frizzell and Jimmy Rodgers, and he began to emulate their styles. As his musical skills improved, he entertained his fellow inmates.

His good conduct earned him a parole after two years and nine months. Released in 1960, he moved back to Bakersfield and worked with his electrician brother. He soon began to perform in the local bars and clubs. Little by little, he began to build a reputation as a talented guitar picker.

In 1963, Merle got the first turn of good luck he had seen in quite a few years. A well-known Bakersfield country musician named Wynn Stewart hired him to play bass in his backup band. Stewart had written a song titled "Sing a Sad Song" and had intended to record it himself. When Merle heard it, he begged Stewart to let him record it instead. Seeing the gleam of desperate hope in Merle's eyes, Stewart decided to let him give it a try.

He recorded it on the small "Tally" label, owned by Arkansas musician, Charles "Fuzzy" Owen. That record would be the first hint that the dim glow at the end of Merle Haggard's dark tunnel might one day illuminate his shadowed life. The song climbed to Number 19 nationwide and introduced America's country music fans to a new legend-to-be..."The Hagg."

By 1965, Merle had his first Top-ten hit, also on the Tally label. Liz Anderson - Lynn Anderson's mother - had written the song "My Friends Are Gonna Be Strangers." Merle recorded it in late 1964, and by early next year, it had jumped into Billboard's Top Ten. The success of the record led him to name his backup band The Strangers, and led Capitol Records to put him under contract.

The next year he not only crashed into the Top Ten again, but this time with two of his own songs: "Swinging Doors" and "The Bottle Let Me Down." Later, he would draw on his dark past for a string of hard-driving ballads including "Sing Me Back Home," "Branded Man" and "Mamma Tried."

Ironically, even though he is known for writing from the heart, one of his most popular songs was derived from a comment meant more as a humorous remark than as a social statement. As Merle and The Strangers toured through Oklahoma, drummer Eddie Burris noticed a city limits sign. With tongue in cheek, he declared, "I bet the citizens of Muskogee don't smoke marijuana." Merle's resulting song, "Okie from Muskogee" was selected CMA Single of the Year in 1969. The next year he nearly swept the field, winning Best Song, Best Album, Top Male Vocalist and Entertainer of the Year. Through the following years, his light never stopped shining. His music would be taken on the Apollo 16 Moon mission, and in 1994 he would be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. Apparently, if you listen closely enough, good advice can be found almost anywhere...even from a "voice from the vent" in San Quentin.

#  An Odd "Stroke" Of Luck

The nearly fatal case of sunstroke that

traded Roy Acuff a fiddle for a baseball bat

The wiry little 130-pounder had a good chance at a professional baseball career. Not only was young Roy Acuff a good pitcher, but he was what every coach looks for - an excellent all-around athlete. Despite his size, he had racked up thirteen letters in high school sports. In fact, he was so quick and agile that his friends called him "Rabbit."

He had built up a respectable record at semi-professional baseball and was now being seriously considered by the New York Yankees. As he pitched in the semi-pro game in Knoxville's Caswell Park, he didn't want to stop. It may not have been the World Series, but like all the other games, it would carry him one step closer to his "field of dreams" - the major leagues. No, he definitely didn't want to stop pitching.

Something, however, was wrong...very wrong. His pitches weren't working at all. Frustrated, he reached down to pick up some dust to rub on the ball. As he did, he couldn't believe his eyes. While he stared at the dust, it suddenly turned to mud. His heart raced as he watched a steady stream of perspiration pouring onto the dust from the palm of his hand. After the inning, he told the manager he thought he should be taken out. The manager knew Roy was a tough character and felt certain he could deal with whatever was wrong and get his pitches back in shape. Tough or not, a few innings later, Roy came to him again. This time he said he simply couldn't pitch anymore and wanted to take the outfield.

As he stood in the outfield, Roy once again had an ominous feeling that something was seriously wrong. In a few moments, everyone in the stadium would share that feeling. After Roy came in from the field, he collapsed in the dugout. As he did, his arms and legs cramped toward his body so severely that several teammates had to join together to pull them straight again.

This was to be only the first of several attacks caused by an incredibly severe case of sunstroke. He had been burned very badly during a fishing trip to Florida prior to the game. Roy knew the sunburn was serious, since it had actually burned through several layers of skin. He had no idea though, how severe it would become. He was rushed to the hospital.

The next day he was released and sent home to recuperate. After a week of bed-rest, Roy was ready to get "up and at it"...at least he thought he was ready. The minute he started to move around a little, he collapsed again. Although Roy still wasn't aware of the severity of his condition, his doctor was.

"Roy," he informed him, "if this happens again, you're apt to pass away on us."

This matter-of-fact statement definitely caught Roy's attention. He stayed in bed for the next three months. Even after the extended period of total bed-rest, he continued to collapse when he attempted to walk around. It would be a year and a half before he would even be able to sit outside the house in the shade.

During this boring convalescence, Roy needed something to take his mind off his shattered baseball dream. Before long he began to look around the room for something to do. His eyes soon fell on a familiar wooden object in the corner. That object, his father's fiddle, was destined to hurl Roy's dreams farther than his pitching arm could have ever sent them.

"I guess the Good Man up above said, 'Roy, you're not gonna play baseball - you're gonna do something else,'" Roy reflected years later. As his eyes took in the soft gleam of the polished fiddle, he wasn't yet aware of it, but he had just discovered that "something else." He had always enjoyed the music that had filled his childhood home. The soothing sounds of his father's old-time fiddle songs and his mother's singing and guitar and piano music had left him with warm childhood memories. Now, it would be his turn to add music to the home. His father was delighted with the rekindling of Roy's musical interest. Together they listened to Victrola records of Gid Tanner and the Skillet Lickers, and Fiddlin' John Carson. As Roy attempted to play along with them, his father patiently taught him how to fiddle.

Not only was Roy's musical ability taking root during his rehabilitation, but he also began to learn another tool of his later trade. Once he began to feel a little better, he yearned to throw the baseball again. The doctor had told him that would never be possible so Roy substituted the ball with something that also required a type of "throwing" skill - the yo-yo. Many years later, the yo-yo would become an integral part of his act.

In fact, years down the road, he would try to teach then-President Richard Nixon the art of the yo-yo during the opening ceremonies of the newest Grand Ole Opry building. "I'll stay here and learn the yo-yo," the Watergate-burdened president would quip, "and you go to Washington and be President."

Roy developed still another important ability during his recovery period. His sister Sue was taking operatic voice lessons. Being a typical brother he felt he simply had to tease her, so he would mimic the odd-sounding voice exercises she practiced. As he did, he began to realize that the exercises could actually help him sing with greater strength. This ability to sing deeply from the diaphragm would later set him apart from many of the other country singers of the time.

Little-by-little, the pieces of his unique future were falling into place. Although his tragic sunstroke closed the door on a promising baseball career, like so many other quirks of fate, it also opened another door. As Roy walked through that door, he would eventually become the first living artist to be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. "The Great Speckled Bird," the "Wabash Cannonball," "Fireball Mail," "Night Train to Memphis" and his other classic hits would his engrave his name deeply into the roster of country music legends. As he looked back on the freak incident that opened this unique door, he eventually remembered less of the months of boring confinement, and more of the years of joy that came from his unique "stroke" of luck.

# A Very Special Coat

Dolly Parton's patchwork coat that

turned from rags to "solid gold"

The gleaming silver needle plunged beneath the surface, reappeared, then dived again into the colorful cloth. As it left behind a straight row of tidy stitches, a small bright-eyed audience of one, smiled with delight. After all, the needle - and the loving hand that guided it - was stitching together the most colorful patchwork coat she had ever seen...just for her.

That "audience," young Dolly Parton, knew this was a very special coat. She was one of twelve children, and her mother seldom had the time to devote so much effort to one child. And not only was she tailoring it to fit her perfectly, but she was fashioning it to suit her colorful personality.

Since their family was dirt poor, the neighbors often donated leftover portions of cloth for her mother to piece together into quilts and clothing. Usually she would match the colors as closely as possible so it wouldn't be obvious they were made from scraps. Not with this project, however. She wanted to create a coat to match her daughter's bold and cheerful disposition.

She stitched together the brightest-colored pieces she could find. As she worked, she told young Dolly about a story from the Bible. This coat, her mother explained, would be a sign that she was loved and special...just like the coat of many colors that was given to Joseph. Dolly loved the story, and just couldn't wait to see the admiring faces of her school-mates when she showed them her beautiful new "coat of many colors." Unfortunately, as her classic song would later tell millions of fans, admiration was not exactly what she saw in the faces of her classmates.

"See my new coat?" she asked one of her young friends, as she proudly wore it to school for the first time.

"New," he snickered, "It looks like a bunch of rags!"

One after another, the other children also laughed at her beautiful new prize. As she swallowed the hurt and walked despondently to her seat, Dolly remembered the classroom turning into "a whole room of mocking faces."

Still, she was not going to let the other children ruin her pleasure over her mother's loving gift. When the teacher entered, she noticed Dolly was being ridiculed. Quietly, she asked her if she might want to put her coat in the cloakroom. The defiant young Dolly, however, wore the coat the entire day. When she left the classroom, she proudly walked out, sporting the multicolored garment like a flag of courage.

Her song about the incident, "Coat of Many Colors," has become Dolly's signature song. It remains her personal favorite and has helped alleviate some of the pain she felt. The fact that it was a solid-gold best seller has also helped ease that pain.

"It's amazing," she reflected in her autobiography, "how healing money can be."

That healing process would continue throughout her career. She would chart twenty-five Number-one country hit songs, and would be selected by the Country Music Association as the Female Vocalist of the Year for 1975 and '76, and Entertainer of the Year for 1978.

Dolly knew from an early age, that music could be the magic carpet that could carry her away from the poverty that surrounded her. She began writing songs before she even started school. Dolly would beg her mother to write down the words, since she hadn't yet learned to write.

Her uncle, Bill Owens, bought her a guitar when she was eight. Owens also spurred her musical career along by booking her on a Knoxville radio station at the age of ten. The show was hosted by a well-known Knoxville disc jockey, Cass Walker. When Walker heard Dolly sing, he couldn't believe his ears. Neither, in fact, could the other employees in the radio studio.

"Announcers and other people from all over the building came in," Owens remembered, "...from upstairs and everywhere, just to hear this new talent. She was an instant hit, and Cass hired Dolly on the spot."

That was all it took - Dolly caught the country music "bug." She wrote one song after another and practiced singing and playing the guitar whenever she could. She began co-writing songs with her uncle and even cut a record called "Puppy Love" shortly after her radio audition. It wasn't very successful, but it gave her another goal - to preserve more of her songs on records.

She had a lot of warm memories tied up with her family and friends around her Sevierville, Tennessee home. But that country music bug was too strong to ignore. Her uncle Bill had also caught it, and moved his family to Nashville so he could help Dolly work her way into Music City.

Dolly didn't drag her heels. She graduated from high school on a Friday and caught the Nashville bus on Saturday. In fact, she didn't even wait around long enough to do her laundry. She just packed up her dirty clothes and took them with her. She had more important things to think about than dirty laundry.

Unfortunately, Nashville was not in quite as big a hurry to meet Dolly Parton. She lived with her uncle's family for a few months and then got her own apartment. As she bounced around town, trying to get a foothold in the Nashville scene, she just couldn't seem to find an open door.

"There were some hungry days back then, I tell you," she remembered. "I had hotdog relish and mustard in my refrigerator, but that's all I had to eat for about three weeks, at one time."

Finally, to make up for her mustard and relish days, fate let Dolly draw two lucky cards in the same year. In 1967, she recorded her first hit song, "Dumb Blonde" and also joined Porter Wagoner's television show. During the next few years, she began to write and perform a steady stream of classic songs including "Tennessee Mountain Home," "Love is Like a Butterfly," "I Will Always Love You," Applejack" and of course "Coat of Many Colors,"

Her mother was right; Dolly is special. Other country music legends have left us with fascinating stories of their climb from "rags to riches." Dolly, however, even managed to turn the rags into riches.

#  Just A "Little Ole Pop Song"

The song Patsy Cline didn't want to sing

that stopped the show and started her career

Patsy Cline knew the song had to be perfect. She had worked toward this day for far too many years to use just any song. It had to be her song. But when would she find it? And where would she find it? She had already gone through her entire repertoire and as she sadly realized, it simply wasn't there.

She had won a spot on Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, and Janette Davis, a regular on the show, was trying to help her find the perfect song for her voice. But they just couldn't seem to locate it. After Patsy had shown her over thirty possibilities, she glumly offered her last song. Janette slowly shook her head and asked if she had anything else.

Patsy reluctantly showed her a couple of songs she had recently recorded. The record hadn't been released, so she really wasn't supposed to perform them publicly. Patsy, however, was desperate. This was a national television spot with millions of people hearing her voice for the first time.

That's when it happened. Janette's eyes finally lit up. She knew they had found Patsy's song. Patsy, however, was not exactly ecstatic. In fact, she couldn't believe it. It wasn't the country tune she offered first, but the bluesy "pop" number on the flip-side - "Walkin' After Midnight." Not that song again! Patsy still remembered the first time she heard it. She didn't want to sing it at all. In fact, she only agreed to record it if she could sing "Poor Man's Roses" on the other side. She didn't have too much bargaining power, however, since Decca records had poured a lot of money into her sessions...and she hadn't exactly set the world on fire with her previous record sales.

But when would people realize she was a country singer, and not a "pop" singer! She remembered listening to Walkin' After Midnight and telling Donn Hecht, the songwriter, "But that's nothing but a little ole pop song."

Hecht knew she wasn't attacking his song, but was fighting against using the smooth pop-style qualities of her voice. "And you're nothing but a little ole pop singer who lives in the country," he responded.

But Patsy was a country girl at heart. Her dreams had never been of the Broadway stage. She dreamed about singing on the Grand Ole Opry. She wanted to be another country singer like Kitty Wells. Her voice, however, was so pure and smooth, she sounded more like another Patti Page. Maybe, however, this might be the time to suspend the battle, just for this one song. She still wanted the world to view her as a country singer, but she also wanted the world to like her first nationally broadcast song.

Patsy telephoned Hecht before the show, "Okay," she told him, "I give up. I surrender. It's four against one now." Hecht asked her what she meant. She laughed and explained that everybody had told her she should sing his song...him, the record company, and now Janette Davis and Arthur Godfrey.

"Well God bless Janette Davis," Hecht responded, "and Arthur Godfrey too."

Even Patsy was changing her mind. She told him that as soon as she returned to Nashville she wanted to re-record it. "I really like it now," she told him, "And we're gonna win with it!"

And that, as history is well aware, is exactly what she did. On the evening of January 28, 1957, when she walked in front of ten million television viewers and sang that "little ole pop song," she sang it with all of her heart. Then, after the two minute and ten second introduction of Patsy Cline to the world, she looked toward the applause meter and hoped for the best. She didn't have to hope for long. The audience, who had expected to hear a talented, but amateur singer, suddenly rose to their feet. Their spontaneous cheers and wild ovation pushed the Talent Scouts applause meter over the top and froze it in place. They wouldn't let her leave without singing another song. Patsy, with tears in her eyes, was also able to show the world her country talents that magical evening, and followed up with Hank Williams' "Your Cheatin' Heart."

As soon as Decca released her record, it became a million-seller. It would be several more years before Patsy would come up with another song as popular as "Walkin' After Midnight," but once she did, she produced a stream of solid-gold hits.

In the early 1960's, her classic hits like "Crazy," "I Fall to Pieces," and "She's Got You" followed the path of "Walkin' After Midnight." They not only hit the country charts, but also crossed over to the popular market. Apparently both she and Donn Hecht had been right. She was a country singer. But she was also a pop singer. That was okay; she could live with being "part pop," because in 1960, she had reached her childhood dream. She was ushered into the family of the Grand Ole Opry.

Her success seemed particularly sweet because she had dreamed about it for years. At sixteen, she walked into the local radio station and informed the announcer and bandleader that she could sing. He was so struck by her voice that he made her a regular on his live Saturday morning broadcasts.

During the same year, Wally Fowler of the Grand Ole Opry starred in a touring show that played her hometown. So naturally, the bold young teenager lined up an audition with him. He was so impressed with her talent that he encouraged her to travel to Nashville to audition for the Grand Ole Opry.

He didn't have to make that suggestion twice! An excited Patsy, along with her mother and sister, headed off to the Opry. Unfortunately, Nashville wasn't quite ready for her. She got a few radio spots, but their money soon ran out. They spent their last night in Music City sleeping on a park bench.

Nashville, however, would eventually be very ready for her. She would be the first female solo singer inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. In fact, during her all-to-brief career, she helped pave the way for the smooth version of country music, which would come to be known as the "Nashville Sound."

#  With The Help Of "Tee-Tot"

When an old black street singer pointed

Hank Williams toward the stars

The concentration on the skinny boy's face was reflected in the old black man's proud eyes. Month by month, young Hiram Hank Williams had been slowly learning how to play the guitar. The street "classroom" wasn't exactly the ideal place for guitar lessons, but Hank soaked up all he could in between his duties of shoe-shining and peanut-selling.

His street-singer teacher, old "Tee-tot," couldn't have been more tickled. The young boy was not only learning the basic chords, but also seemed to have an ear for the blues that Tee-tot loved. In fact, young Hank was even learning how to put a little "tear" in his voice.

Hank's mother had noticed his early interest in music, and bought him a $3.50 guitar when he was only seven. Times were tough, however, and they couldn't afford to pay for traditional music lessons. So to teach him the basics they turned to a street singer named Rufus Payne. Rufus, whose street name was "Tee-tot," often received his payment in the form of a home-cooked meal.

Rufus turned out to be the ideal teacher for the young boy. Hank didn't need to know how to read music or master fancy picking techniques. The stories his songs would one day tell the world were as simple and straightforward as the basic blues style Rufus taught him. It was also good for Hank to have a male role model. His father had suffered shell shock from combat during the First World War, and was committed to the Veteran's Administration Hospital in Biloxi when Hank was only seven.

This left Hank, his mother, Lilly, and his sister, Irene, to fend for themselves. Lilly, fortunately, was not exactly a fragile little flower. She definitely had the necessary fortitude to steer the family through the tough times. Not only was she a strong-willed lady, but also, according to Hank's memories, was a pretty tough character in every way.

"Minnie," he once told Grand Ole Opry star, Minnie Pearl, "There ain't nobody in the world I'd rather have alongside me in a fight than my mama with a broken beer bottle in her hand."

Hank himself learned how to survive in the somewhat "less than cultural" atmosphere of the South Alabama honky-tonks. As he began playing clubs and bars around the area, he soon learned why these establishments were often referred to by the rather graphic name of "blood buckets."

Hank could usually avoid potential conflicts simply by being "one of the boys" and not acting uppity. Occasionally, however, some drunk would decide to pick a fight with him. That's when the steel guitar player's metal fretting bar came in handy. Hank would grab it on the way into the scuffle and with a few whacks, produce a rapid attitude adjustment.

During one fight, however, the fretting bar didn't do the trick quite soon enough. "One more good blow woulda done it," Hank reflected. "But he reached out and bit a plug, hair and all, outta my eyebrow."

One more strong-willed character would need to enter the picture before Hank's career would take off. He began dating nineteen-year-old Audrey Mae Sheppard in what was not exactly a "match made in heaven." For one thing, Audrey had a husband overseas.

Not only did her father threaten to kill Hank, but when Hank brought her home to meet Lilly, the two "ladies of his life" ended up in a fist-fight. Nevertheless, Hank and Audrey eventually married, and she took up the role of providing the force needed to mold Hank's native musical genius into a professional image.

According to a popular story, when the couple walked into music-publisher Fred Rose's office, he handed Hank a guitar and sent him off to write a song. After a few super-creative minutes, Hank returned with a penciled copy of one of his greatest hits. The problem is, even though the movie version of Hank's life promoted this tale, nobody who was actually there agrees.

Fred Rose's son Wesley gives a little less romantic but likely more accurate picture of the historical meeting. He said Hank and Audrey wandered in on his parents' traditional lunch-time ping pong game. Since the young couple seemed so hungry for someone to hear Hank's music, the Roses put down their paddles and listened to him sing a half-dozen of his songs. Among these were "When God Comes and Gathers His Jewels" and "Six More Miles to the Graveyard." Fred signed Hank to a contract on the spot.

Although it's not as good a story as the fictitious

version, the meeting opened the door for the man many fans consider to have been the greatest country music star of all time. During the six short years between the opening of this door and the tragic closing of his life, he filled the world with his songs. His music not only touched millions of traditional country fans, but also jumped across musical boundaries through the talents of such diverse musicians as Tony Bennett, Ray Charles and Lawrence Welk.

History will always remember Hank for the golden string of songs he wrote, like "Your Cheatin' Heart," "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry," "Hey Good Lookin'," "Cold, Cold Heart," "Jambalaya" and all the rest. Ironically though, the highest point in his career came as the result of someone else's song.

When Hank first set foot on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry on June 11, 1949, the song he chose, "The Lovesick Blues," was co-written by a Russian-born lyricist and a vaudeville piano-player. His presentation, however, was pure Hank. When the thin sad-eyed country singer finished the last note, the Opry house exploded. The audience wouldn't let him leave. For six encores, they called him out to sing the closing line, "I'm so lo-o-onesome, I got the lovesick blues."

As history is sadly aware, Hank's dark moody periods and legendary drunken binges began to throw shadows over the light of his genius and eventually snuffed it out. That light, however, will continue to reflect in the hearts of millions of fans...just like the image of that young peanut-seller with a tear in his voice, reflected in the proud eyes of old "Tee-Tot."

#  A Golden Gamble

The high-stakes deal that gave Loretta Lynn a handful of aces

Doyle Wilburn wore his best poker face as his eyes defiantly met Owen Bradley's stare. This was definitely not going to be an easy contest. Bradley was already a legendary Artist & Repertoire man for Decca Records. His golden touch had ignited the careers of Patsy Cline, Brenda Lee, and a host of other "legends in the making."

Yes, this move would be a gamble. And the stakes wouldn't even affect Doyle Wilburn's career. After all, he and his brother Teddy were already firmly established in the Grand Ole Opry as the popular "Wilburn Brothers." He didn't need to take the risk...but somehow, he couldn't shake the image of the dreamy-eyed young Butcher Holler hillbilly out of his mind.

He knew that he held one important trump card. Bradley wanted the new song he had just played for him. Brenda Lee had an upcoming recording session and Bradley felt that song, "The Biggest Fool of All" would fit her style. The only problem was, Doyle didn't want Bradley to merely take the song. He also wanted him to offer a singing contract to Loretta Lynn, the young singer on the demonstration record.

Both Doyle and Teddy Wilburn had felt an instant affection for Loretta and her husband, Oliver Vanetta Lynn, who had the nicknames "Mooney," "Doolittle" or "Doo" as Loretta alternately called him. As the excited couple told them about their dreams for her career in country music, the brothers couldn't help but get caught up in their enthusiasm. Unfortunately, Owen Bradley didn't share that enthusiasm. Loretta was talented, he admitted, but she was simply too country for the times. After all, he reminded Doyle, country music had changed. The newer singers like Patsy Cline and Brenda Lee had begun to smooth the rough edges off the traditional "hillbilly" sounds of singers like Kitty Wells and Molly O'Day.

Doyle's business sense likely told him to settle for the song deal. The song had been written by one of the Wilburn Brother's staff members, so a big hit by Brenda Lee would definitely add to their bank account. But he just couldn't forget the hopeful gleam in Loretta's eyes when he told her he was taking the demo record over to Decca Records.

So...taking a deep breath, he firmly laid his offer on the table. If Bradley wanted the song, he would also have to sign a contract with the demo singer. That was the deal - no contract for Loretta Lynn; no song. Fortunately for the "coal miner's daughter" and her future fans, Doyle Wilburn's gambling instincts were as good as his musical skills. As Bradley reluctantly agreed to the deal, he helped launch a career that would transform a naive country girl into a living legend. She would eventually be selected as the Country Music Association's first female "Entertainer of the Year" and later inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

The sophisticated glitter of the CMA awards show and the Hall of Fame induction would stand in stark contrast to the dusty little. Kentucky "holler" where her story began. Loretta, however, never attempted to smooth over her rough country upbringing. Instead, she shared her memories of the poverty-blanketed hollow with the same backcountry pronunciation and grammar she had always used. "Every time folks start tryin' to fix up my talkin'," she explained, "it messes up my singin'."

Even before she ran across the Wilburn Brothers, a couple of other people thought there was still room for her pure country style among the new smoother singers. The first was her husband. "Doo" had married Loretta when she was only fourteen and took her far away from her Kentucky family, to Custer, Washington. Loretta fought against a bad case of homesickness by singing around the house.

Doo was not a country music critic, but he just couldn't help feeling that Loretta had a special quality. So he bought her a guitar and encouraged her to try writing some of her own songs. Loretta remembered picking up a copy of Country Song Roundup magazine to see how lyrics were developed. It wasn't long before she had written a pretty commercial-sounding song titled "I'm a Honky-tonk Girl."

That song led her to the next person who would provide momentum to her fledgling career. Doo had arranged for Loretta to sing around the area and she began to attract a small following. Soon, she started singing on the local radio station. Then, a chance came to enter a talent contest on Buck Owen's area TV show. She worked up the nerve and gave it a try.

The show was seen in Canada, where a lumber tycoon named Norm Burley had tuned in. He enjoyed Loretta's song so much, he contacted her and offered to give her career a boost. "Doo and I were just like a couple of kids," Loretta remembered, "and Norm Burley kind of adopted us... He didn't wear any red suit or black boots, but that man sure looked like Santa Claus to us."

The "present" Burley gave them was a recording contract with a small company called Zero Records. They excitedly drove to Los Angeles to permanently press "Honky-tonk Girl" into a black vinyl piece of country music history. Then they hopped in their old Mercury and headed across the country to promote the record. Eating bologna and cheese sandwiches and sleeping in the car along the way, they headed for one small-town radio tower and then to the next.

"I had one good dress." Loretta remembered. "When we were drivin' I'd wear jeans or something, but when we were comin' to a radio station, I'd hop in the back seat and put on my dress."

In those days, the disc jockeys could select the records they played...and one station after another suddenly began to play "I'm a Honky-tonk Girl." When she arrived, the surprised disc jockeys just couldn't resist the bright-eyed enthusiasm and pure country charm of the new singer in her "one good dress."

Loretta is lucky that she ran into friends like Norm Burley & the Wilburn Brothers. Otherwise, she might never have been able to look back on a list of solid gold classics like "Blue Kentucky Girl," "You Ain't Woman Enough," "Fist City," "One's on the Way," "Coal-Miner's Daughter" and all the rest. And we're definitely lucky that while those friends helped launch her career, they never tried to "fix up her talkin'."

# Finding The "Bluegrass Recipe"

Add a pinch of nearly everything and a twist of Uncle Pen.

Let it simmer for years. Then serve it up hot.

The normally mild-mannered Kentucky boy reared back and let her rip when he sang the high-pitched harmonies of his favorite gospel songs. As he belted out the back-up tenor parts to "He Will Set Your Fields on Fire" and "Beautiful Life," young Bill Monroe was already beginning to collect the ingredients for a new treat he would dish out some twenty years later at the Grand Ole Opry.

During his youth, his mother's fiddle playing and his shy demeanor steered him into the sanctuary of his music. Fortunately, he wouldn't be alone in that sanctuary. As he ventured deeper into his musical retreat, he would run across two people who would change his life forever.

His mother's brother - Pendleton Vandiver, was known around the area as a championship fiddler. As the pure strains of the old mountain tunes filled young Bill's ears, another ingredient in his future musical recipe fell into place. He began to join his uncle at the local dances where he played. Bill, however, wasn't satisfied with simply listening to the crystal-clear mountain music; he wanted to help create it. Before long, he was able to back up his "Uncle Pen's" fiddling with his own mandolin or guitar playing.

"We'd go out in the country maybe four or five miles and play for a square dance at somebody's home," he recalled. "They'd clear a room out and me and him would play the dance." Years later, Monroe's classic song "Uncle Pen" would paint a musical picture of those early square dance days.

The soulful component of his new concoction would come from a local black blues guitarist named Arnold Shultz. Although Shultz never made a record, he left his mark on music history by inspiring the bluesy flavor of the music that would one day become known around the world as the high-lonesome sound of bluegrass music.

As Uncle Pen and Arnold Shultz's music swirled around inside the young boy's head, Jimmie Rodger's records and various WLS National Barn Dance musicians added their dashes of spice to the mixture. Although the young Kentucky boy enjoyed them all, no one style seemed to completely suit his taste. That wouldn't be a problem...he would simply have to whip up his own style.

And that, of course, is exactly what he did. His new blend of traditional mountain music, energized with lightning-speed instrumentals and his hard-driving tenor vocals, would jerk normally slow-moving country folk to their feet to yell for more. It would eventually cross over traditional musical boundaries to link people together who had virtually nothing else in common.

"It's amazing, ain't it," Bill Monroe would one day say as he contemplated the patchwork pattern of his audiences. "There's people from Japan, Europe, country people, Tarheels, rednecks, and college graduates." Bill Monroe's impact on that unlikely assortment of fans would one day be honored with induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame and the receipt of the Grammy's "Lifetime Achievement Award." His new creation, which he had never even named, would be christened by the media as bluegrass music, in honor of his band, the "Blue Grass Boys."

Bill's search for his new sound also involved his older brothers, Charlie and Birch. As the depression hit Kentucky, they found oil refinery jobs in Chicago. During their spare time, they also began playing local dances. Bill joined them when he turned eighteen, and before long the trio was playing regularly on a nearby Indiana radio station.

This taste of success was enough to lure Bill and Charlie onto the road, as the Monroe Brothers. During the next four years they played radio stations across the South and Midwest Their sound was beginning to take on a unique quality. They often played the songs faster than other musicians, and began to stick in blazing mandolin and guitar runs whenever they could.

Their up-tempo sounds were beginning to pay off. Not only were they getting good radio bookings, but also RCA Victor offered them a recording contract. During the next two years, they would record some 60 songs for Victor's "Bluebird" label, including "Foggy Mountain Top," "Nine Pound Hammer" and "What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul."

Despite their success, the brothers decided to split up in 1938. They weren't exactly sure where their dreams might lead them, but they both knew they wanted something different than the brother act.

In 1939, Bill and his newly organized Blue Grass Boys auditioned for the Grand Ole Opry. As they played the "old music with a new flare," their instruments sizzled, and Bill's high-lonesome tenor reached for the sky. Opry announcer George D. Hay hired them on the spot.

Throughout the more than 50 years Bill Monroe played the Opry, some of history's greatest instrumentalists stood beside him as Blue Grass Boys. In the mid-forties, the combination that many have called the "World's Greatest Bluegrass Band" rattled the Opry house walls. Chubby Wise handled the fiddle, Lester Flatt played guitar and sang lead vocals, Earl Scruggs tore up the banjo, and Cedric Rainwater slapped the bass and sang.

During their Opry years, Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys turned out classic hits like "Blue Moon of Kentucky," "Bluegrass Breakdown," "Molly and Ten Brooks," "Uncle Pen" and "Kentucky Waltz." As he stood there with his favorite scratched and battered old mandolin, peering out from under his signature white hat, it was obvious that he was in total control of every aspect of his music.

"Monroe knows what everybody's doing at all times," confirmed Bob Black, a former member of the Blue Grass Boys. "He has a thousand eyes under that hat."

From his early days with Uncle Pen and Arnold Shultz, to the wild ovations at the Opry, every one of those eyes seems to have been focused on the same goal - mixing up a recipe for a new style of music the whole world would enjoy - bluegrass.

#  Lucky Limitations

The fortunate lack of sophistication that

launched the legendary "Johnny Cash sound"

A country musician's voice stamps a signature as unique as an artist's brush stroke. As the listener scans the radio dial, that one-of-a-kind sound halts his search like a police-siren. In fact, in some cases he doesn't even need to hear the singer's voice. A few notes of the instrumental backup music can do the same trick.

Every avid Johnny Cash fan, for instance, can recognize one of his songs after only the first few powerful notes. The simple unaccompanied guitar lead-in sets the atmosphere for his forceful delivery. "I Walk The Line" or "Folsom Prison Blues" just wouldn't sound the same without that unique, almost hauntingly simple back up, played firmly on the base strings.

So how did this legendary innovation develop? Was it the result of intensive research? Did they experiment with a myriad of sounds until they found the perfect one? Well no...not exactly. It came about because it was the only thing Luther, their novice electric guitar player, knew how to play. When Johnny auditioned for the now-legendary Sun Records label in Memphis, he and his two friends, Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant, were just getting started in the music business. Since Luther was not exactly a guitar wizard, he primarily relied on an elementary single-note picking style. Oddly enough, it didn't sound bad - especially when Sam Phillips added Sun Record's "slapback" echo.

This sparse back-up accompaniment would definitely not have worked for a more highly polished voice. But for Johnny's strong but almost off-key delivery, it was ideal. By the time they had finished - through a lack of equipment...and experience, they had unknowingly created what would become known as the legendary Johnny Cash Sound.

That sound would lead Johnny down a pathway that would see him elected to both the Country Music and the Rock and Roll halls of fame. He would crossover not only into popular music, but would become part of the sixties folk music resurgence. In 1969, he would win all five of the Country Music Award categories he was nominated for, including "Male Vocalist of the year" and "Entertainer of the Year."

The first song to start Johnny rolling along that pathway was recorded during that original Sun Records session. "Hey Porter" was first published as a poem in the Stars and Stripes newspaper while Johnny was in the Air Force in Germany. With the addition of Johnny's quivering baritone-bass, Luther's single-string back up, and Sun's slapback echo, the hard-driving train song became the prototype for the new Johnny Cash Sound.

It didn't take long for country music fans to add the unique sound to their radio requests and jukebox selections. Hey Porter zoomed up the charts and earned Johnny and the "Tennessee Two" an invitation to the Louisiana Hayride. Within a few short years, America's radios and jukeboxes would be filled with Johnny's classic hits like "I Walk the Line," "Folsom Prison Blues," "Ring of Fire," "Five Feet High and Rising" and the "The Orange Blossom Special." Johnny's pathway, it appeared, would lead him past a glittering string of nonstop golden moments.

Unfortunately, not only would those golden moments stop, but they would soon come crashing in around him. As the years flashed by, he churned out one Top-ten hit after another. The clamoring fans and flickering city lights flashed past his eyes like a dizzying kaleidoscope. During this frantic touring schedule, he became trapped in the "upper-downer" cycle, using barbiturates to get to sleep, and amphetamines to wake up. And when Johnny did something, he didn't just do it half-way. He began to add drunken binges to his desperate pill addiction. Needless to say, he was not always considered to be the most professional entertainer on the market. He became famous for "redecorating" his hotel room during a drunken rampage. He began to miss concert dates. When he did show up, the show's managers often wished he hadn't.

During a 1965 appearance on the Grand Ole Opry, for instance, he had trouble removing a microphone from its stand. In a drunken haze, he dragged the stand along the edge of the stage while over fifty smashed footlights showered the audience with broken glass. When he walked off, Opry manager, Ott Devine, firmly informed him, "We can't use you on the Opry anymore, John."

By 1967, at only thirty-five years old, he had plunged so deeply into a drug and alcohol-induced depression that he pulled off the highway near Chattanooga, Tennessee and walked aimlessly into Nickajack cave. As he sat in the chilled darkness, he made the sullen decision that he would die there. Suddenly though, he felt a warmth and a presence that called him back out into the light.

When he emerged from the cave, he continued on a path toward that light. With the combination of his religious convictions and the calming influence of his wife-to-be, June Carter, he was able to conquer his drug and alcohol addictions. As a testimony to his tremendous drive - even during his darkest days \- he continued to create many of the solid-gold hits that have assured him of such a legendary status in country music history.

This drive has not only been the fuel for his success as an entertainer, but has spurred him on to support the causes of the oppressed "underdogs" that he symbolizes with his black stage outfits. That drive has often taken him into controversial areas where other country performers were reticent to go. When he recorded "The Ballad of Ira Hayes," for example, many radio stations shied away from broadcasting the hard-hitting ballad about our mistreatment of the American Indian. Bitterly disappointed with their response, Johnny took out a full-page advertisement in Billboard magazine, asking the hesitant Disc Jockeys: "Where are your guts?"

That's one question - through his early days when he and his novice band marched staunchly into Sun Records, throughout his life-and-death battle with drugs and alcohol and during his resolute advocacy of social causes - that very likely...no one has ever asked Johnny Cash.

#  A Nearly "Unsung" Classic

The song often considered the "all-time greatest"

that George Jones didn't want to record

George Glenn Jones had already written a lasting chapter in the annals of country music. The hard-country honky-tonker was being hailed as the Rolls-Royce of country singers. In fact he was at the top of nearly every other country musician's "favorite singer" list. He obviously was experienced enough to know when a song was good...and when it was nothing special. This one, as he had already informed his producer, Billy Sherrill, was simply nothing special.

Yes, George definitely knew country music. He had grown up singing along with his Grand Ole Opry heroes. "When I was real little," he recalled, "I'd go to sleep early and have my mother wake me up when Bill Monroe or Roy Acuff came on."

He learned how to play the guitar, and began to sing for tips in the streets of Beaumont, Texas when he was only twelve. By fifteen, he was performing regularly in Beaumont's nightclubs and pulling down $17.50 week at local radio stations.

He had previously demonstrated his talent for picking hit records. "White Lightening," "The Race Is On," "She Thinks I Still Care," "The Grand Tour," "A Picture of Me" and the rest of his golden string of classics had definitely proven that. Besides, Johnny Russell had already unsuccessfully recorded this new song Billy Sherrill kept pushing at him. Why did Sherrill continue to insist he record it?

Finally, in the spring of 1980, after nearly a year of "friendly negotiating," George gave in and recorded the tune. His gallant gesture was soon rewarded. "He Stopped Loving Her Today," co-written by Bobby Braddock and Curly Putnam, didn't hesitate to climb to the top of the charts. In fact, equipped with George's inimitable high-emotion style, and surrounded with a symphonic background, the song went through the roof. The beautifully crafted lyric told the world about a poor soul who's love-lost mourning only ceased with death. Within weeks, the record was spinning in hundreds of thousands of jukeboxes and radio stations. It wasn't long before both Sherrill and Jones realized it was destined for a cherished spot in country music history.

Within the next few months, the song was adorned with awards from all directions. It shot to the top of the country music charts and stuck there for eighteen weeks. The Country Music Association and the Academy of Country Music both selected it for "Song of the Year" and "Single of the Year." It was awarded a Grammy for "Country Song of the Year." And it helped propel George into both the CMA and ACM "Male Vocalist of the Year" positions.

The honors would not stop even after the song fell from the charts. Years later, the intense popularity of "He Stopped Loving Her Today" was demonstrated by a reader's poll in Country America magazine when it was selected as "The Number One Country Song of All Time." The same honor was bestowed by European country music fans in a poll held by the British Broadcasting Company.

The success generated by the song came at a good time. True, George had already chiseled his name deeply into the walls of country music history during the 60's and early 70's. But by 1980, when the song came out, his personal problems had begun to overshadow his success. His 1969 "storybook" marriage to Tammy Wynette had crumbled in 1975 because of his well-publicized drunken binges. And during the late 70's he had picked up the nickname of "No Show Jones" since he missed over fifty concert dates because of his drinking and cocaine abuse. Yes, it was the perfect time for a career boost.

His first boost had come many years before, when he returned to Beaumont in late 1952 after his discharge from the Marines. He had continued his music during his time in the service, and although he officially took up house painting for a living, he remained active in the local country music scene. Fortunately, Houston's Starday Records executive, H.W. "Pappy" Dailey, kept his eye on that scene. Pappy liked what he heard, and in 1954 gave George a chance at recording. His first effort was a tune called "There Ain't No Money in This Deal." Unfortunately, there was "no money" in that song either, but that was okay - George had his start. Before long, he began to sing on the Houston Jamboree radio barn dance. He also landed a DJ spot on a Beaumont country music station. Now, he could "hang up his paint brushes." Someone else could paint houses - he was in the "music business" and on his way.

His hopes were soon realized. The next year, 1955, he scored a Top-ten success with a song he co-wrote, "Why, Baby, Why." The following year, he racked up three more Top Tens. That year, in the light of Elvis Presley's success, Pappy Daily had George record several rockabilly tunes. For these, George used the name "Thumper Jones," which he took from the cartoon character Thumper Rabbit. To nobody's great amazement, "Thumper" didn't hit the top of the charts.

George's first chart-topper, however, would be written by a "rocker." "White Lightning," written by J. P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, spent five weeks at the top in 1958. Throughout the sixties and mid-seventies, George kept the jukeboxes full. In 1969, he became a member of the Grand Ole Opry. The same year, his marriage to Tammy Wynette established one of the most famous duet teams country music would ever know. They recorded together throughout their marriage and for five years after their divorce. They turned out such classics as "Take Me," "We're Gonna Hold on," "Golden Ring" and "Two Story House."

Their union would also open the door for the song that would eventually help pull him up from the alcohol haze of his shattered life. Shortly after he and Tammy married, George ended his 15-year affiliation with Pappy Daily and moved to her label, Epic Records. There he would work with a producer who had an odd habit. He often added symphonic strings to country records. That producer, Billy Sherrill, and those strings, would eventually introduce George Jones, the Rolls-Royce of country singers to "He Stopped Loving Her Today," the Cadillac of country songs.

# A Creative Convalescence

The near-death beginning of

Hank Williams Jr.'s musical metamorphosis

The crisp Montana air soothed the amateur mountain climber's nerves like a tonic. As Randall Hank Williams looked down from his snowy 11,000-foot perch, he had every reason to relax and unwind. He had just completed a recording session that would show the world he was changing the course of his musical career. He wasn't quite sure where the new course would lead him, but he knew the old route had hit a dead end. He had lived in the shadow of his famous father long enough. He was beginning to feel like his nickname - "Bocephus" - a name Hank Senior had taken from Opry comedian Rod Brasfield's ventriloquist dummy. Hank Jr. knew he needed to "pull his own strings" for a change.

As he inhaled the crisp mountain air and drank in the stark beauty of the Rockies he could still hear the music of this "new direction." He had always liked the mainstream country sound of his dad's generation, but he was also drawn toward the new fusion of country with rock and roll. There was just something magnetic about the sound of the young southern "country rockers" like Charlie Daniels, the Allman Brothers and the Marshall Tucker Band.

He had definitely paid his dues to his famous father. Since he was eight years old, he had faithfully sung Hank's songs to his nostalgic fans. He had captured Hank senior's lonesome wail and even learned how to put a "tear" in his voice. He could still recall Red Foley's comment, "You're a ghost, son, nothin' but a ghost of your daddy."

"At first," Hank Jr. recalled, "I thought it was the greatest thing in the world - a ghost of this man that everyone loved. They think I'm Daddy. Mother's smilin', money's rollin' in, seemed ideal." He traveled around the country with his mother's road show, singing to cheering crowds that poured out their feelings for his father on him. But as the years rolled by, like any teenager, he began to long for his own identity. He had put together a garage band named Rockin' Randall & the Rockets. They started flavoring their country with Rock and Roll, Blues and even some Dixieland. That mixture fit him like a glove.

Hank knew, however, that the audiences that swarmed to see "Hank's ghost" would have no interest in his new musical blend. So, year after year, he concealed his budding talent behind his father's legend. The same cheers and admiration that had previously lit up his young career began to stifle his creative spirit. He knew they weren't really meant for him.

But as he surveyed the rugged beauty of the mountains, Hank felt he was at the edge of a new future. He had seen the end of those days. What he didn't know, however, was how close he was to seeing the end of his life. The snowfield that had securely held him high above the rest of the world, collapsed without warning. Hank plunged some five hundred feet, smashing headfirst into the side of a boulder.

When young "Rockin' Randall" did something, it seems he never did it part way. His near-death plummet left him in about as bad a shape as a person can be and still remain alive. His head was split open and every single bone in his face had been broken. It would be two years before he would fully recover. Little-by-little, a team of doctors managed to salvage his face through a tedious series of reconstructive surgeries.

Even with the painstaking efforts of the doctors, Hank was left with some visible scars. He minimized their appearance by growing a beard, donning a cowboy hat and wearing dark glasses. Fortunately, this look fit perfectly with the new sound he had turned to before the accident. As he emerged from his convalescence, a map began to slowly come into focus. It would guide him through that "change of course" he had wanted for his musical career.

Throughout his new course, he maintained a bond with his father's legend but made it clear that his growing group of hard-core fans was not dealing with a "ghost." One of his early hits, "Family Tradition," spelled it all out. "I am very proud of my father's name," he sang to the world. Then he added, "...although his kinda music and mine ain't exactly the same."

His "kinda music" would eventually attract a huge cult. The cult's enthusiasm, in fact, would sometimes burn a little too hot. As Hank's hits like "Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound," and "All My Rowdy Friends" filled the air, his audiences sometimes decided to "demonstrate" his lyrics. More than once the concert promoters had to shut down the beer concessions to prevent a potential riot.

As the popularity of his new persona grew, so did his repertoire. Like Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and his other "Outlaw" friends, he began to stretch the boundaries of country music into other fields. Although he kept turning out the country-rock hits he was becoming famous for, he began to look for other styles he personally enjoyed. His success with songs like Fats Waller's "Ain't Misbehavin'," let his fans know he could reach far outside traditional country boundaries

He had previously demonstrated how far his musical versatility could reach. During an appearance at the Wembley Festival in England, he astounded the crowd by playing every instrument on stage. As the years passed it was becoming more and more apparent that the country music world was dealing with a lot more than a clone of Hank Senior. With his steady stream of hit songs "Rockin' Randall" was indeed following his own very distinctive pathway to fame.

A lot of the mainstream country fans were reluctant to recognize Hank Jr.'s success with traditional honors like the Country Music Association's awards. Their reluctance, however, was eventually overcome as Bocephus toured the country to screaming overflow crowds. It was becoming more difficult to say the young "outlaw" wasn't a new superstar.

Their hesitation finally dissolved, and both the CMA and ACM recognized him as the country music "Entertainer of the Year" for 1987 and 1988. Yes, after his metamorphosis, the young "ghost" finally stepped out of the shade of his father's legend. The time had come for him to cast his own shadow.

#  Mid-Inning Melodies

When Charlie Pride introduced his "peculiar" choice in music

The word had spread at the Helena, Montana semi-pro baseball game that the pitcher would sing for the fans. Charlie Pride knew what type of music the crowd would expect from him...the blues of course. After all, he was black...and he was from the Mississippi Delta country. That Delta area had already produced a host of traditional blues and modern rhythm-and-blues singers. Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, B.B. King and Sam Cooke had all picked that Mississippi Delta cotton.

The baseball fans knew they were in for a mid-inning treat as Charlie tossed down his glove, grabbed his guitar and ambled toward the microphone. Apparently the team had discovered his talent when they heard his soulful blues songs in the dressing room after a loss. Or maybe they had overheard his heartfelt black up-beat rhythm at the end of a winning game.

As Charlie Pride stood there on the verge of his first step into music history, his favorite music was already surging through his mind. That music, however, wasn't bubbling with the soulful sounds of the Delta blues his family and friends had always encouraged him to sing. It was instead, powered by - of all things - the fiddles, yodel, and steel guitars of the traditionally white country music.

Throughout his youth, everyone had told him that his taste in music wasn't exactly the most appropriate choice for a young black Mississippi Delta boy. The music of the area, after all, was a strong source of pride for the black community. Also, there wasn't a great deal of appreciation among his friends for country music. In fact, they usually couldn't turn past it fast enough when their radio dials picked it up. It wasn't that Charlie disliked the blues, but as he listened to the family's Philco radio on Saturday nights, he just couldn't get enough of the Grand Ole Opry songs of Roy Acuff, Hank Williams, and Ernest Tubb. Before long he started singing along with them.

"Why you singin' this music?" his sister would scold him, "It ain't gonna get you nowhere." And she definitely wasn't alone in her feelings. Whenever young Charlie sang, the reaction was about the same - an instant approving smile for his pure rich voice, immediately followed by an arched eyebrow for the type of music he sang. But he just couldn't help it. He was hooked on it.

The audience at the baseball game was likely filled with the same "arched eyebrows" when the pure country sound came pouring out of his mouth. But like his friends and family, they eventually shook their heads in resignation, and slowly began to appreciate Charlie's peculiar musical offering. After all, even though he didn't look quite right doing it, he could sure sing a good country song.

Those mid-inning songs began to attract a local following and before long he also began singing in nearby clubs and bars. Although Charlie enjoyed the attention, he had no intention of turning to music as his primary career. He had spent too many years working his way up through the minor leagues for that. No, his future was definitely going to be in baseball!

Not only was he an adept pitcher and fielder, but also he had a good batting average. In fact, he seemed to have everything he needed, except maybe...luck. An elbow injury had sidelined him when a Saint Louis Cardinals scout once came to watch Charlie's game. Then, in 1961, when he tried out for the California Angels, he had overworked his arm prior to the game and wasn't able to pitch. The next year, just before he was scheduled for a New York Mets' tryout, he broke his ankle. No...luck was simply not one of his baseball strengths.

As the path to his baseball dreams followed one dead-end road after another, the map to his musical future was beginning to unfold. In 1963, Red Sovine and Red Foley were scheduled to perform in nearby Great Falls, Montana. The disc jockey who emceed the concert promised Charlie he would signal him to come backstage so he could meet them and possibly get a chance to let them hear his singing.

As Charlie sat in the audience waiting expectantly, that signal never came. This "musical tryout" seemed to be following the same dead-end path as his baseball tryouts. Tired of unmet opportunities, Charlie finally worked up the nerve to walk backstage and introduce himself to the "two Reds." His boldness paid off. Not only were they impressed with his ability, but they also urged him to try his luck in Nashville. Although Pride was still "baseball bound," he finally followed their advice a few months later. After bouncing around Nashville with little success, he eventually found a home at RCA. His first single, "Snakes Crawl at Night," was released in 1965.

RCA knew that not everyone would be delighted about the concept of a black country music star. They felt, however, that once people heard his voice they would accept him. So they issued his first record to radio stations, without the usual photograph and biographical data. Their plan worked. By the time the listeners learned he wasn't the typical white country singer, "Snakes Crawl at Night" had broken into the Top Ten.

That was all Charlie needed. The good fortune that had avoided him throughout his baseball tryouts, settled over his musical career like a golden blanket. The timing was perfect. Not only was the spirit of the sixties loosening the racial barriers, but Nashville was turning away from the rough nasal singing, toward the smoother "Nashville Sound."

Throughout the late sixties, seventies and into the eighties, he showered the country music scene with twenty-nine Number-one hits. His classic songs like "Kiss an Angel Good Morning," "Is Anybody Going to San Antone," "Mississippi Cotton Delta Town" and "She's Just an Old Love Turned Memory" showed him he had chosen the right musical path after all.

The awards heaped on him by his fans and fellow performers also confirmed that choice. The Country Music Association selected him as "Male Vocalist of the Year" four years running, and in 1971 named him "Entertainer of the Year." His sister had apparently been mistaken - his peculiar choice in music was definitely "gonna get him somewhere."

#  The Forming Of A Pearl

The colorful Alabama farm lady who

became the model for "Minnie Pearl"

Young Sarah Orphelia Colley's eyes and ears recorded Mattie Burden's lively actions like a movie camera. As the colorful Baileyton, Alabama farm lady relayed family stories and local folk tales, she lit up the room. Her bright-eyed enthusiasm and folksy dialect painted vivid pictures in Sarah's mind. Sarah loved listening to her stories. Somehow, the hopeful actress also knew it was essential that she capture the essence of this wonderful lady.

Why...she wasn't exactly sure. She couldn't hope to use her mannerisms as a character for one of her own theatrical personalities. Sarah, after all, was not exactly a country bumpkin. She had graduated from Nashville's prestigious Ward-Belmont College, majoring in stage technique. In addition, she was well versed in great literature and classical music. She had, in fact, become quite the cultured "southern lady." Obviously, nobody would accept her portrayal of a backwoods mountain character.

Sarah had been working as a show director with the Wayne P. Sewell Production Company based out of Atlanta. She would travel around the south to organize plays using the local town-folk. The play would usually be offered as a fund-raiser by a service club like the Lions or Elks. Since she was a young single lady, local families would offer to host Sarah while she directed the play. This particular stay in Baileyton, Alabama in 1936 was destined to mold the rest of her life. Even after she thanked the Burdens for their kindness and went on to direct plays in other towns, the memory of that spirited old farm lady lingered with her. Sarah knew that even though she would have trouble convincing people that she could play a "hillbilly" type, she had to give it a try.

Through the months, she began to refine her new character. First, she had to create a fictitious hometown. A railroad switching station near her home had the catchy name of "Grinder's Switch." That would be perfect. Then she added family members. As Sarah's imagination went into full swing, she created "Uncle Nabob," "Brother" and the rest. Finally, with another wave of her mental wand, she christened her character..."Minnie Pearl."

At first, Sarah only let Minnie come out and play a little at a time. She would sometimes slip into her new character for a moment, to promote the play she was directing. Oddly enough, she didn't receive criticism and disbelief, but broad smiles and warm approval. Was it possible that a college-educated city slicker might be able to pull off this salt-of-the-earth country role?

Her first real chance to find out would come when she was producing a show for a local bankers' convention. When a scheduled speaker ran late, Sarah decided to bring out her new friend Minnie to fill in. Once again, the smiles and approval spread through her little audience. In fact, one of the bankers enjoyed Minnie so much, he suggested Sarah consider auditioning for the local WSM radio show, the Grand Ole Opry.

Sarah was not familiar with the show, but what could it hurt? After all, this new Grinder's Switch lady seemed to be able to fit in anywhere. Like Sarah, the Opry management was a little concerned that the rural listeners might be offended by a cultured college girl playing a "hayseed" character. So rather than bring her out during the main show, they scheduled her for 11:05 p.m., well after the prime-time segment. The Opry audition was held at the War Memorial Auditorium where the show was then performed. Sarah's mother was in the crowd, and when Sarah finished, she anxiously asked her what the audience thought about her act.

"Several people woke up," her mother replied. The following Wednesday, Sarah learned what the listening audience thought about Minnie. George D. Hay, the Opry director, asked her to come over to the station. When she arrived, she was greeted with over 300 enthusiastic fan letters - and an offer to join the Grand Ole Opry on a regular basis. Apparently, several radio listeners "woke up" as well.

For more than fifty years, Sarah shared Minnie with millions of fans. In the mid-forties Rod Brasfield joined the Opry family. He was also from Sarah's hometown of Centerville, Tennessee. During the next decade, they continued to perform separate routines, but also became one of the most beloved comedy duos of all time. Later, Minnie would often team up with Grandpa Jones.

As the years rolled by and the Grand Ole Opry became more and more popular, so did Minnie Pearl. When she bounced on stage sporting her frilly homemade dress, and still wearing the price tag on her flowery hat, the fans knew they were in for a treat. From the first Howdee, she lit up the room for her audience just as that Alabama woman had done for her.

"Well they say a woman is only as old as she looks," she would inform the Opry crowd. "Well boys, I'm still lookin'." As the audience warmed to her homespun stories, she would tell them about her latest exploits with Brother and Uncle Nabob. Once, when they went to the city to see a big league ball game, she remembered, they had a lot of trouble finding the stadium.

"When we finally got to the game, I said to Brother, 'What's the score?' Brother said it's the seventh inning and the score is nothing-to-nothing. And I said 'Oh goodie! Then we ain't missed nothin'."

And so it went...for over fifty years. As Hank Williams, Marty Robbins, Ernest Tubb, Patsy Cline and all the other Opry legends took their turns, Minnie Pearl was right there with them...and just so proud to be there.

In fact, along with Roy Acuff, Minnie Pearl would eventually become a beloved symbol of the Grand Ole Opry. Her total acceptance by country fans was demonstrated in 1975 when she was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. Those fans didn't realize it, but on that day they actually inducted three people. When Minnie gratefully acknowledged the plaque, she also accepted it for a sophisticated young college graduate and a colorful old Alabama farm lady.

#  Pork Chops, Produce, & Porter

The "meat market melodies" that helped

launch Porter Wagoner's career

The customers of Vaughn's butcher shop and market may have walked in only to fill their grocery orders, but they walked out filled with pure country music. Packed in among the Wheaties and the hamburger, was a teenage grocery clerk who whiled away the slow business hours by singing to the customers. As he filled the little West Plains, Missouri market with music, he was on the brink of a legendary country music career. The rows of green beans and spinach cans would one day be replaced by rows of appreciative fans at the Grand Ole Opry.

Not only did the customers enjoy his music, but his boss recognized the value of his clerk's talent. Before long, he sponsored young Porter Wagoner to his own fifteen-minute radio spot on local station KWPM. During the early morning show, he would sing and read his boss's commercials. The little program, broadcast directly from the market, was all Porter needed to ignite his career.

That career would continue to burn until his name was branded into the minds of millions of loyal television viewers and Grand Ole Opry fans. The flame of his talent would one day reflect from the rhinestone-studded wagon wheels on his $8,000 Nudie Cohen suits. That flame would light a pathway that would earn him both CMA and Grammy awards. It would eventually lead him to the position of Opryland's "Goodwill Ambassador."

Behind the rhinestone sparkle however, still lived that small-town singing grocery clerk. The guests he welcomed into the Grand Ole Opry's former theme park were greeted with an open smile and a solid country handshake. As with most country music legends, he never forgot the lean years before the rhinestone suits and the awards.

The time Roy Acuff came to West Plains, for example, found the teenaged Porter without even enough money for a soft drink. Somehow though, when he saw Roy sitting at a local drugstore counter, he worked up his nerve and asked to join him. During their conversation Porter confided his country music aspirations to the Opry star. Roy could see the burning enthusiasm in the boy and encouraged him to give it a try. Porter not only "gave it a try," but set out on a journey that would lead him into the national spotlight. Along the way he would also switch on the spotlight for "Pretty Miss" Norma Jean, wide-eyed young Dolly Parton, and countless others.

As his local radio spot began to draw more listeners, his talent came to the attention of Lou Black and Si Siman of Springfield's well-established KWTO radio station. In September of 1951 they recruited him to work there fulltime. As Porter and his family moved to Springfield, he could feel the first warmth of that spotlight that would later shine on him. He couldn't have hit Springfield at a better time. Si Siman was organizing a radio barn dance to be hosted by ex-Opry singer Red Foley. The little radio show, called the Ozark Jubilee, would eventually also be broadcast nationally on television as Jubilee U.S.A. The program was the ideal platform for Porter's introduction to country music fans.

Red Foley not only added Porter to the Jubilee family, but also took him under his wing and taught him some of the tricks of the country music trade. In addition, he showed him the finer points of carrying on a warm conversation with the listening audience and introducing the other acts. This training would later become invaluable when Porter eventually left the Jubilee to host his own show.

While Red Foley was helping Porter hone his performing skills, Si Siman was busy opening another door for him. In 1952, he arranged to have Porter sign a recording contract with RCA records. Since Porter had always loved Hank Williams' music, he started off singing Hank's songs. His first effort was Hank's "Settin' the Woods on Fire." Unfortunately, it didn't exactly set country music fans on fire. He recorded several more Hank Williams' songs, all unsuccessfully.

Eventually, one of Si Siman's friends recognized the futility of Porter becoming a Hank clone. "If Porter's going to succeed," he quipped to Siman, "someone's going to have to kill Hank!"

RCA decided instead to kill Porter's recording contract. They dropped him after two years of disappointing attempts. During the end of his RCA contract time, Porter had spent his own money to record two songs at KWTO. Ironically, both songs became hits. The first, "Company's Comin," went Top Ten. The other, "A Satisfied Mind," zoomed toward the top, and stayed on the charts for over eight months. It wasn't long before the RCA folks reconsidered their decision and signed him up again.

As his name became nationally known, the Grand Ole Opry beckoned. He moved to Nashville to join the Opry cast in 1957. A couple of years later, opportunity knocked again. This time it would show up in the form of a program that would make him a household name to country music fans from coast-to-coast. The Chattanooga Medicine Company, maker of the tasty Black Draught Laxative, was planning to air a country music show.

"I was hoping I could last a year," Porter reflected, "...get myself well enough known to get show dates." Twenty-one years later he finally left the show, which was then syndicated to over one hundred markets.

The Porter Wagoner Show set the stage for one of the most successful duet acts in country music history. When his original female singer, "Norma Jean," left the show to spend time with her family, he hired perky young Dolly Parton. Their Top-ten songs like "Daddy Was an Old Time Preacher Man" and "Better Move It on Home" would result in their receiving the CMA Vocal Duo of the Year award for both 1970 and '71.

Porter also carved a deep notch in country music history on his own. During the sixties, Porter racked up one Top-ten hit after another. He specialized in emotion-packed "story songs" including classics like "The Cold Hard Facts of Life," "The Carroll County Accident" and "The Green, Green Grass of Home." Clearly, he had come light years from the days when his audiences stopped in for pork chops, produce, and Porter.

# A "Fortunate Failure"

When a record company deal failed

and set the stage for Tammy Wynette

As a multicolored swirl of butterflies floated overhead, starry-eyed Virginia Wynette Pugh bounced into Billy Sherrill's Nashville's office. After hearing her sing a few notes, he leaped to his feet with a smile on his face and a singing contract in his hand. What an ideal beginning to a relationship in which they would co-write the best-selling female single in the history of country music! Yes, what an "ideal" beginning...it would have been...had it actually happened that way. Unfortunately, that was not exactly the way it all began.

In the real world, Sherrill, after hearing the novice singer audition, sent her home and told her to come back when she had better material. In fact, he only contacted her later because he couldn't find a less expensive way to record a song he had run across. He had tried his best to obtain the licensing to re-release a version of "Apartment # 9" which had been recorded by another singer on an independent label. After failing to make this cheaper deal, he reluctantly summoned Virginia.

By the time she reached Billy Sherrill's office, Virginia had knocked unsuccessfully on just about every door in Music City. But she knew she couldn't simply stop trying. After all, she had always wanted to be a performer. Her early "performances" had comforted her during a disrupted childhood. Virginia's father had died from a brain tumor when she was only a few months old. To make matters worse, her mother had to leave her in the care of her grandparents in Mississippi while she worked in an aircraft factory during World War II. Young Virginia's grandfather loved to hear her sing and always encourage her to perform in front of company.

Her father, although he was no longer around, also added to her musical education. He had been a locally known musician and could play nearly any instrument he picked up. At a very early age, Virginia began to experiment with the collection of instruments he had left behind. Her love of music continued to grow during her high school days. "I always headed to the auditorium and the piano," she recalled. "That is where I spent all my extra time in school."

She took music lessons for several years and began to sing with a trio on a local radio station. It looked as if her future might lay in the field she loved best - music. Before she finished high school, however, her childhood dreams came to an abrupt ending. She married at seventeen. Then came a daughter. To add to the family budget, she studied hairdressing and found work in a beauty shop. As a second child was added to the family and then she found she was once again pregnant, her musical dreams seemed to have been permanently crushed.

Then two more shock waves knocked her world even further off balance. Her marriage broke up and her third child, a young girl, was born prematurely and developed spinal meningitis. Fortunately the baby fully recovered, but the illness left the now-single Virginia Pugh with a six-thousand-dollar medical fee. It would take an awful lot of hairdos to pay off that bill!

Following the breakup of her marriage, she moved to Birmingham, Alabama. As she rebuilt her life, Virginia searched for something that could help pay the medical bills. What about her love of music? After all, the management at the little radio station back home thought she was good enough to broadcast.

She scouted around Birmingham and found some singing jobs in nightclubs. By 1965, she landed a performing role on WBRC-TV's Country Boy Eddie Show. Granted, it wasn't exactly the Grand Ole Opry, but that was okay, she was once again feeling the familiar joy of performing. During the next year she performed with Porter Wagoner's road show in several nearby towns. She also found singing jobs in other southern cities. In addition, her skills were spreading into songwriting as she began to co-write with Fred Lehner of Birmingham's WYAM radio station.

By late 1966, she had worked up the nerve to take on the heart of country music - Nashville. Unfortunately, she came away empty-handed from her first trip. And her second attempt didn't seem to be any more successful. She had pitched a friend's songs to Epic Records A & R man, Billy Sherrill. Sherrill wasn't impressed with the songs, but apparently kept the young singer on file in the back of his mind. When he failed in his attempt to obtain the licensing for "Apartment # 9" from the independent label, he made a call that would echo through country music history.

When Sherrill heard her somg "Apartment # 9," he likely gave a little "thank you" that he hadn't been able to obtain the licensing from the smaller label. He had inadvertently stumbled across a tremendous talent. She had everything it takes to become a big star...with one exception...her name. Virginia Wynette Pugh, didn't exactly roll gracefully off the tongue. With a little adjustment, Sherrill introduced the country music world to its new "first lady to be," Tammy Wynette.

That introduction would be soon followed with a golden string of country classics. The next year brought her first Top-ten hit, "Your Good Girl's Gonna Go Bad." Before 1967 was over, she hit the number one spot with her duet with David Houston, "My Elusive Dreams." And she ended the year with her first solo number one, "I Don't Wanna Play House."

Along with her individual successes, Tammy's name would be permanently forged alongside of that of George Jones. Classics duets like "Golden Ring," "Near You" and "We're Gonna Hold On," live on despite the disintegration of their stormy marriage. "Our marriage didn't work," Tammy would reflect, "but that was the only thing that didn't work for us."

Tammy's professional relationship with Billy Sherrill "worked" for her as well. He co-wrote many of her greatest hits and watched her soar to the top ranks of country music stardom. Songs like "D-I-V-O-R-C-E," and "Take Me To Your World" helped her secure the C.M.A.'s "Female Vocalist of the Year" award for 1968, '69, & '70. Her smash hit, "Stand By Your Man" became the best-selling female country single in history. Sherrill's unsuccessful attempt to gain re-releasing rights indeed turned out to be a very fortunate failure.

#  "Conventional" Beginnings

The Georgia Old-time Fiddlers' Conventions

that helped assemble the Skillet Lickers

Atlanta was eager to savor its new treat. The horseshoe-shaped arena of the City Auditorium was set up to welcome the motley assortment of country fiddlers. And those fiddlers were primed and ready to step onto its stage to saw out the old favorites like "Arkansas Traveler," "Soldier's Joy" and "Hog in the Cane Break." As Tuesday, the first of April 1913 rolled around, the only part of the first Georgia Old-Time Fiddlers' Convention left in question was the audience.

The promoters were sure people would come. After all, most of the city-dwellers or their predecessors had migrated from the surrounding countryside. Surely the music of their heritage would draw them to the convention. But for good measure, the Atlanta Constitution heralded the event for weeks. The paper's reporters foretold a traditional rural music event, and promised there would be "no classical music on the program." On the day of the show, the Constitution good-naturedly reminded the city slickers of their country roots. The music, the paper stated, would be the kind their granddaddies had danced to. This was before they moved to Atlanta "and got rich in real estate and turned to grand opera lovers."

Their granddaddies would have been proud of them. When the time came, they flowed into the auditorium. The Atlanta Georgian observed that the music worked its magic and "an epidemic of dancing broke out." The contest, stretching over a three-day period, was such a roaring success that the organizers and participants decided to make it an annual event. For the next twenty-two years the conventions drew together an odd-lot assortment of musicians from all over Georgia. The contests forged lasting friendships. Many of these relationships embraced some very divergent personalities -linked only by their mutual interest and skills in playing the old-time music.

Likely none of these relationships contained as skillful...or as divergent a membership as the one that evolved into country music's most popular early string band - the Skillet Lickers. They were assembled merely as a studio group to cut records. Soon, however, the three principal players and their rotating band of back-up musicians became immensely popular.

Spurred by Ralph Peer's success with Fiddlin' John Carson the previous year, the Columbia Phonograph Company turned to the South in 1924 for more rural entertainers. Columbia's chief talent scout, Frank Walker, took his mission seriously. "I rode horses into the woods," he once recalled, looking for musicians who could "project the true country flavor." He didn't have to mount a horse to find the regionally popular musicians he would mold into the Skillet Lickers.

Gid Tanner of Thomas Bridge, Georgia would become the patriarch of the group. He was widely acknowledged to be Fiddlin' John's principle rival at the conventions. Like John, he was not only an able musician but also a likable showman. As Gid sang along to his fiddle tunes, he could shift from a deep bass to a high falsetto, which according to a Constitution reporter could "make a Swiss yodeler turn pale with envy."

Walker invited Gid to Columbia's New York studio to cut some records. Gid accepted the offer and asked fellow fiddlers' convention regular, Riley Puckett, to join him. On March of 1924, they stepped into music history as Columbia's first "hillbilly" recording artists. Although the resulting releases didn't gain the popularity of Fiddlin' John Carson's record, they showed Walker he was on the right track. That September, he invited the pair back for another session.

Gid's recording partner, Riley Puckett, was an Alpharetta native who had been blinded shortly after birth from a misapplication of an eye medication. While attending the Georgia Academy for the Blind in Macon, he learned to play piano. Later, as a teenager living with his parents in Atlanta, he also included the banjo. The first notice of his appearance in the fiddlers' convention was at the 1916 event. The conventions had begun to include instruments other than the fiddle. Riley's banjo rendition of "Tipperary" won a roaring ovation and an encore. But it would later be his innovative guitar playing and energetic vocals that would mark his legacy.

The third key member of the Skillet Lickers made his fiddlers' convention debut at the 1915 contest. At the age of fifteen, the Altoona-born Clayton McMichen won eighth place in the fiddle competition and walked away with five dollars for his efforts. In addition, as Clayton was growing up, radio was entering the entertainment scene. Atlanta's newly founded WSB provided a way to reach a widespread audience.

In September of 1922, Clayton and his recently established band, the "Home Town Boys," debuted on WSB. The next day, the Journal said they had made "...a tremendously impressive showing." The listening audience agreed, and their response soon made the Home Town Boys a regular act.

The links that would soon connect the Skillet Lickers were already beginning to form. One of the newer members of the Home Town Boys was Riley Puckett. In fact, several of the group's members would play with the Skillet Lickers, including Fate Norris who would regularly furnish a backup banjo.

The success of Clayton's Home Town Boys was not lost on Frank Walker. Realizing he was dealing with a unique personality mixture - a countrified Tanner, a popular music-oriented Puckett and a youthful jazz-loving McMichen - Walker nevertheless proposed they join forces. In early 1926 they adopted a name modified from a group that frequented the fiddlers' conventions, the "Lick Skillet Orchestra," and accepted Walker's proposal.

During the four years that the volatile combination survived, they forged a lasting place in country music history. In their first year, "Old Joe Clark" hit the Top Five of the "hillbilly" music charts. "John Henry" did the same the following year. Ironically, it was after they had disbanded that Gid, his son Gordon, Riley Pucket, and fiddler and mandolinist Ted Hawkins gathered to record the best remembered Skillet Lickers' hit, "Down Yonder." Who would have guessed such an unconventional group could have sprung from such "conventional" beginnings?

# "Texas" Bob's Tales

The colorful childhood stories that added

flavor to Marty Robbins' songs

"Texas" Bob Heckle leaned back, cradled his sun-dried head in his hands, and prepared another story-telling session for his grandson. What should he select from his storehouse of Old Western tales today? He could dramatize the final minutes of a famous outlaw's life. Or perhaps he could relay the exploits of a hard-driving sheriff tracking down a ruthless lawbreaker. And of course he could always draw upon another memory from his own days as a Texas Ranger.

As he spun his tales, "Texas" Bob had no way of knowing that his vivid word-scenes would someday flash across the mental movie screens of hundreds of thousands of country music fans. As the wide-eyed Martin David Robertson listened, however, he stored the exciting adventures in a very special part of his memory. It was the place he would later tap to create some of country music's best-loved western ballads.

Eventually known to the world as Marty Robbins, the recipient of those stories would color the tales with his unique talents, and help to re-emphasize the western in country and western music. "A lot of the songs I've written," Marty would recall, "were brought about because of stories he told me. Like 'Big Iron' I wrote because he was a Texas Ranger. At least he told me he was."

Cowboy movies would also help to romanticize the early West for young Martin. He would often travel ten miles to a cotton field where he could earn the money to see a Gene Autry movie. Once he entered the theater, he would march up to the very front row so he could drink in all the action. "I could have gotten sand in the eyes from the horses, and powder burns from the guns," Marty reflected.

The rough-riding action of those movies would eventually merge with his grandfather's riveting stories to deeply embed the colorful Old West in Marty's imagination. Millions of fans would one day follow him and his colorful cast of characters from the dusty streets of Laredo to the dangerous "cantinas" of El Paso.

Those characters wouldn't be the first on the stage of Marty's musical imagination, however. His early national fame would come primarily from his ventures into popular music and early Rock and Roll, with the now-classic songs like "A White Sports Coat (and a Pink Carnation)" and "Singing the Blues."

His talent, however, was too wide-ranging to be fenced in for long by rigid boundaries. He began to look for other musical styles to master. As the years rolled by and his hit records mounted up, he became the most versatile singer in country music. He successfully recorded mainstream country, Mexican, Western, Hawaiian ballads, blues, gospel, rockabilly, contemporary country and popular music.

As he ventured into Western and Mexican music, he breathed life back into old "Texas" Bob's colorful heroes and bandits. During the late 1950's, they galloped out of his childhood memories, through his colorful imagination, and onto the pages of his songs.

The beginning of that decade marked his entrance on the national music scene. During a stint in the Navy, Marty had learned to play the guitar and started writing some songs. After his discharge, he returned to his home state of Arizona and began to play some of the local clubs around Phoenix. During this period, he changed his name several times, concerned that his parents wouldn't approve of his nightclub singing. Eventually, he settled on "Marty Robbins," since he felt it had a Western ring.

One day, while he was driving a brick truck around Phoenix, Marty tuned into radio station KPHO. As he listened to the cowboy singer on the show, he decided on a bold move. He gave the station's program director a call informing him that he could sing better than their current cowboy singer. His strategy worked. Not only was he given a spot on the radio, but after filling in for a no-show guest on their television show, he soon worked his way into hosting the KPHO Western Caravan.

That little show would become the springboard for Marty's international success. Various traveling stars stopped by from time to time to play the Caravan. One of these, Little Jimmy Dickens, would soon change Marty's life. Jimmy was so impressed with his abilities that when he returned to California, he advised Columbia Records executives to check out this young singer. They followed his advice and hired Marty on the spot.

He would soon reward their confidence in him. During his second recording session, his version of the Webb Pierce hit, "I'll Go on Alone" made the Top Ten. By the fall of 1956, he hit the number one spot with his cover of Guy Mitchell's "Singing the Blues." He was definitely on the path to stardom. That path would carry him from one musical style to another. The year 1959 was the one that remains deeply engraved in the memories of his Western music fans. That was the year he reached back to his childhood fascination with the Old West.

The album he released that year, "Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs," contained "El Paso." Not only would El Paso top both the country and popular charts, it would net him the first Grammy awarded for a Country and Western song. "El Paso," "Big Iron," "Battle of the Alamo," "El Paso City" and his other ballads earned him a permanent spot in the hearts of Western fans.

That award was to be only the first of many. He would earn another Grammy for "My Woman, My Woman, My Wife," and would eventually be inducted into both the Songwriters and the CMA Halls of Fame. Considered by many to have been the Grand Ole Opry's all-time favorite performer, he has the distinction of being the last performer on the Grand Ole Opry at the old Ryman Auditorium, and one of the first to appear at the new Opry House. When all this is mixed in with his love of car racing, complete with several high-speed accidents, Marty's life makes a fascinating story. Even a veteran storyteller like old "Texas" Bob would have agreed.

#  A "Bargain Basement" Song Sale

The fifty-dollar song deal that helped

jump-start Willie Nelson's career

Willie knew his song was worth more than fifty dollars. He didn't know it would one day become a country standard, but he still knew it was worth more than fifty dollars. He also knew, however, that his family couldn't eat song lyrics and his car didn't run on melodies. And he knew Houston just wasn't the place to get his career moving. So there really wasn't any other choice. He wasn't exactly a "bundle of job skills," and he simply had to get to Nashville.

After bouncing around several small Texas towns, Willie wound up teaching guitar at a little music school in Houston. Paul Buskirk, the school's owner, agreed to buy the rights to his song "Family Bible" for fifty dollars. It wasn't exactly a record-breaking offer but it would get Willie where he needed to be...Nashville. So, with his first songwriter's "salary," Nelson gassed up his battered '41 Buick and pointed his family toward Music City.

As they left, "Family Bible" had already climbed to the Top Ten for Buskirk's singer-friend, Claude Gray. That was okay. Willie now had gas in his car, food in his family, and dreams of Music City in his head. And another thing - now he knew for sure his songs were commercial...and he knew there were plenty more where that one came from.

In fact, the songs had been coming for about as long as he could remember. There wasn't a lot going on in his little hometown of Abbott, Texas, so when the lively world of music beckoned, young Willie followed. His grandfather, "Daddy" Nelson, bought him a guitar when he was six and taught him a few chords. Within a year, Willie had not only learned to play, but began writing "heartbreak" songs.

He had always been surrounded by a wide variety of music...and he loved it all. He drank in the Polka music of the Germans who had settled in Texas as well as the swinging southwestern sounds of Bob Wills and Ernest Tubb. His grandfather's radio surrounded him with a blend of popular tunes, big band music, jazz and the earthy sounds of the Grand Ole Opry. Willie soaked up every note like a musical sponge.

During the years ahead, he would often shock his friends with the diversity of his musical interests. A friend would later tell about a jam session he attended with Willie backstage in a New Jersey theater. Willie suddenly started picking out a tune by a somewhat "less-than-mainstream country composer" named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

"I'm a pretty well-read feller," Willie would explain, with a grin.

As the young "legend to be" developed this musical mixture, his career didn't exactly take a straight-line path to stardom. Married, with a young daughter, Willie needed steady work. He had tried out a string of door-to-door salesman jobs, peddling everything from vacuum cleaners to encyclopedias, when he finally came across something more to his liking - disk jockeying. "This is your ole cotton pickin', snuff dippin', tobacco chewin', coffee pot dodgin', dumplin' eatin', frog giggin' hillbilly from Hill Country" he would spout as he signed on at Fort Worth's KCNC.

For the next seven years, he worked as a DJ in stations in Texas, California and Oregon, and played in local honky-tonks in his spare time. He wasn't exactly getting rich and famous, but at least he was closer to the "love of his life" - music. It was during these radio days that Willie added the guitar-teaching job to his schedule. Not only had he written "Family Bible," but among his creations was a number that Paul Buskirk and his friends felt was a little "too bluesy" for Claude Gray to perform -"Night Life."

When he reached Nashville, he quickly learned the Music City songwriter's favorite trick of the trade - just "hang around" Tootsie's Bar, drinking and pitching songs until someone shows some interest. At last Willie had found a vocation he was tailor-made for. One of the first Nashville insiders to notice his song-writing skills was Hank Cochran. After hearing Willie sing at Tootsie's, he helped him get a writing contract with Pamper Music. His selection couldn't have been better. Pamper was partially owned by Ray Price.

Price would not only hire Willie as a bass player in his band, but eventually turn the too bluesy "Night Life" into his theme song. Although there were still hills and valleys ahead in Willie's career, he could be fairly certain that the days of peddling encyclopedias and vacuum cleaners were now in the past.

During his Nashville years, he wrote a number of hit songs for other artists, including Patsy Cline's "Crazy," Faron Young's "Hello Walls" and Billy Walker's "Funny How Time Slips Away." He also had some success with his own singing career, turning out songs like "One in a Row," "The Party's Over" and "Yesterday's Wine."

His own singing career didn't truly take off, however, until he stepped out of the slick Nashville role. Moving back to Texas, he noticed something strange. At Austin's Armadillo World Headquarters where he was playing, he saw a whole new breed of country music fans showing up. Rather than arriving in the traditional cowboy hat and boots, they usually slouched in with long hair, wearing ragged jeans and tennis shoes.

At last Willie had found his audience. He had never really fit the Nashville mold anyway. As his own hair grew longer and his jeans grew more ragged, Willie also let his musical hair down. Suddenly, the word began to spread that an "outlaw" musician in Austin had thrown the rulebook away. He was drawing in people of all descriptions with his music of all descriptions.

The mainstream music community would eventually legitimize that Austin outlaw with a shower of awards. These would include a collection of Grammys, CMA's 1979 "Entertainer of the Year" and induction into both the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Songwriter's Hall of Fame. Apparently that fifty-dollar song sale wasn't such a bad deal after all.

#  "The Buck Starts Here"

When Buck Owens reluctantly began his singing career

Alvis Edgar "Buck" Owens definitely didn't want to sing. He was perfectly content picking guitar. After all, his guitar work had already graced the records of such notable singers as Tennessee Ernie Ford, Faron Young and Sonny James. But it seems like every time a fellow settles into a comfortable niche, there is always someone around to kick him out of it.

He was also quite satisfied with his steady gig playing lead guitar in the house band at Bakersfield's famous "Blackboard Club." The problem was, the band's lead singer couldn't make it that night. So...who did the boss turn to with an "offer he couldn't refuse"...him, of course.

"I just wanted to be a picker..." Buck remembered. But when the club owner informed him that he absolutely had to fill in for the missing singer, Buck temporarily set aside his "anti-singing" sentiments. "It was either sing or lose my job," he recalled, "so I sang."

Fortunately for the millions of his fans-to-be, when he hesitantly stepped up to the microphone and began to sing, the enthusiastic crowd recognized his potential. Throughout the months ahead, Buck continued to take his turn at the microphone. It was beginning to look as if there might be something more in his musical future than his guitar playing. As that future unfolded, he chiseled in gold a promise he had made to himself as a child. He had vowed he would never again be poor, hungry, or without decent clothes. He had spent his early childhood in the Dust Bowl environment of Sherman, Texas during the depths of the depression.

To escape their drought-ridden surroundings, the Owens' family hitched a dilapidated trailer to their old Ford. With a mattress strapped on top and relatives packed elbow-to-elbow, they headed for the "Promised Land" of California. Unfortunately, as Buck and the gang on the famous television show, Hee Haw, would one day sing, "If it weren't for bad luck, they'd have no luck at all." Their beaten up old trailer broke down near Mesa, Arizona. With no money to fix it, they reluctantly decided to call Mesa their new home.

Like many other teenagers during the depression, Buck dropped out of school to help support the family. At thirteen he was harvesting crops and hauling produce. "I was big enough and willing enough to do a man's work," he remembered, "and I got a man's pay."

Buck was willing to do the grueling farm labor, but he was also willing to leave it far behind. His parents had scraped together the money to buy him a mandolin for his thirteenth birthday. Young Buck wasn't yet aware, but as he cradled the instrument in his arms, he was clinging to the first rung of the ladder to his future. That ladder would eventually tower high above the endless rows of dusty fields.

Buck didn't hesitate to climb his new ladder. He turned to anyone who would teach him how to play his new mandolin. Before long, he included guitar picking in his musical education. As he watched his fingers move along the guitar neck as if they were meant to play it, a thought ran through his mind - picking a musical instrument would sure beat picking crops.

By sixteen, he landed a job singing on Mesa's radio station KTYL. Before long he was the co-host of a local country music television program, The Buck and Britt Show. He was also getting steady work in the local honky-tonks and bars. Soon he became a regular member of a band named Mac's Skillet Lickers. His intense practice and natural talent were beginning to pay off.

Another member of Mac's Skillet Lickers would play an important role in Buck's life. Bonnie Campbell, a young singer with the group, soon became Bonnie Owens. By the time Buck was twenty, he and Bonnie had two sons. With his new family responsibilities, Buck found the musical gigs that had previously supported him, now needed a little assistance. He began driving a truck to supplement his income. It looked as if he would need to reach beyond Mesa's boundaries if he was going to stick with his music full-time.

Bakersfield, California was already known for its country music clubs. It was time for Buck to continue his family's journey to the "promised land." He had added the trumpet and saxophone to his repertoire and his versatility helped him find steady work in the clubs. Before long he would work his way into that job in the Blackboard Club where his peaceful life as a guitar picker would be ended by the no-show lead singer.

Once he started to catch on as a live performer, Buck began to look for studios that would consider recording him. In 1954, he managed to record a few rockabilly songs under the name of Corky Jones, for the Pep and Chesterfield labels. "Corky," however, didn't exactly blaze a golden trail in the music history books. Neither did the recordings he made for Capitol under his own name in 1957.

Disappointed, he moved to Seattle, Washington to accept a job offer as a radio disc jockey. While he was there, in 1959, his recording of "Second Fiddle" made the Top Thirty. Shortly after that, "Under Your Spell Again" soared into the Top Ten. Perhaps he had given up a little too soon. Suddenly his goal of making successful records had reawakened. He moved back to Bakersfield and commuted to Los Angeles for regular recording sessions.

During the years ahead, he would not only make a lasting name for himself, but would help put Bakersfield on the national country music map. His musical legend would become so intertwined with the city that people would jokingly refer to it as "Buckersfield." In 1963 he had his first Number-one hit with "Act Naturally."

Over the years, he would turn out an impressive string of Number-one songs including "My Heart Skips a Beat," "Love's Gonna Live Here," "Tall Dark Stranger," "Together Again" and "I've Got a Tiger by the Tail." The country music industry recognized his contributions with such living-legend recognitions as the Academy of Country Music's "Pioneer Award" and the Music City News Founders Award. Fortunately for Buck, that boss who kicked him out of his comfortable niche as a guitar-picker, had good aim - he kicked him right into country music history.

#  Old Cold "Gold"

The nearly forgotten gospel composer's song

that led Little Jimmy Dickens to the Opry

James Cecil Dickens could almost taste his dreams. As he listened to the Grand Ole Opry broadcast, he could picture himself standing on that stage alongside his radio heroes. He knew, of course, that he would have to develop his own style. He needed something that would set him off from the thousands of other Opry hopefuls.

Maybe he would be known for the unique way he sang heart-rending emotional ballads. He had studied Roy Acuff's sentimental style and had given it his own touch. Yes, that would likely be his niche...singing serious "heart songs," just like his handsome Opry hero, Roy Acuff.

Throughout his teenage years, his vision of a country music career continued to grow. Jimmy, however...didn't. Although he would later grow five more inches, as a teen Jimmy was only four foot, six inches tall. Somehow, he didn't quite fit the traditional "honky-tonk hero" mold. He didn't abandon his vision. He still knew someday he wanted to stand proudly on the Opry stage. The only thing he wasn't quite sure of was how he was going to get there.

Radio summoned him early. By seventeen, he had landed a job with Beckley, West Virginia's WJLS. The energetic youth walked several miles to the station every day to bring it on the air with his rooster-crow imitation. Then he would sing with Mel Steele and his wife, "Blue-Eyed Jeanie." Later, when Mel and Jeanie moved on, Jimmy stayed at WJLS and joined Johnnie Bailes and his Happy Valley Boys.

The spark that would one day ignite Jimmy's country music dream was beginning to glow...a little. He wasn't exactly pouring out heart songs on the Grand Ole Opry stage, but at least he was getting some local recognition. In order to stand out among all the other Opry aspirants though, he knew he would still need to find that special style.

The spark that would light the path leading to that style would come in the form of an old, almost forgotten song. But it wouldn't be an emotional Acuff-like ballad. Instead, Jimmy's dreams would be realized through a light-hearted novelty song. It was written in 1921 by an Arkansas gospel composer, E. M. Bartlet, and had nearly been lost to history.

In 1941, Jimmy moved from WJLS to WMMN in Fairmont, West Virginia where Mel and Jeanie Steele had relocated. While working full-time with the Steeles, Dickens met fellow WMMN singer, T. Texas Tyler. They became friends and when Tyler later moved to an Indianapolis station, he talked Jimmy into joining him.

It was during his stay in Indianapolis that Jimmy would run across the song. Sonny Grubb, a banjo player at the station, taught him a catchy song about a small country boy who was always being pushed away from the dinner table when company came. It had been recorded in the twenties by a singer named Clarence Ganus, but had never received much attention.

Maybe Jimmy could do something with it. After all, even if he didn't fit the honky-tonk hero mold, he could surely qualify as the "small country boy" type. When he tried the song out on the radio, the requests that poured in from the listening audience backed up his hunch. They just couldn't seem to hear enough of "Take an Old Cold Tater and Wait."

It would still be some time before Jimmy realized that song was the key to unlocking the Opry door. He continued to emphasize his emotional ballads during his singing career. Jimmy moved from the Indianapolis station to the powerful 50,000-watt WLW in Cincinnati. There he played on the "Boone County Jamboree," After that, he moved on to Topeka's "Kansas Roundup."

During this time, Jimmy and the Kansas Roundup gang were also playing at county fairs and other local events. Since the mid-western towns were small and scattered, it was difficult to schedule enough personal appearances to add much to his radio income. So Jimmy decided to move to the more populated north and headed for station WKNX in Saginaw, Michigan. That move, along with his previous discovery of "Old Cold Tater," would put him within knocking distance of the Grand Ole Opry door.

In Saginaw he met Roy Acuff, his childhood hero. Roy liked Jimmy's voice. He liked it well enough, in fact, to recommend him to the Grand Ole Opry management as well as Art Satfierley of Columbia Records. Here was the chance Jimmy had always dreamed of. Now, it was time to find that niche.

He signed with Columbia in November of 1948, and prepared for his first recording session the following January. The radio audience back in Indianapolis had been a good representative of the rest of country music's fans. His first hit, "Take an Old Cold Tater and Wait." soared into the Top Ten. A few months later, another novelty song, "Country Boy," also hit the Top Ten.

Shortly after these, Jimmy scored with a couple of serious ballads, "Pennies for Papa" and "My Heart's Bouquet." Although he would continue to successfully record ballads throughout his career, his fans soon decided what Jimmy's specialty would be. They loved his novelty songs and through the years continued to send them flying toward the top of the charts. As he turned out a string of hits like "Hillbilly Fever," "A-Sleepin' at the Foot of the Bed," "I'm Little But I'm Loud" and "Out Behind the Barn," "Little Jimmy Dickens" had definitely found his niche.

Not only was he welcomed into the Grand Ole Opry family, but in 1982 his unique career was honored with induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame. It wasn't only his music that his fans and fellow musicians loved, it was also Jimmy himself. Everyone felt a personal connection with him.

They also knew they could poke a little good-natured fun his way in trade for all the smiles he had given them. Hank Williams, after hearing his first hit, always called him "Tater." June Carter, watching him strutting on stage in one of his typically outlandish Nudie suits once described him as "Mighty Mouse in pajamas." Yes, James Cecil Dickens finally found his unique niche. He is not merely a singer of heart songs, but also a singer of songs that warm the heart.

#  Moonshine & Magic

The "corn-liquor wagons" that helped

**Bob Wills give birth to "Western Swing** "

Ten year-old James Robert Wills' eyes nearly burned a hole in the clock. Where was his dad? The locals who had gathered at the ranch were through exchanging stories about their crops. They were ready to dance. And he knew what they wanted to dance to. Not the back-up mandolin he played, but his father's fiddle.

He had his father's fiddle, since his dad had asked him to carry it to the dance for him. What he didn't have was...his father. Unfortunately, his dad had become a little too interested in the "corn liquor wagons" along the way to keep a close eye on the time. As the minutes ticked by, the local farm folks were becoming restless. They had come to dance.

Young "Jim Rob" Wills looked sadly at the fiddle waiting for its master to breathe life into its silent body. If only it would just rise up and start playing! As he gloomily eyed the instrument, a dim spark began to illuminate his dark thoughts. Although fiddling had never really interested him, he remembered a recent incident that had at least given him some familiarity with it.

He had been silently enduring the torture as his cousin painfully sawed away at a fiddle tune. Finally, he could stand no more. He told his cousin that he could play the tune better than that, and he didn't even know how to play the fiddle. In fact, he included a brash wager. If he could play it better, his cousin would cease his annoying concert and give him peace.

As he cradled the instrument in his hands, it felt strangely comfortable, as if it were meant to be there. Not only did he win the wager, but he borrowed the fiddle later and worked up a half-dozen fiddle tunes by ear. Perhaps, he thought nervously, those six tunes would be better than the stony silence of the fiddle and the burning eyes of the frustrated dancers.

So...with his father's fiddle in his trembling hands, and a total of six newly learned tunes in his repertoire, Jim Rob Wills sent the first notes of his future career into the world. His ranch-dance audience first greeted his efforts with wide eyes and startled smiles. Then something magical happened. Their eyes returned to normal, the smiles remained, and their feet began to move. He could hardly believe it - they were dancing!

In fact, when his father finally arrived, they were so tickled with the young boy's fiddling that they kept him in the spotlight all night playing his six songs over and over. Suddenly, the fiddle, which had never been of much interest to him, had turned into a shining piece of magic. With it, he could make 'em dance. He would continue to expand those six songs into an eventual total of over five hundred and fifty recordings. From that nervous beginning to his final songs fifty-eight years later, he would continue to "make 'em dance."

His newfound interest in the fiddle delighted his family. After all, he had a tradition to carry on. Both the Wills family on his dad's side and the Foleys on his mother's, were packed with fiddlers. They had filled the barns and ranches with hand-clapping breakdowns for as long as the local farmers and ranchers could remember. And now, they had another fiddler to carry on their tradition. None of them though, would have believed how far he would eventually carry it.

Once he had caught the bug, there was no slowing him down. He not only learned traditional fiddle tunes from his father, he also began to soak up other styles. He enjoyed the old-time fiddling music, but also loved to "jig dance" to the lively music of the local black musicians. And he just couldn't sit still when the Spanish folk music filled the air.

His West Texas home was the ideal place to mix up a batch of new music using the ingredients that surrounded him. He also stirred in the western sounds of the "cowboy" songs in the area. As he grew, he would also flavor the mixture with spicy New Orleans jazz and the full-flavored sounds of the popular big swing bands.

One of Will's early band members, Durwood Brown, recalled the time period when the ingredients were being added. "We listened to all kinds of music," he remembered, "but especially whatever kind of music people danced by." As Wills was changing the feel of his music to make it more "dancable," he also made a name change. He worked for a time, as a singer and blackface comic on a medicine show. The show already had someone named Jim, so to distinguish them, the manager began to refer to him as Bob.

Now booked as "Bob Wills," and becoming more and more proficient at his fiddling, he formed the Wills' Fiddle Band in 1929. They began to play for modernized versions of the ranch dances he and his father had played, called "House Dances." They also began to perform over several Fort Worth radio stations.

The show that would launch his fame, began in 1931 on Fort Worth station KFJZ. Their segment was sponsored by the Burrus Mill and Elevator Company. Since they manufactured Light Crust flower, Bob's band changed their name to the "Light Crust Doughboys." W. Lee O'Daniel, the company president, began to buy prime-time radio spots for the show in several large cities around the state. Suddenly, the little band was becoming the talk of Texas.

It wouldn't be long before more than Texas would talk about the innovative newcomer on the music scene. His band was going through rapid changes just as his new musical concoction had. In 1933, he moved to Waco and renamed the band, "The Playboys." The next year, "Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys" moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma where they found a home on radio station KVOO.

In Oklahoma, Bob put together a band that would forever bring a wistful smile to "Western Swing" fans. Breaking with tradition, he added horns, drums, and a steel guitarist to the group. During the years ahead, his band filled the airwaves with such golden hits as "New Spanish Two Step," "Cherokee Maiden," "Faded Love" and "Take Me Back to Tulsa." And as his singer, Tommy Dunkin, gave voice to Bob's now-classic lyrics, "Deep within my heart lies a melody," they launched the million-selling "San Antonio Rose." Those corn liquor wagons may have delayed his father as he headed for the ranch dance, but they sure didn't slow down Bob Wills, the "King of Western Swing."

#  Buckets Full Of Blues

The menial "water carrier" job that put

the blues in Jimmie Rodgers' blue yodel

When fate shuffled the cards for James Charles Rodgers' life, it couldn't have dealt him a much more pitiful hand. His mother was to die from tuberculosis when he was only four. He would inherit her physical weakness and succumb to the same disease after only thirty-five years of life. And, as if the shortness of his life wasn't bad enough, it would begin in dust-bowl poverty.

Throughout his youth, he was shuttled across the Deep South as his father's railroad foreman job carried them from one small Mississippi or Alabama town to another. By thirteen, he left school and decided to look for work. His father helped him find a job as a water carrier on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad where he worked.

Traditionally, the water carrier position had gone to a young black boy since it involved toting water to the African American workmen. With this seemingly insignificant duty, however, fate finally dealt Jimmie Rodgers a handful of aces. That menial job would color his life with the "black blues," "crooning lullabies" and "moaning chants" that would someday evolve into his beloved "blue yodel."

The black workers liked the friendly hard-working white boy who brought around their water buckets. During the noon rest breaks, they would teach him basic guitar and banjo techniques so he could join them in their favorite pastime - making music. As he joined in their fun, he began to soak up bits and pieces of their heartfelt blues and work chants.

He noticed that they would stretch or shrink words to fit the rhythm of the music. Later in his career, he would often expand a one-syllable word over two or three beats, and compress a multi-syllable word to fit a single beat of a fast-moving song. He also soaked up the steady hard-driving tempo that helped the workers stay in unison as they worked. And most importantly, he learned how to reach down deep to find the moaning soulful sounds that would give genuine emotion to his songs.

Jimmie moved up from the water carrier job and later worked on the Mobile and Ohio railroad as a callboy, section foreman, flagman and brakeman. His constant companion as he traveled the rails, was a banjo or guitar. As the train rolled along the Southland, he filled the air with music.

He would sing every song he had come in contact with; from railroad songs to the blues the black workers had taught him. As the towns and farms flashed past his eyes, something else flashed through his memory. When he was still quite young, he had learned how to yodel. As he sang out the blues, he began to weave the yodeling in and around the emotional strains. The two sounds were an unusual combination, but seemed to fit together perfectly. Gliding along the rails, the young "singing brakeman" gave birth to the blue yodel.

As he entertained the railroad workers with his new musical innovation, he was becoming known as a talented amateur entertainer. After the years of bouncing around low-paying railroad jobs, it looked as if life was finally looking up for him. In fact, not only was he becoming recognized for his music, but after a previous unsuccessful marriage, he had found the love of his life. He married Carrie Williamson on April 7, 1920 and was ready to face a much brighter chapter in his life.

During this chapter, however, fate would deal out more of the same dismal cards that it had dealt at the start of his life. Shortly after their marriage, Rodgers contacted pneumonia. His failing health forced him to work only intermittently on the railroad. Though his music was popular, it didn't add much to his paycheck. He traveled around Tennessee and Kentucky, working as a black-face singer and banjo player in a medicine show.

Soon fate would send a storm cloud to cover his world. After he had scraped up a few dollars, he invested them in his own Hawaiian tent show. Before long, however, a strong windstorm devastated the show. Shortly after that, he received word of the death of his recently born daughter, June Rebecca. The despondent Rodgers pawned his banjo for the train fare home to attend her funeral.

In addition to this heartbreak, the very next year, Jimmie was diagnosed with tuberculosis. He was aware this meant the end of his full-time railroad career, and became desperate to provide for his wife and remaining daughter. So he turned to his only other skill - his music. In 1925, he joined his musical sister-in-law, Elsie McWilliams, and a violinist named Slim Rozell to form a dance combo.

Although the small band didn't stay together for long, it added one more ingredient to Jimmie's musical recipe - popular-music melodies. He would later mix some of that style with many of his songs to produce a livelier sound than the pure blues. This dance-band period would also lead to a partnership with Elsie, who would eventually co-write many of his most famous songs.

In 1926, he moved to Asheville, North Carolina where he organized a group he named the Jimmie Rodgers Entertainers. They had a six-week stint on WWNG radio and then bounced around the southeastern states, billing themselves as "popular radio artists."

The move to Asheville turned out to be another ace that fate finally played for Jimmie. They were close enough to Bristol, Virginia that his wife happen on an article about Ralph Peer's recording session. This was the same session that lured the Carter family down from the mountains for their historic beginnings. Within the same week the Carters recorded, Jimmie walked into Peer's little portable studio and recorded two songs.

That little session ignited a career that would ensure a place for Jimmie Rodgers and his blue yodel on the golden roster of country music legends. During the remaining six years of his life, he would become the first nationally recognized country music star. He would produce a string of classic songs, including "T for Texas," "Muleskinner Blues" and "In the Jailhouse Now." Even during the depths of the depression, poor farm families would ask the general storekeeper for "a loaf of bread, a pound of butter and the latest Jimmie Rodgers record."

#  Becoming "Everybody's Grandpa"

The spontaneous quip that turned a

young singer into an old favorite

Louis Marshall Jones knew dreams have a better chance of coming true when they're mixed with a liberal dose of perseverance and perspiration. So he added plenty of both to his dream of becoming a country music performer. That dream was born in early childhood as he listened to his mother's old-time ballad singing and his father's traditional fiddle playing.

It was fueled again at sixteen when he won a talent contest at the local Keith-Albee theater. As he collected the fifty-dollar prize in ten-dollar gold pieces, he immediately traded in the seventy-five cent guitar he had been using, for a more expensive model. And now, here he was six years later, still following that dream. He had been touring the Northeast with ballad-singer Bradley Kincaid's band, and playing with them on Boston radio station WBZ.

At twenty-two, it was beginning to look as if Marshall might soon join the ranks of the young up-and-coming country musicians. Bradley Kincaid, however, would make sure that would never happen. Oh, he would help Marshall become an up-and-coming country musician, but because of a spontaneous comment he would later make, Jones would never be...young. As the two became friends, Kincaid began to kid Marshall about his gruff-voiced manner and slow-moving country style. Once when Marshall was grumbling about having to get up so early to bring the radio station on the air, Bradley made the remark that he reminded him of "an old grandpa." That good-natured quip sparked their imaginations and spawned a vision that would produce one of the Grand Ole Opry's most beloved characters.

They both knew that a "gimmick" would help the young entertainer stand out from the competition. Since, as Kincaid had pointed out, Marshall acted older than his age, why couldn't he become older? After all, he had always loved the old-time traditional mountain music. In fact, when he was a teenager playing on a radio station in Akron, Ohio, a listener had inquired about his age saying, "You sound like an old man." Back then he had billed himself as a "Young Singer of Old Songs." They could simply move him ahead in time as an "Old Singer of Old Songs."

They turned to their vaudeville friend, Bert Swor, for assistance. As Swor helped them assemble "grandpa" piece by piece, they excitedly watched the birth of the "new old" character. Finally, the metamorphosis was complete. The twenty-two-year-old Jones stood proudly in his high-topped boots and bright suspenders. As he smiled out from underneath his dilapidated hat, he had no inkling that he would become this character for so many years that eventually he would no longer need to add the greasepaint wrinkle lines and the false gray brush-handle mustache.

In 1937, Marshall would set out on his own. Even then, however, he wouldn't be totally alone. Another musician would befriend him, like Kincaid had, and help to complete his transformation. He had recently joined Wheeling, West Virginia's WWVA Jamboree. There he met Cynthia May Carver, who performed with the stage name of Cousin Emmy. "Up to then, I played guitar," Jones recalled. Then he explained that Cousin Emmy taught him how to play the banjo using a traditional type of "frailing" technique. "It's called the "drop-thumb style," he continued, "where the thumb drops from the first and second down to the fifth string."

The banjo - especially with the old-style method he had learned - fit his Grandpa character perfectly. While he was playing at the Wheeling Jamboree, he also learned a large number of traditional mountain ballads. With his expanded repertoire and newly acquired banjo skills, "Grandpa" Jones was ready to face the future. Actually, in a sense, he was already in the future. He merely had to set about catching up with himself.

Marshall moved from station-to-station, trying out different radio barn dance programs. Like many of the other country "legends-in-waiting," he was searching for the door that would open to the next step in his career and eventually lead him to one of the barn dance giants like the Grand Ole Opry. He tried out WTIC in Hartford, Connecticut, then moved on to Fairmont, West Virginia's WMNN. That door finally cracked open at station WLW in Cincinnati.

At the station's Boone County Jamboree, he met Merle Travis and The Delmore Brothers - Alton and Rabon. All three, like Marshall, were destined to write their own chapters in country music history. They decided to team up as a Gospel quartet called the Brown's Ferry Four. A "new kid on the block" named Red Foley also joined them from time to time.

Marshall made another important friend during this time - Syd Nathan - the owner of a local record shop. Nathan would later form an independent recording studio called King Records. The Brown's Ferry Four would make the company's first recordings and Marshall would later cut his own records there. The stage was now set for the introduction to the world of "Grandpa."

His national curtain call came in the mid-forties. Working with King Records, he turned out a series of successful records, including "It's Raining Here this Morning," "Mountain Dew" and two of his own songs, "Rattler," and "Eight More Miles to Louisville." In addition to his recording success, he was ushered into the family of the Grand Ole Opry.

His recording career trailed off after that, although he had a couple more hits in the sixties with "All American Boy" and his popular version of Jimmie Rodgers' "T For Texas." But that was okay. He had already created a lasting place in country music history for Grandpa Jones. That place would be confirmed in 1978 with his induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Every time he stepped out onto the stage of the Opry and the other barn dance shows, he brought a piece of history with him. As the newer entertainers donned their flashy Nudie suits, Grandpa's well-worn hat and scuffed boots silently reminded them where their music came from. They knew they shouldn't forget their roots and "get above their raisin'." After all, they were under the watchful eye of their "grandpa."

#  Growing The Wildwood Flower

The little newspaper article that germinated the

"first family" of country music - the Carter Family

The tiny black letters of the morning newspaper were suddenly transformed into musical notes and dollar signs. Alvin Pleasant Carter gulped another swallow of his morning coffee and focused on the half column article on the front page of the Bristol News Bulletin. As he read, he began to picture a possible new chapter in his hard-working life as a farmer, carpenter, and fruit tree salesman.

He wasn't quite sure what that chapter would be. But the article with the headline: "Mountain-Songs Recorded Here by Victor Company," seemed to be talking directly to him. He knew he had to pack his wife and sister-in-law - along with the children, guitars and autoharps - into the old Model A Ford and head down the mountain to read that new chapter.

The article announced a recording session by Victor representative, Ralph Peer, to be held in the nearby town of Bristol, which straddled the Tennessee-Virginia border. Peer had made an agreement with the Victor executives to go out into the hill country and round up some local talent. He had successfully recorded old-time mountain musicians for the General Phonograph Corporation's "Okeh" label and in fact, had introduced country music pioneer, "Fiddlin" John Carson."

Peer was quite the wheeler-dealer, and seldom had to pay for advertising. This time, he had arranged for the well- known folk-singing "Stoneman Family" to join him for the recording session. Then he had convinced the News Bulletin editor that their presence in his town would warrant a front-page write-up about the event.

Alvin Pleasant, or "A. P." as history would know him, contacted Peer and set up an appointment. On the first of August 1927, he pulled up in his mud-caked Model A, and he and his clan strolled into Peer's makeshift studio. They struck Peer as being pure mountain folk. A. P., as he later recalled, was "dressed in overalls." The women with him, he remembered, were "country women from way back there." As Peer and his two engineers prepared the trio for the recording session, Mrs. Peer took their children out back for ice cream.

A. P. and his wife Sara had already been singing together at casual neighborhood gatherings for over ten years by the time they landed in Peer's studio. Sara's sister Maybelle, had joined them the previous year. The homespun trio already had a good collection of songs, since A. P.'s father had been a mountain banjo player and his mother enjoyed singing old country ballads. Throughout his life, A. P. had been soaking up the fiddle tunes of the local square dances and hoedowns, the gospel songs of itinerant preachers and the work songs of black laborers.

As Maybelle tuned up her guitar and Sara positioned her autoharp, that little portable recording studio was on the verge of writing a golden chapter in country music history. "As soon as I heard Sara's voice," Peer later remembered, "I began to build around it...I knew that it was going to be wonderful."

During this brief session, the Carters recorded six sides, including "Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow" and "Little Old Log Cabin by the Sea." After they had finished and the kids had polished off the last of the ice cream, Peer thanked them for coming. He then turned his attention toward some of the other local musicians who had been waiting their turn.

While the Carters returned to their simple life in the Clinch Mountains, Peer released their record. As he had suspected, something wonderful began to happen. The hardworking salt-of-the-earth southern families suddenly began to include something new on their weekly shopping list...that Carter Family record. It was selling well all across the South. In Atlanta alone, it sold over two-thousand copies in a single month. Back in their mountain home, however, the Carter family members weren't even aware the record had been released. For one thing, they didn't own a phonograph. A. P. eventually learned of their good fortune when he heard the record being played in a store.

Seven months after their Bristol session, Peer asked the Carters to come to Camden, New Jersey to record again. That historic session engraved their name even more deeply into the halls of country music history. As the southern farm families touched their Victrola needles to the grooves from that session, they were treated to a pure earthy mountain sound. When "Keep on the Sunny Side," "Little Darling Pal of Mine" and the "Wildwood Flower" flowed from their speakers, their work-tired muscles relaxed, and a warm glow settled over their living rooms.

In later sessions, the Carters recorded more golden classics, like the "Wabash Cannonball" and "Will the Circle Be Unbroken?" These songs would secure their status as the "First Family" of country music. Unfortunately, they didn't secure enough financial security to let them play full-time until the late 1930's. Several times during the height of their recording career, the group would have to stop performing so A. P. could find a carpentry job to keep food on the table.

Between his jobs, they presented stage shows in small towns throughout the south. These shows were very informal events, usually held in the local schoolhouse. The Carters would visit with the crowd before show time and sell the tickets themselves. Once they took the stage, they maintained the personal atmosphere, taking song requests throughout the performance. If the requested song was in a different key than the one they had just played, they calmly re-tuned their instruments, while the audience patiently waited.

The pure rich harmonies of this folksy mountain family would echo through the years, providing the spark for Bill Monroe's bluegrass and Bob Will's country swing. Woody Guthrie would carry Maybelle's guitar style from "California to the New York Islands." The tiny letters in that little Bristol newspaper article didn't just turn into dollar signs and musical notes. They eventually transformed into a musical language so universal it could join the world of country music lovers into a circle that will forever remain "unbroken."

#  The Mystery Picker

When Chet Atkins faded into the radio waves

far from a searching RCA Records executive

RCA executive, Steve Sholes, knew everything he needed to know about the young guitar picker. He knew he was "finger-pickin' good" because he had once heard him play on a small Missouri radio station. And Sholes knew he would be a logical contender for RCA's challenge to Capitol Records' successful guitarist, Merle Travis. Yes, he knew all he needed to know about him. Well...almost all. There was one slight piece of information missing - where he was.

Sholes had originally heard the talented guitarist on a Missouri radio station but he wasn't sure which one. Even if Sholes could remember, the "mystery picker" probably wouldn't be there anymore. After all, during the late 1940's it wasn't unusual for country musicians to bounce from one station to another - often landing in one several states away. It seemed the elusive picker had simply floated off among the radio waves, far beyond his grasp.

Fate, fortunately, was already hard at work. The young guitarist had played for a while at Springfield, Missouri's KWTO. That station's booking agent, Si Siman, later sent a transcription of one of their shows to RCA Records executive, Al Hindle. Hindle then relayed it to Steve Sholes, the head of RCA's country music division. When Sholes listened to the transcription, he knew he had hit musical pay dirt.

With this roundabout transaction, Sholes had finally located his mystery picker, "Chester Atkins." Although Atkins was no longer playing for KWTO, the station was able to put Sholes in touch with him. Chester, or "Chet" as Si Simons had nicknamed him, had moved on to play for Shorty Thompson and His Rangers at KOA in Denver. Without hesitation, Sholes gave him a call.

"Steve called me and asked me if I wanted to record for RCA," Chet later recalled. Chet's response was a clear-cut, "Sure!" When he received the contract, he didn't wait around. "I mortgaged my car, borrowed some money, and went to Chicago..." In the Chicago studio, they produced eight sides during a one-day recording session.

Chet sang on five of the eight songs. As a portent of his later career, only the three instrumentals were successful. Those tunes, "Canned Heat," "Bug Dance" and "Nashville Jump" all received substantial airplay. None made the Top Forty, but they clearly showed Sholes his hunch had been correct about Chet Atkins making the ideal RCA featured guitarist.

During the decades to follow, Chet Atkins would not only prove to be a great guitarist, he would play a major role in shaping the future of country music itself. Many country music historians point to Chet as being the major influence in the development of the "Nashville Sound." Born during the influx of Rock and Roll, the Nashville Sound added popular music touches to the mainstream country sound. Although many old-style country music purists view this conversion as a musical atrocity, the newer style opened country music to millions who had never listened to it before.

Chet's own introduction to country music had come very early. Like many other families in the late 1920's, his parents had a prized collection of Jimmie Rodgers records. As Chester heard Jimmie's Blue Yodels pouring out of the old wind-up phonograph, he fell under the singing brake-man's spell.

Even when the records stopped, Chester was surrounded with music. His father taught music and his mother sang and played the piano. His half-brothers, Jimmy and Lowell, both played the guitar. Chester was immediately drawn to the instrument but Jimmy and Lowell decided there wasn't room for another guitarist in the family and talked him into learning the fiddle.

Chester's early childhood was difficult. He was plagued with asthma. In addition, his parents separated and eventually divorced. After a few years, his older half-brother, Jimmy, left the family to pursue a career in music, leaving Chester and Lowell to pitch in on their family farm. Despite the hardships, it was during this period that Chester would turn his musical sights back toward the guitar. His mother remarried and her new husband happened to own a spare guitar. Chester traded him two rifles for it. With that deal, the seed was planted for a legendary musical future.

That seed was germinated by the signal of a little crystal radio. Chester's asthma had worsened and he joined his real father in Georgia for the warmer weather. One night there, in the late 30's, he tuned in Cincinnati's WLW. The program featured Merle Travis with his unique finger-picking guitar style. As the radio waves flickered through the Georgia air, young Chester was hooked. Without the aid of lessons, he soon developed his own version of Merle's finger-picking technique.

By the time Chet finished high school, he was proficient enough at his homegrown guitar style to land a job at KNOX in Knoxville with the Bill Carlisle Show. During this time, he also filled in with a band called the Dixie Swingsters. He stayed at the Knoxville station for three years, polishing his skills.

Following the Knoxville gig, Chet branched out as a solo act and sideman on the mid-west and southern radio circuit. He played stations in Cincinnati, Raleigh, Richmond, and Springfield, Missouri. He ended up at KOA in Denver where Steve Sholes contacted him and opened the door to worldwide fame.

Sholes also noticed Chet was excellent at making useful suggestions during other artist's recording sessions. Due to Chet's easy-going manner, his opinion was warmly received. During his years at RCA, Chet became more and more influential in the production side of the business - eventually earning the position of Country Division Vice-President. His touch helped mold the careers of musicians as wide-ranging as Floyd Cramer, Eddy Arnold, Al Hirt, the Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley.

From the legendary careers he influenced, through his own inimitable guitar mastery on classics like "Yakety Axe," "Galloping on the Guitar" and "Country Gentleman" he wrote a vital page in the history of country music. That page would likely have been blank, however, if the mystery picker hadn't eventually emerged from the elusive maze of radio waves.

#  A "Call" To Greatness

The telephone call that connected

Ernest Tubb with his musical destiny

When nineteen-year-old Ernest Dale Tubb picked up the phone, he was only after a souvenir picture. In fact, he wasn't even sure if Jimmie Rodgers' widow, Carrie, still lived in San Antonio. He knew that Jimmie and his family had moved there shortly before his death. And since Ernest had recently moved there himself, he simply had to try to contact her.

He had spent far too many hours listening to Rodgers' records to simply forget about him. Ernest's parents had separated when he was young and he had been shuttled from one relative to the other. During this time, the steady rock in his world had been his collection of Jimmie Rodgers records.

From the first one he heard, Ernest was hooked. Through the years, he tucked away nickels and dimes from his odd jobs to buy more of Jimmie's records. As the shining needle tirelessly followed the tiny grooves, the "blue yodels" poured from the speaker and wrapped around the young boy like a warm blanket. After a while, he was no longer content to merely listen. He began to join Rodgers. It was like having a good friend to sing with. Even though Ernest's voice didn't quite match his musical hero's, he began to develop the same hard-driving "straight from the heart" style.

And now, here he was, in San Antonio, where Jimmie had spent his last moments. Ernest nervously thumbed through the phone book to see if he could locate Jimmie's newly widowed wife. As he excitedly copied down the Rodgers' phone number, he was only seconds away from hearing a voice that would eventually guide him through a golden path of greatness.

That path would carry him past one musical milestone after another. Along the way, he would help turn regionally popular "hillbilly" music into a nationally recognized "country music industry." He would release nearly 200 single records and tour up to 100,000 miles a year to play for hundreds of thousands of hard-core Ernest Tubb fans.

When Mrs. Rodgers answered the phone, she was amazingly easy to talk to. She invited him over and they ended up spending most of the afternoon reminiscing about her late husband's career. She was astounded that he seemed to know every word of Jimmie's songs. Since Jimmie's death, several striving young country singers had sought her help. Unfortunately, she just couldn't help them all and had politely turned them away.

There was, however, something very different about this young man. For one thing, he didn't ask for her assistance – he simply wanted to talk about Jimmie and his music. When they parted, he mentioned that he had started singing twice a week on radio station KONO at five-thirty in the morning. Not really expecting her to get up that early, he said he would love to have her listen to him sometime.

Several months passed before he talked to Mrs. Rodgers again. This time, she was the one who initiated the phone call. She had not only listened to his early morning program, but had regularly been getting up early to catch it. "She told me I had 'heart' in my singing," Ernest remembered, "and that she was impressed with my sincerity."

She was so impressed that she arranged for RCA, Jimmie's record label, to book a recording session for the young singer. On October 27, 1936, he recorded in a small room at the Texas Hotel. Mrs. Rodgers had not only arranged for the session, she had even loaned him one of Jimmie's guitars. During the session, he recorded four songs, including two tributes to Jimmie Rodgers. RCA released the tribute songs on their Bluebird label but they didn't sell well. In fact, the RCA executives gave them very little promotion. They had apparently only recorded him as a favor to Carrie Rodgers.

A second session the next year didn't fare any better. RCA didn't even release his records. It looked as if Ernest Tubb was simply not destined to have a country music career. Despite Mrs. Rodger's kindness, his dream was slowly withering on the vine.

The dream, however, refused to die. A couple of years later, Ernest called upon Mrs. Rodgers for one last favor. He had heard about a new recording company named Decca, that he felt might be more receptive to new talent. He asked if she could possibly recommend him to them. Once again her influence opened the door.

At the Decca recording session, the atmosphere was entirely different. Dave Kapp, the session supervisor, recognized Tubb's potential. Two of the four songs he recorded, "Blue Eyed Elaine" and "I'll Get Along Somehow" soon climbed up the country charts.

The next year, 1941, Ernest's dream was not only revived, it was cast in solid gold. His self-written hit, "Walking the Floor," sold 400,000 copies in its first year and was on its way to becoming a million-seller. Suddenly the same doors that had refused to budge, began to swing wide open. RCA excitedly released some of the recordings he had made the previous year. When he sang "Walking the Floor" during his Grand Ole Opry debut, the audience called him back for three encores.

As the years passed by, and the hit songs mounted up, he began to sound less like Jimmie Rodgers and more like Ernest Tubb. He kept the top of the country charts packed with his classic hits like "Warm Red Wine," "Slipping Around," "Thanks a Lot" and "Waltz Across Texas." Even after his hit-making years slowed, he continued to be one of the most popular entertainers at the Grand Ole Opry. In addition, for years he hosted his Midnight Jamboree radio program a few blocks away at his record shop.

When that nervous nineteen-year-old dialed the telephone number, it seems he didn't merely reach Carrie Rodgers. He also connected with all of America's country dance halls and Honky Tonks. That call would echo through the neon nightlife of the 40's and 50's. It would eventually reach Nashville's Country Music Hall of Fame, where Ernest Tubb is forever honored as America's favorite "Honky Tonk Hero."

#  An Old Door To A New Door

The professional entrance of "Uncle Dave Macon"

the first star of the Grand Ole Opry

The scarred and splintered door of the Morrison, Tennessee Methodist Church had performed its job beautifully. Bearing the marks of time, it had opened wide to usher hundreds of wide-eyed newlyweds into their new lives. And throughout the years, it had continued to open again and again to introduce their freshly Baptized youngsters to a bright new world. Yes, the old door had served its community well. It was time to retire. Well...it was almost time. First it had one more "youngster" to introduce to a bright new world - fifty-four year old David Harrison Macon - the man destined to become the first star of the Grand Ole Opry.

Macon's friends had encouraged him to take his banjo to Morrison to help raise money for a new church door. Although he had played at community picnics throughout the years, he had never considered using his banjo skills to raise money. He was amazed with the results. "I gave a show," he later recalled, "then passed the hat and collected the money, seventeen dollars."

The thought that his music might be translated into dollars intrigued him. If he could possibly use his banjo-picking ability to add a little money to his farm income, the timing would never be better. For over twenty years, he had supplemented the profits from his small farm with his "Macon Midway Mule and Wagon Transportation Company." Year-after-year, he had hauled freight and produce back and forth between the twenty-mile stretch from Murfreesboro to Woodbury. He would sing as he traveled, and usually played his banjo at the stations along the way. It had been a contented life and he was able to support his wife and six children.

Unfortunately, that contented existence came to an abrupt ending. In 1920, a rival trucking company moved into the area and Dave knew his mule wagons couldn't compete. He also knew he had no inclination to learn how to drive one of those new-fangled contraptions. The church door fund-raiser had opened his eyes to a new possibility. He had learned to love music early, but had never considered it as a career. As a teen-ager, he was surrounded by music. His father, a Confederate Army veteran, ran a Nashville hotel that catered to touring vaudeville and circus performers. After school, he would join the entertainers to soak up their lively music.

After the church benefit, Macon began to play other benefit shows around the area. One of these shows was not particularly appealing to him. It was a Shriners' benefit in Nashville that had been organized by a man he considered to be "one very self-important farmer." Since he didn't like him, Macon thought he could discourage his interest in having him perform by asking an exorbitant fee. "I told him I would play at his party for fifteen dollars," he remembered. Certain he would be turned down flat, Macon was flabbergasted when the man responded, "Okay, it's a deal."

That "deal" was the best agreement Macon ever made. He entertained the gathering, including the "very self-important farmer." As he played, he was unaware that someone in the audience would soon change his life forever - the manager of Birmingham's Loew's vaudeville theater. As Dave charmed the crowd with his down-home humor and old mountain tunes and popular songs, the theater manager could just picture sitting on his stage entertaining the audiences. When he later offered Macon several hundred dollars a week to go to Birmingham, Dave quickly viewed that same picture in his mind.

It wouldn't be long before Loew's theaters around the country would excitedly book the new hillbilly phenomenon "Uncle Dave Macon." He soon added a young fiddler named Sid Harkreader and a buck dancer named "Dancing Bob" Bradford. Before long, flattop guitar picker Sam McGee joined up with them. Uncle Dave had definitely found a successful way to replace his Macon Midway Mule and Transportation Company.

In 1924, Uncle Dave and Sid Harkreader were sponsored by a local furniture company to record in New York City. One of their first records, "Keep My Skillet Good and Greasy," became one of Uncle Dave's most requested songs. During later recording sessions, he played everything from rowdy fiddle tunes to gospel hymns. One day his string band, the Fruit Jar Drinkers, would record foot-stompin' favorites like "Carve That Possum" and "Go Long Mule." The next day, the same group would sedately enter the recording studio as the Dixie Sacred Singers to play gospel numbers like "Shall We Gather at the River" and "In the Sweet Bye and Bye."

During one of his trips to New York City, Macon decided he would see the Big Apple in style. He walked proudly into a barbershop, sat down and ordered "the works." He gasped when the $7.50 bill for "the works" was presented. Not wanting to appear like a country bumpkin, he quickly pulled himself together and calmly replied, "I thought it would be $10."

Since Uncle Dave was becoming so well known around the South, he was a logical choice when Nashville's WSM radio announcer, George D. Hay began searching for a star personality to add professionalism to WSM's new Barn Dance show. Macon readily agreed to join the show, and would spend the next twenty-six years helping the fledgling hillbilly show grow into the nationally famous Grand Ole Opry.

One Tennessee resident recalled Uncle Dave's first appearance on the station. "We had read about it in the paper," he remembered, "but we didn't dare mention it about." He had one of only two radio sets in the community, he explained, and we were afraid that everybody in that end of the county would swarm into our house to hear Uncle Dave, and trample us."

As Macon warmed the Opry stage with his unique banjo style and equally unique country charm, people did "swarm" to see him. That old Morrison, Tennessee church door had performed its last job beautifully. It ushered in one of the most original and beloved members of country music's early family - Uncle Dave Macon, the "Dixie Dewdrop."

#  Words Of Wisdom

The note scribbled on a little pad that launched

Fiddlin' John Carson and commercial country music

The flickering black & white images on the silver screen played their celluloid hearts out for the attentive rows of viewers. Most of the New York City theatergoers smiled as the 1923 newsreel featured the competitors of a Virginia fiddler's convention. Nearly everyone tapped a foot while the old-time fiddle music poured out of the speakers. One of the viewers, in fact, went a step further. He whipped out a little note pad and jotted down the first words in the history of commercial country music. He didn't know he did. But he did.

As Atlanta's Polk Brockman watched the Virginia fiddlers, another image sparked across his mind. Suddenly he was transported from the Palace Theater on Times Square, back to Atlanta and a popular hometown fiddle champion, Fiddlin' John Carson. To preserve the image, he wrote a quick message to himself: "Fiddlin' John Carson - local talent - let's record."

Then in his mid-fifties, Carson had migrated to Atlanta from Fannin County. During his early days in north Georgia, he had worked as a painter, carpenter, railroad worker and for a while as a horse jockey. Around the turn of the century, John had settled in Atlanta to raise a family and work in a cotton mill. A strike in the mill in 1913 forced him to consider the professional use of a skill he had previously thought of more as a hobby - his fiddle playing. During the next few years, he played on street corners, in political rallies and nearly anywhere folks would pay to hear him. Year-by-year, his reputation spread throughout the South, primarily due to his repeated triumphs in Atlanta's Georgia's Old-Time Fiddlers' Conventions.

Polk Brockman had followed John's success for years. Now, as the Atlanta distributor of General Phonograph Corporation's Okeh label, Brockman had recently met with Ralph Peer, one of the label's A & R men. The phonograph business was in trouble, Peer had stressed. The newly invented radio provided free music...and people didn't even need to wind it up.

Peer had suggested a possible competitive strategy of marketing records that would appeal to specialized audiences. Most record companies had already found some success selling various "ethnic" records to specific immigrant groups, as well as blues records to black consumers. Another specialty product Peer had been considering was the old-timey music of the South.

Rather than trying to transport the rural musicians to New York City, Peer decided to take the studio to the country. The recently developed portable recording equipment provided the ideal method. It didn't produce the greatest sound quality but in those days, neither did the permanent studio equipment. Since Polk Brockman was his primary southern distributor, Peer looked to him for potential southern recording artists. Recalling Peer's request, Brockman scribbled down the note about Fiddlin' John Carson. John had long been a local favorite in person - why not on records?

In mid-June 1923, at Brockman's request, Peer traveled to Atlanta. Brockman had lined up several performers including blues singers, jazz groups, the Moorehouse College Quartet and a theater pianist. But his key prospect was the middle-aged musician who had won local fame in the Georgia Old-Time Fiddlers' Conventions - Fiddlin' John Carson.

Carson recorded two songs - "The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane," written in 1870 by Kentucky river man, Will S. Hays, and a traditional fiddle tune called "The Old Hen Cackled and the Rooster's Going to Crow." Peer was not exactly ecstatic about the performance. Although history is unsure whether he was referring to the technical result of recording Carson's voice and fiddling in the same horn or of the performance itself - as he played it back he sadly labeled it as "pluperfect awful."

Peer, in fact, was convinced Carson's record wouldn't sell. The only records he asked to have pressed were the five hundred that Brockman insisted upon ordering for his own distribution. Even those records contained no assigned issue number since Peer certainly didn't predict any reorders.

Brockman, however, knew how much Atlanta loved its fiddle champion. On July 13th his feelings were confirmed. He had organized a fiddlers' convention in Cable Hall, an auditorium on the top floor of the Cable Piano Company. The contest was scheduled to coincide with a nearby Elk's Club convention to ensure a large audience. When his turn came, Fiddlin' John stepped on stage in front of a large morning-glory-horn phonograph and played his record. Brockman had been dead right. The audience was enthralled. Before the commotion died down, John had peddled every single record across the footlights to his delighted fans.

When Ralph Peer placed the next order of Fiddlin' John Carson records, he made sure they bore an issue number for reorders. The record not only sold well throughout the South, but sales began to spread into other areas as well. Not only had that "pluperfect awful" record sold - it had scored a direct hit in the specialized rural audience Peer was aiming for.

The record - and Georgia's Fiddlin' John Carson also landed squarely in music history. Carson wasn't the first to record the style of music now called country. Texas Fiddler, Eck Robertson, preceded him by more than a year. And in Virginia, Henry Whitter had already made test recordings in that style.

Neither of his predecessors, however, had caught the attention of the recording industry. As thousands of excited country folk wound their phonographs and touched the needles to the groove in Fiddlin' John's record, they didn't know it, but that groove would continue to wind off into time. It would one day usher in Jimmie Rodgers, Ernest Tubb, Hank Williams and the rest of country's forefathers...and mothers.

That groove would eventually provide a path for thousands of modern country music stars. They likely don't even know that their profession grew from the little words of wisdom that Polk Brockman scribbled on a note pad. That might be for the best. They would probably be appalled to discover that the first words of commercial country music history were written in - God forbid - New York City.

#  A High-Speed Halt

The car wreck that slammed the brakes

on Randy Travis's runaway life

Oncoming cars transformed into dizzying splashes of color. Trees and billboards hurled past with a relentless fury. The whole world, in fact, was a bleary haze as it flashed past the windshield at well over a hundred miles-an-hour. The blurred scene was an appropriate background for the crazed young rebel behind the wheel.

After only sixteen years, Randy Bruce Traywick's life had already become a blinding fog of alcohol, drugs and petty crimes. The pursuing police car's blue flash in the shaking rear-view mirror seemed to be the only light left in Randy's life. Then suddenly even that vanished as he lost control and plowed into a North Carolina cornfield.

Not only had Randy lost control of his car, his life had also careened far beyond his command. Somehow, fate let him survive the high-speed crash. But as a result of his latest escapade, he faced a potential five-year prison sentence. Just for emphasis, the judge suggested that the next time Randy came before him...he should "bring his toothbrush."

Years before the drugs and alcohol, something else had brought him comfort - singing country music. His father had idolized legends like Hank Williams, Lefty Frizzell, George Jones and Ernest Tubb. Randy played his dad's records and began to accompany the country stars with his own singing and guitar playing. By the age of ten, he and his brother, Ricky, had formed a duo.

The distant embers of those warm family memories slowly began to rekindle the flame of his love for performing country music. That flicker led him toward a talent show at a little Charlotte, North Carolina nightclub named Country City U.S.A.. When Randy's turn came to perform, the nightclub's owner, Lib Hatcher, was blown away. She instantly knew she was witnessing a bright new talent.

After talking with Randy for a few minutes, Lib also realized she was dealing with a very troubled youngster. She was so impressed with his voice though, that she offered him a part-time booking at the club. Before long, she talked the judge into releasing him into her custody.

Randy had escaped the prison time, but there were still dues to pay. Greasy aprons and sinks full of dirty dishes awaited him between his turns on the nightclub's stage. But the roles of dishwasher, short-order cook and country singer seemed to provide the anchor he needed to slow down his turbulent life. Just maybe, he could keep fanning the flame of the country music ember until it illuminated the rest of his world.

Lib lined up gigs for Randy at other clubs around Charlotte. In 1978 with the help of singer, Joe Stampley, she put up ten thousand dollars for Randy to produce two single records on a small independent label. Lib and Randy drove from radio station to radio station throughout the South to promote them. One of the Songs, "She's My Woman," made it into the Top 100 on the Country charts. This wasn't exactly a raging success but it was enough to convince Lib of Randy's recording potential.

In the meantime, Lib's connections to Charlotte were dissolving. Her marriage had gone sour and she and her husband, Frank, separated in 1980. The following year she decided it was time to try out Nashville. With her young talent in tow, she sold her house and nightclub and moved to Music City. She took a job managing the well-known Nashville Palace. Randy settled into a routine similar to that in Charlotte - washing dishes, frying burgers and singing on the club's stage.

Once again, the dues-paying process began. For the next four years, between the greasy aprons and dirty dishes, Randy took the stage and served up his back-to-basics country style. The traditional-country fans loved him. Unfortunately, the record companies that he and Lib haunted regularly...didn't. The pop-style Urban Country was the fad in the early eighties. Randy was turned down flat by every Nashville record label.

Although nothing was happening with the studios, something was definitely developing between the pair. Their relationship, despite a nineteen-year age difference, was slowly taking on a romantic aspect. "I think we discovered how much we needed each other," Randy would later recall. "Her marriage had been bad, and I was a total wreck." They also shared a burning ambition to succeed in the country music field.

That shared ambition finally found an opening in 1985. After turning Randy down three times because she felt he was "too country," Martha Sharp of Warner Brothers signed him to the label's roster. She realized the country music market was slowly drifting away from the Urban Country style, and felt listeners might accept a more traditional sound.

Randy's first single, "Prairie Rose" failed to make a dent in the country charts. But his next attempt did. The cleverly written "On the Other Hand" made it to the Top 70. Although "On the Other Hand" would later become one of Randy's most popular songs, it was actually the tune that followed it, "1982" - that hit the Top Ten and launched his career.

In 1986, Warner Brothers Records re-released "On the Other Hand" and watched it sail to the Number-one position. "Diggin' Up Bones," his next hit also landed on the top of the charts. The next year witnessed an unbroken run of seven Number Ones, including his now classic "Forever and Ever Amen."

Clearly, the country music audience was ready to reconnect with a more traditional style. They confirmed this in 1986 with Randy's induction into the Grand Ole Opry. During the ensuing years, their appreciation of the new talent was "chiseled in platinum" several times over. One after another, his albums reached the multi-million seller marks.

His relationship with Lib also turned to precious metal as he slipped a golden band "on the other hand" in 1992. The fog of his early years had finally lifted. Ironically, the wild young rebel who had led the North Carolina police on a high-speed chase, would eventually lead country music fans back toward the slower pace of traditional country music.

#  "Mapping" Out A Pathway

A road map that charted the course of

superstardom for Conway Twitty

The probing fingernail followed the twists and turns of the tiny red and blue lines as they ran from one small town to the next. As the excited young rockabilly singer traced his finger along the highways and state roads, he recalled his newly signed agent's advice. The agent had suggested he find a snappier stage name. He was right, of course. After all, "Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Harold Jenkins" - no, it didn't exactly fit. But Harold had decided he was definitely going to put his name "on the map" of this new rockabilly craze. That name, he resolved, would come from the map he held in his hands.

As Harold's searching finger ran across Conway, Arkansas, something clicked in his mind. "Conway" - yes, it had a certain ring to it. He could almost hear it echoing through an auditorium as the excited announcer introduced him. Now, if he could only link it with something equally catchy. When his eyes hit Twitty, Texas, he knew his search was over. Perfect "Conway Twitty." He excitedly jotted down his new name.

Not only would that name echo through auditoriums, it would one day be inscribed in the record books. Before his curtain would drop, he would rack up more Number-one country hit songs than any country singer had at that time (George Straight passed him in 2006). Depending upon which music journals are cited, Conway's total ranges from 41 to 55. His unique touch with a song would lead to his being called "the best friend a song ever had."

One of the intriguing components of his style was a good-sized dose of the blues. Harold had soaked up this sound very early. From across the cotton fields in his Friars Point, Mississippi home, he could hear the soulful music pouring out of a black church. "I would sit on the ditch bank," he remembered, "and listen to them sing for two or three hours." Before long, he began to sing along - slowly learning how to coat his words with emotion.

His next-door neighbor also added to his blues education. Harold's father loved music and bought him a small guitar when he was only four. His father taught him a few basic chords, but it would be "Uncle Fred," an old black man who lived next door, who would take over his musical training. Day-after-day, Uncle Fred would help the youngster work the blues into his voice and guitar strings.

When Harold was ten, his family moved up the river to Helena, Arkansas. He brought with him the memories of Uncle Fred and the old black church choir. Adding regular doses of the radio's Grand Ole Opry, he soon mixed together a winning recipe. He organized a country-blues band called "The Phillips County Ramblers." Before long, they landed a short Saturday morning spot on local radio station, KFFA.

As much as Harold enjoyed performing with the band, another love had moved into his life...baseball. During his teens, he became so proficient at the game that a scout asked him to join the Philadelphia Phillies as soon as he graduated from high school. Yes, his future was set in stone. He would grab his diploma, then his baseball glove and set off to become a famous baseball player.

That writing on that stone, however, disappeared the minute young Harold opened his draft notice. During much of his stay in the Army, he was stationed in Japan. There, he formed a band called the Cimarron's, that played in local service clubs. But he was still adamant that music was not going to overshadow his baseball aspirations. Nothing would come between him and his sports career. Nothing, that is, until he heard a recording of "Mystery Train" by a new singer named Elvis Presley. "I threw down the baseball bat," Conway later reflected, "picked up the guitar and I've never looked back!"

Soon after his discharge in 1956, he headed for the heart of the new rockabilly scene - Memphis and Sam Phillips' Sun Records. He recorded several songs for the label, but none were released. That was okay, Harold still knew he was in the right place doing the right thing. Maybe he just needed an agent to help promote him. Fortunately, the agent he selected was the one who sent him looking for a snappier stage name.

Now facing the world as Conway Twitty, Harold put all his energy into getting his career off the ground. Two years later, in 1958, that career would lift off. He had organized a band and landed a contract with MGM Records. Soon, his self-penned song, "It's Only Make Believe" hit the top of the rock charts. Suddenly the teen music magazines featured a new heartthrob with slicked-back hair and a weird name - "Conway Twitty."

The song was such a success it was hard for Conway to follow it up. After a few lukewarm attempts, he managed to place a couple more songs in the Top Ten including "Lonely Blue Boy." Somehow, though, his career was not taking flight the way he had imagined. A string of teen B-movies, including "Platinum High School" and "College Confidential" didn't help.

During a 1965 visit to Nashville, Conway stopped in on Ralph Emery's all-night WSM radio show. On the air, he confided to Emery that he would actually prefer singing country music. "Okay, show me you can sing country," Emery responded as he handed him a guitar.

Conway performed several Hank Williams tunes, adding his unique blues touch. Emery was pleasantly surprised. Not long after this, Conway talked to country songwriter, Harlan Howard, about his interest in switching to country. Howard linked him up with Owen Bradley and Decca Records. Bradley, like Ralph Emery, was impressed with Conway's abilities. He decided to take a gamble on him.

That gamble would pay off many times over as Conway began to pave his path with Number-one records. The hits along the way include such golden classics as "Hello Darlin'," "Linda On My Mind" and "After All the Good is Gone." That path is also laden with CMA award-winning duets with Loretta Lynn, like "Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man," and "As Soon As I Hang Up the Phone." Who would have believed such a prestigious pathway could have stemmed from those tiny red and blue lines on a little road map.

#  "Oh Say Can She Sing!"

Reba McEntire's rodeo national anthem that would

one day bring the country music world to its feet

The sun-dried cowboys were primed and ready to ride. They had racked up a year's worth of hard-earned bruises to get here. And the raging broncos were definitely raring to go. This was their annual chance to buck off America's best...in front of thousands of screaming spectators. Even the bulls had finished dreaming up new ways to dislodge their unwanted cargo. As soon as somebody sang the national anthem, the whole rough-cut cast of characters was prepared to tear loose.

Suddenly a small redhead bounced toward the microphone. Surely they weren't going to let her sing the anthem! After all, this was the 1974 National Finals Rodeo. The Oklahoma City organizers certainly would have found someone with more gusto. The gritty collection of leather-skinned cowboys and wild-eyed beasts definitely needed more to set them off than a trembly voiced little cowgirl.

The second that "little cowgirl" began to sing, however, everyone knew why she had been chosen. Her powerful and agile voice reached out like a golden lariat, encircling each audience member. Her performance was not only an ideal beginning for the National Finals Rodeo; it would mark the opening of a career that would send that little redhead on a wild ride that not even the broncos and bulls could have envisioned.

That career opening would spring from a meeting with another redhead. Country-music singer, Red Steagall, happened to be in the rodeo audience that afternoon. Following the performance, a mutual friend introduced him to the dynamic anthem singer - Reba McEntire. At a party later that evening, Reba further impressed Steagall with her rendition of Dolly Parton's "Joshua."

After the event, Reba returned to her day-to-day life at Southeastern State College in Durant, Oklahoma. Within about a month, her mother received a phone call from Steagall. He asked if she could get Reba down to Nashville to cut a demonstration tape. He didn't have to ask twice. Along with her mother, Jackie, and her brother, Pake, Reba was soon Nashville-bound.

Her mother not only supported Reba's singing, she had inspired it. As the family traveled from rodeo to rodeo, Jackie McEntire devised a clever way to keep her son and three daughters occupied. She taught them harmony singing. Jackie was a talented singer herself and might have turned professional had she not dedicated her time to her family.

The four children soon soaked up their mother's passion for singing and threw themselves into the music. Month-by-month, the little back-seat quartet began to sound more professional. By the time Reba was in high school, they had transformed into "The Singing McEntires." They began entering...and usually winning talent contests. Soon, their mother booked them into rodeos, community centers and clubs as they traveled the circuit. In 1971 they recorded a tribute song to their grandfather \- "The Ballad of John McEntire." The record became a regional hit.

The popularity of the young group on the circuit would eventually lead to Reba's being selected as the anthem singer for the rodeo finals. The ensuing Nashville demonstration tape would snag her a contract with Mercury Records the following year. But the door she had entered didn't exactly swing wide open. Her first record, "I Don't Want to be a One-night Stand," went nowhere. She turned out two more unsuccessful singles in 1977.

Being the practical type, Reba finished college. It would be 1979 before fortune would look her way. Her remake of Patsy Cline's "Sweet Dreams" climbed to the Top Twenty. The next couple of years yielded two Top-ten hits -"(You Lift Me) Up to Heaven," and "Today All Over Again." The climb was often frustrating for her despite her scattered successes.

Once, Reba remembered, nearly everything had gone wrong during a show. As she sat in her van grumbling, her cousin asked her why she didn't simply quit. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life," she fired back. "I'll never quit!" At that moment, she realized that backing away from her goal of becoming a successful country-music singer was simply not an option.

Her determination stemmed from her youthful experience in the rodeo game. She followed in the footsteps of her world champion' steer-roping father, Clark McEntire. Her grandfather, John, had been the rodeo legend she and her siblings sang about. As a teenager, Reba competed in horseback barrel riding. "Just 'cause you're a girl," she reflected, "they're not gonna cut you any slack, so I never asked for it from the beginning."

Her perseverance paid off. She was finally getting recognition in the country music field. In 1982, her producer suggested she record a song titled, "Can't Even Get the Blues." Reba resisted. She hadn't had much luck with emotional ballads and thought she should concentrate on upbeat numbers. But her producer recognized the song's potential and insisted that she record it. That insistence produced Reba's first Number-one hit.

With her 1984 album, "My Kind of Country," Reba took off like a bronco out of the gate. The best-selling album was packed with hits like "How Blue" and "Somebody Should Leave." The album showcased her unique sound perfectly. She decorated her strong voice with the trills, twirls and near-yodels of the old-time mountain songs. The beautiful mixture not only opened the door to her future career, it blew the hinges off.

That year, 1984, the Country Music Association selected her as "Female Vocalist of the Year." Both the CMA and the AMC would present her with that award for an unprecedented four years running. In 1986, the CMA awarded her its highest honor - "Entertainer of the Year."

Despite the continuing deluge of praise and awards, Reba has retained the soul of that "little redheaded cowgirl." Following her 1987 divorce from rodeo hero, Charlie Battles, a disturbed fan wrote to ask how Reba could possibly get a divorce. "I was patterning my life after you," she complained. "Don't you dare put me on a pedestal," Reba fired back. "I'm just a regular old human being."

#  The Reluctant "Queen"

An answer song only recorded "for a session fee"

that inaugurated the musical reign of Kitty Wells

"Well, it probably won't make a hit," the skeptical singer judged, "but we will at least get a session fee out of it." Muriel Deason could see that Decca Records A&R man, Paul Cohen, was obviously excited about the song. So was her husband, Johnny Wright. She didn't mean to dampen their enthusiasm, but she simply didn't think the song was all that special. Besides, she knew that not every country music fan in the conservative 1950's would relish the idea of a woman turning the blame back on men for creating "Honky Tonk Angels."

Not only that, but Muriel - not yet known as "Kitty Wells" - was ready to step down. After all, she was no longer a rosy-cheeked newcomer but a thirty-three-year-old mother of three who had been singing professionally since 1936. She looked forward to a relaxed home life. This would be the ideal time to let her successful husband carry on their musical legacy.

With this less-than-burning enthusiasm, Muriel walked into Owen Bradley's Decca recording studio on May 3, 1952. Along with a few other tunes, she recorded the song Mr. Cohen and her husband were so excited about. It had been written by J. D. Miller as an answer song to Hank Thompson's hit, "The Wild Side of Life." As long as it made everybody happy...and netted a $125 session fee, she felt it wouldn't hurt to record "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels."

As Muriel returned to her day-to-day life, she put the song out of her mind and turned her attention toward her family. A few weeks later, she ran into her friend, Audrey Williams. Audrey had been following the song's progress on the Billboard music charts. She excitedly informed Muriel, "You've got a hit on your hands!"

As the tune blasted from jukeboxes and radios across the nation, it steadily climbed the charts. Throughout late June, it continued to rise until it hit the Top Ten in July. Soon after, the little song that "might at least get a session fee" shot to the Number-one position where it remained week after week.

Her retirement plans had apparently been a little premature. The religious, mild-mannered, teetotaling Muriel Deason had always lingered in the background of her husband's career. Now, under the stage name of Kitty Wells, it seemed she had suddenly become America's "Honky Tonk Heroine."

Although Muriel had never dreamed of the success she would eventually realize, she had always loved music. Her home echoed with the sounds of her father's singing and guitar playing. Like many others in the mid-thirties, her ear was glued to the radio whenever the Grand Ole Opry filled the airwaves. Before long, she began to sing along with her favorite entertainers.

Muriel's sisters, Jewel and Mae, and her cousin, Bessie, shared her enthusiasm for singing country music. By 1936 they were working on Nashville radio Station WSIX as the "Deason Sisters." As the seventeen-year-old Muriel chimed in with the other girls, she had no inkling that this would be the opening of a career that would eventually earn her the title of the "Queen of Country Music."

The next year, Muriel married Johnny Wright, a young cabinet-shop worker who dreamed of a country-music career. Johnnie teamed Muriel with his sister, Louise, and formed the trio, Johnnie Wright and the Harmony Girls. They played over WSIX as the Deason Sisters had previously done.

Another character who would play a strong role in Muriel's future, worked in a nearby hosiery mill. Johnnie's friend, Jack Anglin, also had aspirations of country music stardom. He and Johnnie practiced during their spare time, polishing a close-harmony duet sound.

In 1938, Jack married Johnnie's sister, Louise. By early 1941, they left the cabinet making and millwork behind to strike out on a musical career. Calling themselves the Tennessee Hillbillies, they added a banjo player, fiddler and mandolin player. Muriel and Louise provided the background harmony.

Muriel was beginning to get a little attention herself by singing a few solo gospel numbers during the shows. Johnnie and Jack's long hours of practice were beginning to pay off. The group booked a series of radio barn dance gigs throughout North Carolina, West Virginia and Tennessee. Their musical future was looking bright. Fate, however, decided to switch off the light. In 1942, Jack was drafted.

Johnnie worked in a defense plant but continued to play some radio barn dances during the war years. He and Muriel performed as a duet. Since she would now be more prominent, Johnnie decided she needed a stage name with a little more flash than Muriel Deason. He chose a name from an old song the Pickard Family sang on the Grand Ole Opry, "I Could Marry Kitty Wells." Little did he know that her new name would one day be placed beside the title, "The Queen of Country Music."

After the war, Johnnie and Jack reunited, and Muriel...or "Kitty" once more stepped back to harmony singing. She stayed at home much of 1946 and 1947 to raise her newborn son, Bobby. During this time, Johnnie & Jack were becoming more-and-more recognized in the country music field, even nailing down a brief stay at the Grand Ole Opry.

Kitty joined them again when they signed on as regular cast members of Shreveport's newly formed Louisiana Hayride. In addition, Johnnie & Jack began to record for RCA, turning out several charted songs. When their popular number, "Poison Love," opened the door to a full-time spot on the Grand Ole Opry, Kitty felt it was time to bow out of the act and settle down.

As country music history is delightfully aware, she didn't exactly "bow out." She followed "Honky Tonk Angels" with a shining string of hits, including "Heartbreak U.S.A.," "Makin' Believe" and "Left to Right." Eventually, she racked up a total of twenty-eight Top-ten hits. Billboard magazine named her "Number One Female Country Singer" eleven years straight. Before the golden dust would settle, she would enter the Country Music Hall of Fame...and every country music lover's heart, as the "Queen of Country Music." Her reign, begun only for a session fee, paved the way for hundreds of future Honky Tonk Angels.

#  From Spears To Cheers

The switch from javelin throwing to music

that hurled Garth Brooks' career into orbit

The graceful spear split the air like a silent rocket. As the gleaming javelin eventually reached its peak and began to descend, the anxious thrower held his breath. He tried vainly to add precious inches to its flight with a series of grimaces and contortions. It was vital that the projectile outdistance its competitors. The future of its master, Troyal Garth Brooks, was resting on its flight.

The Oklahoma State University track star was counting on his javelin-throwing skill to inscribe his name in the athletic history books. Despite his prowess in football, baseball and basketball, it was this unique ability that had won him the partial scholarship to the Stillwater, Oklahoma university. As soon as he was selected for the Big Eight finals, he knew the door to his shining sports future would surely swing wide open.

The swinging of that door, like the record-breaking javelin-throws and Big Eight acceptance...never occurred. As the waves of disappointment slammed against the college senior's dreams, he glumly fell back on a "second choice" for success. That choice - his music - would one day launch him on a flight pattern that would make his soaring javelin appear stationary. Once Garth reluctantly switched his focus from sports to music, he began to refuel his efforts. He already had some performing experience. While he was in high school, he had formed a band called The Nyle. By the time he received a marketing degree from the university in 1984, he was performing regularly in area clubs.

Garth's musical influences bridged an unusual gap. He enjoyed the heart-felt country sounds of legendary Honky Tonkers like George Jones and Merle Haggard. But he also liked the softer Folk-Pop styles of artists like James Taylor and Dan Fogleberg. Having developed his tastes during the seventies and eighties, he even admired the on-stage energy of Kiss, Styx and the other arena-rock acts.

This unlikely sounding musical mixture didn't exactly fit the mold of the typical country singer. That was no problem for Garth. He would simply create a new mold. Through his superb songwriting and entertaining skills, he would eventually take the lead in bringing country music to an entirely new audience. Although more than one country purist would wince at his on-stage antics, Garth would manage the nearly impossible. Even though he would package his act in more of a slick "pop" format, he would manage to keep the country music relatively pure.

The year after his graduation, Garth decided it was time to take a shot at the big time - Nashville. His "shot" lasted only twenty-three hours. Not only did he find that Nashville wasn't ready for him, he realized he was not yet ready for Nashville. Disillusioned, he returned to Oklahoma to hone his talents for another attempt.

During the next two years, he married his college sweetheart, Sandy Mahl, and put together a pop-country band called Santa Fe. Month by month, the band expanded their show dates, playing the club circuit through Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico. By 1987, Garth decided the time was right for another assault on Music City and moved the band to Nashville.

Although his band broke up soon after the move, Garth decided this was not going to be another failed attempt. While he and Sandy worked in a boot store, Garth began to find gigs singing demos and doing voice-overs for advertisements. Like the thousands who came before him, he paid his dues and listened closely for the knock of opportunity.

That knock would come from songwriter, Bob Doyle. Doyle befriended Garth and soon realized he was bursting with talent. Doyle formed a management company with Pam Lewis and soon set a primary goal of promoting Garth. That goal was realized with a Capitol Record deal just seven months after Garth and Sandy had moved to Nashville.

The result of that deal was released on April 12, 1989. The album was simply titled "Garth Brooks." On- by-one, singles released from the album hit the top ranks of the country charts. "Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)" introduced the country music world to its future hero. "If Tomorrow Never Comes" and "Not Counting You" also scored direct hits. His fourth release, "The Dance," and its corresponding video, firmly cemented the new talent's star on the country music horizon.

The album's success was a confirmation not only of Garth's singing skills, but also of his songwriting ability, since he wrote or co-wrote all four of the hit singles. Then another affirmation came, which would forecast his unique future. By 1990, the album had crossed-over into the Top Twenty of the Pop Charts.

Through the next few years, he broke one record after another. His second album, "No Fences," rose to the Number One position on the country charts and remained glued there for weeks on end. This time, four Number-one singles emerged, including the rollicking "Friends in Low Places" and the emotionally charged song, "The Thunder Rolls."

Garth's third album, released in 1991, not only spawned more Number-one hits, but made music history on its first day out. Because of over four million advance orders, the album, "Ropin' The Wind," debuted on both the county and pop charts in the Number-one spot. The highly anticipated album didn't disappoint his growing legion of fans. Songs like "Rodeo," "Shameless" and "What's She Doing Now" helped push its sales over five million copies by the end of the year and nine million at the finish of 1992.

And still the albums and the hits kept coming. By early 1994, only five years after his entry onto the music scene, Garth had sold over thirty-three million albums. His concerts were selling out in minutes. And he had received honors from nearly every music organization, including both the CMA and ACM's "Entertainer of the Year" award. All of Garth Brook's fans...and likely now even Garth, can be glad he wasn't able to add a few more inches to his javelin throwing. The records he might have set would never have matched the golden million-selling records that skillfully soared into the realm of "Garthmania."

#  A Derailed Demo Dream

A sudden shift in direction that put

Lefty Frizzell on the right track

"If you've got the money, honey, I've got the time..." As the young Texan sang, he molded the catchy words around the melody like a master sculptor. Once William Orville Frizzell tore into a song lyric, he didn't turn loose until he had drained the last drop of emotion. He would later say that each word in a song had a special feeling for him. "I didn't want to let go of it," he explained, "no more than I wanted to let go of the woman I loved."

As Jim Beck listened to Frizzell hold and caress the lyrics, he beamed. Beck had recently recruited him as a demo singer for his Dallas studio. He could just imagine Frizzell's emotion-filled renditions punching up the songs he peddled, year after successful year. Beck had run across the upcoming talent in the Ace of Clubs - a dance hall in nearby Big Springs. He was sure the handsome singer would make an ideal song-plugger for him.

Not only did Frizzell have a good voice for promoting a song, he had written some good songs himself. Beck especially liked "If You've Got the Money." He had Frizzell cut a demo of the song and headed to Nashville to peddle it. This would be the ideal opportunity to test Frizzell's song-selling ability. Columbia's producer, Don Law, was immediately interested. In a heartbeat, however, Beck's plans for his long-term demo singer crumbled. Law liked the song...but what intrigued him even more was the singer. Law had heard a lot of songs during his career. There was time to concentrate on that one later. The singer, though...that was a different matter. Law had been sniffing out talent for years and his nose was tingling with the sweet smell of success.

Despite Beck's disappointment over the loss of his prospective song-plugger, he knew Law was right. Fortunately, Beck would not be left lingering in the background of Frizzell's success. In 1951, a song co-written by Frizzell and Beck would skyrocket, to the top of the country charts. Their song, "I Want to Be With You Always," would nail down the Number-one position for eleven weeks.

Law rushed to Big Springs and offered Frizzell a contract. His first record went to the top of the charts. "If You've Got the Money" was backed with "I Love You a Thousand Ways." Both tunes were his originals and both hit the Number-one Spot.

Don Law didn't waste time. Seventeen days later, he rushed Frizzell back into the studio. Once again a double-sided hit emerged. "Look What Thoughts Will Do" landed in the Top Five, backed by the Top-ten hit, "Shine, Shave, Shower It's Saturday." It was obvious that Law's intuition had been right on target. The talented young Texan was definitely headed for more than a song-plugging career.

The country music world had just begun to turn on to a new sound - Honky Tonk. Now they had another idol to worship. The promotional material of the day explained that Frizzell had obtained the nickname "Lefty" as a Golden Gloves boxer. Years later, his family explained it was actually the result of his left-handed proficiency during a schoolyard brawl. Regardless, thousands of revering fans offered a nickel homage to the juke box to summon their new Honky Tonk Hero...Lefty Frizzell.

The following year, 1952, Lefty would set a country music record. Four songs hit the Top-ten position simultaneously. "Forever," "Don't Stay Away," "Give Me More, More, More" and "I'm an Old, Old Man" filled the radios and jukeboxes with wall-to-wall Lefty.

Like most overnight successes, his "night" had started quite a few years previously. As a youngster, he had been captivated by his family's collection of Jimmy Rodgers records. They were a constant companion for him as his family moved from town-to-town to follow his father's oil-drilling job.

Week after week, young Lefty patiently strummed his guitar along with Jimmy Rodgers. He soon added other singers. Roy Acuff, Ernest Tubb, Ted Daffan. and Floyd Tillman joined his recorded circle of friends. Frizzell particularly like the way Tillman stretched certain words to increase a lyric's impact.

Lefty's effort and emerging talent paid off early. By twelve he landed a feature spot on a children's radio program over station KELD in El Dorado, Arkansas. As always, his father's job soon pulled him away, but not before the experience ignited a life-long desire. "I knew, when I was twelve years old," he recalled, "what I was gonna do."

During the years to follow, he continued to listen and learn from the country stars he admired. By 1947, he was back on the radio. This time he was on a station in Roswell, New Mexico singing mainly Ernest Tubb and Jimmie Rodgers tunes. Little by little, he began to sprinkle in some original songs.

By the time Jim Beck noticed him in the Ace of Clubs three years later, Lefty had blended the styles of his musical heroes into a unique hybrid. He mixed the sincerity of Jimmy Rodgers and Ernest Tubb with Floyd Tillman's word-stretching. Suddenly, a fresh new style emerged: the "Lefty" sound.

That sound would continue to spawn hits throughout the early Fifties. Don Law added piano player, Madge Sutee, to most of Frizzell's records. Her hard-driving Honky Tonk style mingled perfectly with Lefty's voice. As golden tunes like "Always Late" and "Mom and Dad Waltz" filled the radios and jukeboxes, it appeared as if nothing could slow the bright new star.

Like so many other "appearances," this one would be deceiving. In 1954, he recorded the last Top-ten song he would have for the next five years. The main cause for his absence was the emergence of the Rockabilly sound. Lefty preferred to stick to the fading Honky Tonk style.

Although he would never again match his tempo of the early Fifties, two of his most memorable classics were yet to emerge. In 1959, his inimitable word-molding ability crafted the haunting favorite, "The Long Black Veil." Six years later, he produced his final Number-one offering, "Saginaw, Michigan." These, like the other products of the derailed demo dream, were right on track for Lefty.

#  "Just Like Sheb"

The musical role model waiting behind

Roger Miller's life-shattering losses

Just as a rose can thrive on the refuse from a compost pile, creativity can be nourished by the debris of a broken childhood. Roger Dean Miller is proof. His father died in 1938, when Roger was only thirteen months old. Despite his mother's poor health and extreme poverty, she struggled valiantly to hold on to her three sons. But month-by-month she could feel her grip slipping away.

Finally, she knew she could no longer provide for them. Her worst nightmare seemed to be lurking around the corner. She would have to surrender her children to an orphanage. Fortunately, waiting around that corner was not a nightmare, but her late husband's three brothers. Understanding the hopelessness of her situation, each uncle had decided to take one of her sons into his family.

The brothers had scattered across the country \- one in California, one in Arkansas and the other in Oklahoma. Young Roger ended up with his Oklahoma uncle. There, he would eventually see a glimmer of light through the dark cloud that had stolen his father and torn him from his mother.

Shortly after Roger joined the Erick, Oklahoma family, his older cousin got married. Her new husband, Sheb Wooley, was an established country singer and comedian. It wouldn't take long for the young uprooted youngster to pick Sheb as his role model. "When the boy grows up," his uncle once told a friend, "he wants to be just like Sheb."

That desire continued to grow throughout Roger's childhood. He would listen for hours to country music on the family radio. Someday, he just knew he would be one of the performers on that radio. He began picking cotton on Saturdays to buy a second-hand guitar. When he was eleven, Sheb surprised him by giving him a fiddle. Now, not only could he dream about becoming a country performer, he had the tools to build his dream.

He loved his uncle's family but he wasn't too crazy about their two-mule cotton and chicken farm...especially when it came time to clean the chicken house. "A lot of people who grew up on a farm," he later explained "will know why I said 'Lord, give me a guitar and let me get out of here...' "

Still in his teens, he packed his guitar, fiddle and dreams and left the chicken house cleaning behind. As he bounced around in odd jobs through Oklahoma and Texas, he added the banjo and piano to his musical repertoire. The next phase of his life would help to crystallize his country-music visions. He joined the Army and was eventually assigned to a Special Services country-music band that entertained the troops. In the band, he met a sergeant who was the brother of Jethro Burns of "Homer and Jethro." He convinced Roger that he should head to Nashville after his tour of duty. He even lined up an audition for him with Chet Atkins at RCA.

When Roger hit Nashville, he strolled into RCA studios and informed Chet that he was a songwriter and wanted to audition. There was, however, a slight problem. Roger had forgotten to bring along his guitar. After Chet loaned him one to use, Roger nervously continued. Unfortunately his composure was shot. "I sang in one key and played in another," he recalled. "It was a disaster."

In fact, his Nashville experience was so dis-appointing he soon left and traveled around the country for a few months. But the call of that country music dream wouldn't go away. He returned to Music City and set out looking for luck. Sheb's earlier gift of a fiddle would now play a vital part in helping Roger find that luck. He landed a job as a fiddler in a band that backed up Minnie Pearl while she was on tour. During the tour, Roger began to make a few contacts with the country music community.

A couple of years after his Army discharge, his hard work and talent, combined with his new contacts, would start his career rolling. By 1958, several recognized performers were recording his songs. During the late 50's and into the early 60's, his songs were hitting the charts for stars like Faron Young, Ray Price, Porter Wagoner, Ernest Tubb and Jim Reeves. Roger, naturally, was delighted. There was, however, one thing missing from all these successful recordings...him.

His dream, after all, was not merely to hear his songs on the radio, but his voice as well. He managed to release a few records for Decca, but nothing took off. Then he returned to Chet Atkins at RCA...this time with a guitar. His RCA recording of "You Don't Want My Love" climbed into the Top Twenty and "When Two Worlds Collide" hit the Top Ten.

Still, he had a feeling there was something missing from his vision. Once again he left Nashville - this time for Hollywood. Maybe acting would bring him his dream future. In order to make a little extra money while he took acting lessons, he signed with Mercury's "Smash" label

On a whim, he recorded a few of his wacky novelty songs which he had previously sung only for friends. He felt there was little chance of success. They weren't, after all, quite like anything he had ever heard coming out of a radio or jukebox. That situation, however, was soon going to change.

In mid-1964 one of these "wacky" songs would soar up both the country and pop charts. "Dang Me" not only came pouring out of millions of radios and juke boxes, it stayed at the Number-one country position for six weeks. Before the year was out, "Chug-a-Lug" hit the Top Ten on both pop and country charts and let the music world know it had a wild new talent to deal with.

His string of one-of-a-kind hits like "Do-Wacka-Do," "England Swings," "Engine, Engine Number 9" and the universally popular "King of the Road" carved out a musical legacy that still brings a warm smile of remembrance to nearly anyone who turned on a radio during those years. During 1964 and 65, he garnered an incredible total of eleven Grammy Awards. And in 1973 he was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters' Hall of Fame. Sheb Wooley and all the others who helped raise Roger must have had bright green thumbs. From the compost pile of his shattered childhood, they helped grow one of the most colorful imaginations that ever bloomed.

# Paying Dues With Shoes

When Sears shoe salesman, Webb Pierce

finally found the "perfect fit"

The smiling salesman dutifully measured the customer's feet for the shining brown Wingtips. As he laced them and ran his fingers along the side, he knew they were a perfect fit. While he rang up the sale, he wistfully hoped his musical dream would one day fit him as well. After all, he didn't picture his name in lights as Sears and Roebuck's "Shoe Salesman of the Century." No, he knew exactly where he wanted to see the name, Webb Pierce...on the roster of Shreveport's Louisiana Hayride.

Like all the guitar-picking dreamers who preceded him, however, Webb knew that first there would likely be dues to pay. So for nearly two years, he patiently worked at Sears by day and spent his off-hours playing guitar and singing everywhere he could - often for free. The more lines he cast out, he figured, the better the chance of catching a big one. His efforts eventually paid off. Not only did he land a "big one," he hooked the keeper he had been waiting for. He was contacted by Horace Logan, program director for radio station KWKH's newly formed Louisiana Hayride.

That radio barn dance would be the springboard for a career that would nail hits onto the Number-one rung for two and three months at a time. Webb would virtually "own" the 1950's honky-tonk scene. His classic song, "There Stands the Glass" would be hailed as the "national anthem" of drinking songs. Webb would eventually rack up sales of over 68 million records. Although the glow of his country music career has faded through the years, in his time he was immensely popular. In fact, he was responsible for carving out a number of paths for later performers to follow.

Webb's 1954 hit, "Slowly," was the first country song to emphasize a pedal steel guitar. Soon after the song was released, pedal steels began to pop up in one country band after another. His band, The Wondering Boys, featured the haunting sound of twin fiddles. These had previously been a specialty of the Western Swing bands. In addition, Webb was one of the first acts to outfit himself and his band in the flashy Nudie Cohen rhinestone suits.

The musical talent that would lead to these innovations surfaced early. In his teens, Webb was already a skillful guitarist. As he performed at local events, he began to gain attention around his hometown of Monroe, Louisiana. By sixteen, he landed his own radio show on Monroe's KMLB, called "Songs by Webb Pierce."

Following a stint in the Army, Webb headed to Shreveport and the Louisiana Hayride. Although it took two years for the program director to take the bait, as soon as Webb joined the show, he began to feel the fit he had dreamed of. His emotion-charged voice stamped his unique signature on each song he sang. The audience immediately warmed to the new talent and he was soon featured on the Hayride.

Not only was Webb's performing career taking off, he was beginning to have some recording success. His 1949 "Panhandle Rag" recorded on the Four Star label became a regional hit. He had assembled an extremely talented band that included two future country stars - guitarist, Faron Young, and Floyd Cramer on the piano. As the early fifties rolled around, Webb Pierce's fuse was lit and ready to ignite a legendary career.

That explosion would come early in 1952. Webb had signed a contract with Decca Records late in the previous year. One of the first songs he released was "Wondering," a Cajun song that had been recorded in 1936 by Joe Werner. His choice of the song was ideal. Not only did it provide him with his first nationally charted hit, it sailed to Number One.

Before the year was over, Webb would hit the Number-one position twice more with "That Heart Belongs to Me" and his now-classic "Back Street Affair." His star would continue to rise through 1954. In the fall of that year his barroom classic, "There Stands the Glass," rocketed to the top of the charts and remained there for an incredible three-month reign. Webb once said his fans didn't even need to voice their requests. They would simply ask him to play that song, and he knew exactly which one they wanted to hear - "There Stands the Glass."

Webb's records filled the nation's jukeboxes. He was selected for the Juke Box Operator's Number-one Singer award. Soon, he moved up from the Hayride to the Grand Ole Opry. As he continued to turn out Number-one hits the next year, it seemed as if he was destined to dominate the top of the country music charts for years to come.

During the summer of '54, Webb headlined at Memphis's Overton Park Shell. According to several accounts, he was a little irritated by the crowd's response to an inexperienced teenager slated at the bottom of the bill. He simply couldn't understand the big deal about the youngster who just had his first release on Sun Records. Who was this Elvis, anyway?

It wouldn't be long before Webb and all the other traditional country stars would find out...loud and clear. Webb's popularity hung on through 1955, generating more Number-one hits. But during 1956 and '57 his songs began to fall short as Elvis, the Everly Brothers and the other Rockabilly pioneers began to stake their claim to the top of the charts.

Webb tried to cash in on the new sound. He turned one of his old tunes, "Hayride Boogie" into the "Teenage Boogie." In an attempt to show his willingness to adapt to the new style, he released an album titled "Webb With a Beat!" Neither attempt was successful. He simply was what he was - a Honky-tonk singer.

In the late fifties, he again climbed high into the charts with several Mel Tillis songs, including the 1957 "Honky Tonk Song." This would be Webb's last Number-one hit. Years later, when country music fans still vividly remember Hank, Ernest, Patsy and the other legends, some respond to the mention of his name with "Webb who?" It's a shame they couldn't float back into the days when a young Sears' salesman traded brown wingtips and Hayride dreams for rhinestone boots and country gold.

#  The Shattering Of The Wall

When Alabama smashed Nashville's

invisible "band-repellent" barricade

For years, an unseen but impenetrable wall had protected Nashville from the onslaught of the dreaded "bands." The music executives had erected it decades ago when they found country music bands tended to fragment as they became successful. As the fifties and sixties rolled around, the wall protected them from an even more dreaded enemy. A band of equal musical partners smacked of...God forbid...Rock & Roll.

A quartet of Nashville newcomers had already smashed repeatedly into this barricade. At last, though, they could see a gleam of light through a slight crack. They had recently recorded a Top-twenty hit, "My Home's in Alabama." The popularity of that song netted them a spot on the Country Music Seminar's "New Faces" show at Nashville's Hyatt Regency. And the show would be crawling with radio personalities and record company executives.

Even with this crack, that wall still stood. Their drummer, Mark Herndon, wasn't even allowed to have his drum set on stage. In fact, the rest of the band members were also expected to leave their instruments behind. Once again, the message was clear - no bands!

As the admiring audience members let the flawless harmonies of "My Home's in Alabama" and "Tennessee River" wrap around them, they were unaware of another distant sound - the continued cracking of the rigid wall. Following their performance, an RCA executive excitedly signed them to a record deal...which would eventually include their drummer and their instruments.

That deal would not only collapse the wall, it would begin the most incredible roll of recording success in music history. The first single they released, "Tennessee River," shot to the Number-one chart position. "Why Lady Why," another release from their debut album, also reached Number One. The next year, 1981, their third release, "Old Flame" sailed up the charts to the top spot. The same thing happened to their next single, "Feels So Right"...and the next, "Love in the First Degree."

The same music executives who had lectured this new group, Alabama, about their slim chance for success as a country band, began to watch their meteoric rise with open mouths. Those mouths gaped even wider as 1982 brought a string of three back-to-back Number Ones. The next year racked up two more, and 1984 added an incredible row of five Number Ones to the ever-growing chain. Before the newcomers finished their initial roll of the dice, they had stacked up a record-breaking row of twenty-one consecutive Number-one hits.

Like most "overnight successes," their night had stretched on for years. They earned their fame the old fashioned way, through hard work and perseverance. Their roots, after all, reached down through the rocky soil of the Alabama mountain country, where giving up was simply not in the vocabulary.

Teddy Gentry and Randy Owen began the journey on small cotton farms near Lookout Mountain. They were cousins but acted more like brothers, spending most of their time together. By the age of six, they were both singing at their local Holiness church. Before long, they learned to play guitar and began singing together during their free time.

In high school they met another cousin, Jeff Cook. Like Randy and Teddy, he had also turned to music. Jeff, in fact, had played in a rock band by the time he was thirteen. When they met, he had already formed his own band, J. C. and the Chosen Few. The three cousins played their first gig in 1969 at the local American Legion hall. Billed as "Young Country," they netted a whopping $5.37. Even with this minor-league beginning, the boys were hooked. Despite their "musical addiction," they prepared for other possible futures. Randy obtained a bachelors degree in English; Jeff, an electronics degree; and Teddy learned carpet-laying and other trades.

A fourth cousin, Jackie Owen, joined the new group, and the band, then called Wild Country, began playing weekends at the nearby Canyonland tourist park. They backed up established stars, and then played an hour dance set. After a while, Jeff became discouraged at their prospects for success and accepted a government job in Anniston, Alabama. The "addiction," it seemed, had lost its hold on him.

That wasn't the case with Randy and Teddy. They joined Jeff in Anniston and took day jobs as carpet-layers to keep the band together. The boys found enough night and weekend gigs to keep their dream alive. In 1973 they moved to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where they picked up a steady six-nights-a-week job in a club called The Bowery.

"We'd play some nights until we got blisters," Teddy Gentry recalled, "Then we'd play 'til the blisters popped." Despite the blisters, their perseverance once more paid off. At the Bowery, they honed their harmonies to the perfection that would one day break down the Nashville band-barricade. Changing their name to Alabama, they went through one drummer after another. Finally the ideal drummer surfaced. Mark Herndon was actually a rock drummer and not exactly the "country" type. In fact, according to one story, when one of the other band members mentioned Mel Tillis, he gave them a blank look. Regardless, the slight rock edge he added to their sound gave them a distinctive up-beat style.

Drawing on their independent upbringing, they recorded and pressed their own records to sell at live dates. In 1979, they scraped together enough money to record an album. Once again, their country-bred persistence paid off. They selected a single from the album and sent hundreds of copies, along with hand-written letters, to country radio program directors and deejays.

That single, "I Wanna Come Over," was picked up by MDJ Records and reached the Number 33 country position. The next year, MDJ released "My Home's in Alabama." As the song reached the Top Twenty, the Country Music Seminar directors contacted the group to play in their "New Faces" show. Those directors likely had no idea that the flawless harmonies of this new group came with an unusual accompaniment - the distant shattering of a band-repellant barricade.

#  A Man For Two Seasons

How Eddy Arnold harvested the rustic plowboy

and replanted a citified country crooner

As a farm kid in Chester County, Tennessee, young Richard Edward Arnold had learned there was a season for everything. Perhaps, he reasoned, his had simply passed. It was the mid-1950s and many country music fans seemed to have lost their taste for the traditional musical style Eddy had always sung.

Yes, it might be best to cash in his crop. After all, "The Tennessee Plowboy," as he was affectionately nicknamed, had already made a deep mark in country music. During the late forties and early fifties, the fans of his pure and plaintive sound had sent his songs soaring to the top of the charts. One after another, his hits like "Anytime," "Cattle Call" and "Texarkana Baby" stuck to the number one position for weeks on end. His fans had kept his "Bouquet of Roses" in the top spot for nineteen weeks and in the Top 40 for over a year.

Yes, it seemed to be time to retire from music. Then another thought occurred to him. Rather than leaving completely, maybe he could simply "retire" the Tennessee Plowboy. After all, it was his traditional country style and appearance that were going out of style - not his voice. If he could just urbanize the plowboy, Eddy might still fit in with the newer musical trend. With this transformation in mind, Eddy set about mellowing his singing style. Then he traded in his cowboy hats and western shirts for suits and tuxedos.

His vocals were no longer backed by Little Roy Wiggins's Hawaiian steel guitar. Instead, his voice was accompanied by orchestras and lavish string sections. Eddy's personal appearances extended to high-toned supper clubs and Vegas lounges. Finally, the metamorphosis was complete. The Tennessee Plowboy was dead-and-buried in country music history. In his place stood a suave cosmopolitan country crooner.

Needless to say, many of Eddy's former hard-core fans were not exactly delighted with his selling out to city-slicker society. But much of their disappointment would soon vanish. The "new Eddy" began to fill the charts with golden-throated classics like "Make the World Go Away," "Tips of My Fingers" and "What's He Doing in My World."

Not only would most of his fans eventually shrug their shoulders and accept his new persona, they would be joined by millions of others who had previously never paid much attention to country music. It hadn't been unusual for Eddy's earlier songs to cross over to the popular charts, but now he was becoming as well known to pop fans as to country ones.

The urban country crooner began to frequent network television shows - even filling in repeatedly as a Tonight Show guest host for Johnny Carson. This exposure led to his own network television show - the first for a country musician. The expansion of his appeal across musical boundaries also helped increase his record sales. As one after another of his hits crossed over the million-seller mark, Eddy was likely feeling better and better about his decision to "move the Tennessee Plowboy to the city."

Beneath his tuxedos and city-bought suits, however, would always beat the heart of a country boy. Eddy was definitely farm-grown. He had attended a one-room school near Madisonville, Tennessee and was steeped in homemade music during cozy family evenings. His mother played the guitar and his father sang and played the fiddle. When Eddy was ten, his mom decided it was his turn to join the family group and she began teaching him guitar.

This warm family circle was unfortunately not destined to last. Eddy's father died the following year. Then tragic times turned even more hopeless. Creditors auctioned off their family farm leaving the Arnolds as sharecroppers at the onset of the Great Depression. Eddy gave up his education for farm work to help bolster the family's meager income.

One dim glow slowly began to illuminate their gloomy existence - Eddy's musical ability. His parents' influence had begun to blossom in the youngster. He was soon proficient enough as a singer and guitarist to entertain at local socials, barbecues and candy-pulls for a dollar a night. The extra money definitely helped the family income. In addition, Eddy tended to like the idea that he didn't have to get dirt under his fingernails to earn it. The idea of making a living with his music began to develop a strong attraction.

As word circulated about his budding talent, he began picking up barn-dance gigs - often traveling to them on the back of a mule. In 1936, at the age of seventeen, he debuted on Jackson, Tennessee's radio station WTJS. Although the door to Eddy's later success was beginning to open, it was still only a slight crack. To supplement his musical income, Eddy worked as an undertaker's driver.

The break that would lead him toward the big leagues came in 1940. By that time, he had broadened his radio work, playing as far afield as St. Louis and Memphis. His radio performances eventually brought him to the attention of Pee Wee King. King invited him to join his Grand Ole Opry touring show, the "Golden West Cowboys." Pee Wee King and Eddy also toured military bases with the Camel Caravan. In 1943 Eddy struck out on his own, singing on WSM's daytime shows; then on the Opry itself.

Eddy's recording career began in December of 1944. The Opry's Harry Stone, along with Chicago publisher, Fred Forester, brought Eddy to the attention of RCA Records. It wouldn't take long for RCA to realize the value of their new recording artist. During the next few years, his songs would dominate the charts. Eddy wrote or co-wrote many of his early hits, including "Anytime," "Texarkana Baby" and "Bouquet of Roses."

By the time the sales of the Tennessee Plowboy's hits were added to those of the reborn country crooner, Eddy Arnold had sold over 85 million records. He was elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1966, and the following year was voted as the C.M.A's very first "Entertainer of the Year." Apparently the Tennessee Plowboy had been right - there is a "season for everything." Fortunately, he also remembered that some crops have both an early and a late season.

#  Bedrest And Blue-Light Specials

The hospital stay that helped heal

a fractured future for the Judds

The young patient in the Williamson County Hospital was recovering well from her automobile accident. Yes, Diana Maher would be just fine. In fact, her recuperation would far exceed her doctor's expectations. Diana would not only mend her own injures. She would also help exterminate the pop-style Urban-cowboy blight that had infected country music in the 1970's.

When one of the hospital's nurses discovered Diana was the daughter of record producer, Brent Maher, she just couldn't help herself. Between the bandage-changing and the pill-pushing, the self-promoting Naomi Judd simply had to mention the fact that nursing was only her "day job." She was actually part of a country music duo just waiting for a break.

Together with her daughter, Wynonna, she had developed a unique blend of pure Appalachian-style mountain sound mixed with upbeat popular harmony. And, if there was any chance Diana might help them gain her father's ear, she would be eternally grateful.

Diana, it turned out, was already aware of half of the duo. She attended high school with Wynonna and had previously commented to her father about her singing ability. Diana said she would be glad to take one of their demonstration tapes to her dad. Naomi was delighted but there was one slight problem. Money had always so been tight they had never made a professional demo tape.

That didn't hold Naomi back. This was simply too good an opportunity to pass up. She and Wynonna gathered what money they had and headed for the nearest K-Mart. Their musical future, as it turned out, would rest on two thirty-dollar Blue-light special tape recorders. Once home, they began to experiment with the recorders. They sang into one, then played that tape back and sang harmonies against their own melodies into the other. The sound that emerged wasn't perfect but it was clear enough to highlight their pure uncluttered harmony. Their choice of a catchy song they had run across, titled "Momma He's Crazy" didn't hurt either.

When Maher heard the homemade demo, he sensed the new duo's potential. He began to shop around Nashville to see if others shared his viewpoint. Despite the slick over-production of many records of the time, the Judds's pure and simple harmonies began to catch the attention of several influential music people. Before long, in March of 1983, the previously unknown duo was called to RCA Records for a live audition.

"We walked into Joe Galante's office in single file with a guitar," Wynonna later remembered. "They told us to wear our best dresses. It was very spontaneous."

Following their audition of an old Blue Sky Boys' song, "A Mother's Smile," they retired to a nearby restaurant to await the decision. Although actually less than an hour, the wait dragged on for an emotional lifetime. Finally the verdict arrived...they were in! The blue-light-special demo and their dogged persistence had actually netted them a recording contract with RCA.

As the excited pair looked forward to a bright path of potential stardom, they also remembered the road that had brought them there. It had been filled with wrong-way turns and dead ends. They hadn't always shared their present flawless harmony, either musically or emotionally.

In the early 70's, the teenage marriage of Kentucky-born Diana Judd - not yet called Naomi - was crumbling. In 1972, the marriage fell apart and Diana faced a fractured future with two daughters and no job skills. In addition, her oldest daughter, Christina, was emotionally upset about her parent's divorce. Fortunately, during this time-period, Christina developed an intense love of music. In fact, as a teenager she began to sink so deeply into her music that her mother worried about her. Her music, however, would eventually restore a broken communication link between them.

Diana moved the family back to her hometown of Ashland, Kentucky. Always the free spirit, she later relocated to the New Age community of Marin County, California. She had always harbored aspirations of becoming an actress and felt this might be a good time to follow her dream. While there, she decided to change her name to "Naomi," after the biblical figure. Following her lead, Christina changed her name. She selected hers from a little Oklahoma town mentioned in the old "Route 66" TV theme song \- "Flagstaff, Arizona, Don't forget Wynona." Adding an "n," she came up with a name that future country music fans would indeed never forget.

As it turned out, Naomi's acting skills didn't attract attention, but her automobile did. Someone working on the movie More American Graffiti noticed her 1957 Chevy at an intersection and flagged her down to rent the classic car for the duration of the production. Naomi soon expanded the opportunity into jobs as movie extras for her and Wynonna, as well as a secretarial position for herself on the movie set.

By this time, the pull of Hollywood was beginning to lessen. Since she and Wynonna were becoming more serious about singing country music, the pull of Nashville was taking its place. The money from the movie company paid for their move there. With a nursing job as financial security, she and Wynonna patiently honed their harmonies to perfection.

They began to haunt Music Row, knocking on one door after another...with no success. Their mother-daughter harmony simply didn't fit the musical style of the time. Undaunted, they often crawled out of bed at 3:30 a.m. to sing on Ralph Emery's early morning radio show. Since they had no demo-tapes, they offered to sing to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, not many did.

No, if it weren't for a certain hospital patient, we may never have heard the beautiful harmonies of "Why Not Me?," "Love Can Build a Bridge," "Have Mercy," "Love is Alive" and all the other wonderful Judds' songs. Diana Maher, we're all sorry about your automobile accident - but we're sure glad you had it near the Williamson County Hospital!

#  Bluegrass Music Section

This section dedicated to

Roger and Randall Everett and all the dedicated bluegrass lovers who have kept the flames flickering bright at The Everetts' Family Music Barn in Suwannee, Georgia

**TABLE OF CONTENTS** : Bluegrass Music Section

Endless Fields of Bluegrass (A Touch of Bluegrass History)

"Breakthrough Bickering" (Flatt & Scruggs)

"Carousel Crooners" (The Louvin Brothers)

A "Grease-house Gamble" (Bill Monroe & The Blue Grass Boys)

A Very Special Delivery (The Stanley Brothers)

A First-rate Second Choice (Alison Krauss)

Gin Mill Geniuses (The Osborne Brothers)

The Maniacal Mandolinist (Jim & Jesse)

A Big-break Breakdown (Ricky Skaggs)

A "Timely Termination" (Jimmy Martin)

The "Bluegrass Buzzer" (Reno & Smiley)

The Fortunate Fork (Rhonda Vincent)

The "Gigless" Grassers (The Grascals)

Parlor-pickin' & Pepperoni (Nickel Creek)

The Curious Calf (Randy Kohrs)

Sweet Sounds at Stinking Creek (Blue Moon Rising)

A Voice in the Woods (The James King Band)

Front-row Fanatic (J. D. Crowe)

The Red-hot Record (Del McCoury)

California Rice (The Rice Brothers)

The "Cheap-seat Chef" ( Hot Rize)

The Roots of Bluegrass (The Songs of Bluegrass)

#  Endless Fields of Bluegrass

A Touch of Bluegrass History

The first winds carrying the musical seeds of America's bluegrass music, blew across the ocean from the British Isles. The street ballads of Scotland, Ireland and England echoed the love, losses and laughter of an earlier time. When residents of those countries immigrated to America, they planted the seeds of their homeland's music in the fertile fields of their adopted country. As the decades passed, that musical crop spread across their newfound home in America's Appalachian mountains. Their music slowly transformed as the immigrants circulated throughout the Carolinas, Tennessee, Kentucky and the Virginias. Many of the original Celtic and Scottish ballads soaked up traits of the other musical forms around them. The gospel sounds of the backwoods churches flavored them. The bluesy texture of African-American work songs seeped into the mix. Also, the stories of people and experiences in their new land added fresh material for lyrics.

The new immigrants further Americanized the songs of their home country by shortening them. Some of them tended to run on forever. The Scottish ballad, "The Lass of Loch Royal" for example, was originally thirty-five stanzas long. It was chopped down to three for its American version titled, "Who's Gonna Shoe Your Pretty Little Foot?" Americans were also accustomed to finding moral lessons in their novels and plays, so the mountain songwriters followed suit. "The Wreck of the Old '97," for instance, ends with the moral that girls should never speak harshly to their sweethearts when they go off to work, since they might never return.

The mixture of ancient and modern sounds slowly blended into a hybrid variety of music with a standing of its own. Since it was mainly cultivated in the Appalachian mountain country, most people called it "mountain music," "country music" or "Appalachian." Like its forerunners, it was traditionally sung in a high-pitched style and sometimes accompanied by a fiddle. Later, many hill-country musicians added a banjo, which had been introduced to America by African slaves. The high-pitched vocal, incidentally, likely stemmed from earlier times when the men usually played instruments and the women sang.

The hybrid fields of mountain music flourished in the 1920's, when the young phonograph industry turned its attention to the hills. The now famous "Bristol sessions" in 1927, brought a stream of rustic musicians down from the mountains. As Jimmie Rodgers, the Carter family and the rest leaned into the microphone in Ralph Peer's little portable studio, they forever preserved the mountain melodies they loved.

In the same decade, the magic of radio hurled the music through the air in all directions. During the late 1920's and early 30's, radio stations across the country began to capture the flavor of the mountain-country barn dances. Amateur musicians laid down their hoes and shovels, picked up banjos and fiddles, and headed for their local radio stations. Suddenly, the once-secluded homespun music of the mountains was reaching both farm families and city slickers alike. As the 1930's continued, the stage was set for some major changes. In the mid-30's, young Bill Monroe and his brother, Charlie, teamed up as a brother act, singing the "new-old" style songs. Their close-harmony garnered legions of fans. Despite their success, their egos often collided and they split in 1938 to go their separate ways.

As music history has recorded, Bill's path led to his bluegrass legacy. The minute his hard-driving new concoction hit the Grand Ole Opry in the fall of 1939, it was clear that the nation had a whole new "hybrid" to enjoy. Bill Monroe's creation, and later, Earl Scruggs' supercharged banjo style, plowed the original fields of what would eventually be called bluegrass. The new music soon developed several unique features. For one thing, Bill Monroe and his group tuned their instruments higher than standard, which fit perfectly with his soaring tenor voice. Another bluegrass specialty was that of "passing the break," where one instrument took the lead for a short section, then fell back as another came forward. In addition, a lot of close harmony became a signature part of the new sound.

Throughout the years, legions of creative and talented musicians have tended the fields of the new musical hybrid. One of those early field hands played as a sideman with many of the now-classic groups. John Ray "Curly" Seckler came from the North Carolina Piedmont area during the infancy of the new music. Spurred on by his musical parents, Curly learned to play the tenor banjo and mandolin. In the mid-30's, he and his brothers formed a string band called The Yodeling Rangers. They landed a steady spot on a radio station in nearby Salisbury.

Charlie Monroe had tuned in and was impressed with Curly''s vocal and instrumental skills. When the Monroe Brothers split, Charlie talked Curly into joining his "Kentucky Pardners" group. During Curly's long career, he played with Jim and Jesse, the Stanley Brothers and Flatt and Scruggs. Honoring Flatt's request, Curly kept Lester's Nashville Grass band together following Lester's death.

The new music was simply too good to stay cooped up in the hill country. Two brothers, born near Beckley, West Virginia, would play a vital role in introducing the sound to the north. Everett and Michael Burt "Bea" Lilly spent the late 1930's learning the songs of the Monroe, Delmore and Callahan Brothers. By 1938, they landed a radio gig on Charleston's Old Farm Hour, billing themselves as the Lonesome Holler Boys. During the 1940's, they moved up the radio ladder to Knoxville's WNOX and then on to Wheeling's WWVA Jamboree. Teaming up with banjo player, Don Stover, the Lilly Brothers decided to take their West Virginia bluegrass into the New England area. They played on Boston's WCOP Hayloft Jamboree while they worked in various area clubs - primarily Boston's Hillbilly Ranch. During their nearly twenty-year stint at the Ranch, they hooked thousands of "Yankees" on the lively new strain of southern-grown music.

Another keeper of the fields added the blues-soaked fiddle sound to the bluegrass recipe. Robert Russell "Chubby" Wise didn't play the violin until he was fifteen. But once he started, he soon made up for lost time. He joined the Jacksonville, Florida-based Jubilee Hillbillies in 1938. Four years later, he stepped into music history as a vital member of the classic Blue Grass Boys line-up. During his career, Wise also added his high-emotion fiddle accompaniment to the performances and records of Hank Williams, Clyde Moody, Flatt & Scruggs and Hank Snow. When Chubby Wise cranked up the "Orange Blossom Special" or the "Lee Highway Blues," he would always tear up the house.

One of the greatest voices bluegrass music has ever known, actually began by studying classical music. Despite his formal training, young Mac Wiseman soon turned his attention toward the old-time mountain music. He joined a band called "The Hungry Five" during his high school days in the Shenandoah Valley area of Virginia. Singer, Molly O'Day heard him in 1946 and hired him as her featured singer and bass player.

After moving on from Molly O'Day's group, Wiseman played Bristol, Tennessee's "Farm and Fun Time" show on WCYB in a band that included Curly Seckler. During the next few years, Wiseman signed on as one of Bill Monroe's Blue Grass Boys and later joined Flatt and Scruggs. In 1951, he branched off on his own, forming his group, "The Country Boys." Throughout his career, he played the Louisiana Hayride, The Old Dominion Barn Dance, the Wheeling Jamboree and the Grand Ole Opry.

Bill Monroe's early musical versions tried out a number of instruments, including the accordion, harmonica, spoons, washboard and even the bones. But within a few years, the fiddle, banjo, guitar, mandolin and bass had become the only universally accepted instruments for the new musical concoction. One more would be added to the sacred list in the mid-fifties. Burkett H. "Uncle Josh" Graves introduced the Dobro while working with Flatt & Scruggs.

Graves heard Earl Scruggs' three-finger picking style in 1949 while he was working at Lexington's Kentucky Mountain Barn Dance. Excited by the new sound, he began to adapt it to his favorite instrument, the Dobro. He was originally drawn toward it when he heard Cliff Carlisle play the slide-bar instrument on Jimmie Rodgers' records. Graves soon developed a rolling syncopated style that blended perfectly with the new bluegrass sound. He played with Flatt & Scruggs as a Foggy Mountain Boy and later worked with both Flatt's Nashville Grass and the Earl Scruggs' Review.

Despite an abundant harvest of talent, a looming storm threatened to decimate the thriving fields of bluegrass in the late 1950's. Those thundering clouds were led by Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry and the other newly crowned idols of rock and roll. Suddenly, radio listeners across the country stopped requesting the "Orange Blossom Special" and "Blue Moon of Kentucky" and began to ask for "Don't Be Cruel" and "Great Balls of Fire." One-by-one, radio's old-time harmony singers and bluegrass groups sadly packed up their banjos and fiddles and headed back to their farms. The Sunrise Serenades and Midday Matinees just couldn't compete with the hot new rock and roll.

Then, just when the horizon seemed the darkest, the sun began to shine on the fields again. The folk-music movement swept through colleges and eventually gathered steam to roll across the country. Bluegrass music was included in the "back to basics" agenda of the folk scene and breathed life back into many of the faltering groups. Another salvation, the bluegrass festival, followed on the heels of the folk scene. Although other organizers had previously gathered a few bluegrass groups together for small shows, the acknowledged architect of the weekend-long bluegrass festival is Carlton Haney. The Reidsville, North Carolina native started his music-promoting career as an agent and manager for Bill Monroe in the 1950's.

Haney gathered the top groups and individual performers of bluegrass for a three-day event in Fincastle, Virginia, near Roanoke. The festival, held on Labor Day weekend of 1965, offered camping grounds on the site at Cantrell's Horse Farm. A six-dollar three-day ticket served up Bill Monroe, Jimmy Martin, The Stanley Brothers, Reno and Smiley, Mac Wiseman and a host of others. As the festival-goers soaked up the sunshine and savored the sights and sounds of the masters of the novel musical style, Carlton Haney performed an emotional narration of "The Bluegrass Story."

Like thousands of bluegrass festivals that would later swirl in its wake, it was a raging success. Even after the folk movement faded, the striving musicians could relax, knowing that as soon as spring arrived, the festivals would keep them in business. In addition to the festivals, hundreds of small-town fairs and celebrations across the country began to include a bluegrass group in their programs, to add a colorful bounce to their events.

The folk scene and the festivals not only revived the original legends, but also spurred on a whole second generation of caretakers for the fields. The members of the nationwide musical phenomena came from all parts of the country. The Country Gentlemen spread the music around the Washington D. C. area with their high-lead trio harmony and dynamic instrumentals. Back in the Appalachians, Arthel "Doc" Watson kept the mountain spirit alive, and added a touch of earthy blues and folk-style guitar work. The Bluegrass Cardinals brought the sound into the heart of Los Angeles, California. And in Kentucky, J. D. Crowe and the New South blended classic bluegrass with country, blues and even added a touch of rock.

Now, many legendary musicians from that era are passing on their "gardening tools" to yet a third generation. As Ronda Vincent and the Rage, Illrd Time Out, The Randy Kohrs Band, Vallery Smith & Liberty Pike, The Steep Canyon Rangers and the myriad of others step onto the stage; they take their turns as guardians of the precious crop. As they do, the earlier generations don't need to worry. Even though many of the newer groups are expanding the variety, they remain loyal to the original hybrid strain. Like their predecessors in that unbroken circle, they are reaping a fine harvest from the endless fields of bluegrass.

#  "Breakthrough Bickering"

A childhood argument That spawned

an essential element of Flatt & Scruggs

The energy sparked by a quarrel with his older brother, pulsed through the ten-year-old's arms and energized his fingertips. As young Earl Scruggs secluded himself in his room after the argument, he grabbed his constant childhood companion - his late-father's banjo. Since his dad's death six years previously, he had spent most of his spare time trying to master it.

He picked out the tune "Reuben" as he brooded. He had been working on that song and several others for weeks, trying to learn a new picking style. His older brother, Junie, and his friend, Smith Hammett, had shown him a new method some of the locals were using. Instead of the typical two-finger frailing usually called "drop-thumb" or "claw-hammer," they were actually using two fingers and a thumb, but they called it "three-finger picking." Earl liked the new sound, but try as he may, he couldn't seem to figure it out.

Then it happened. Apparently the added energy from the squabble provided the fuel he needed. Without even realizing it, Earl began using the new technique. As he noticed his middle finger joining in the rhythmic strumming, his pulse raced. Forgetting about their disagreement, he ran to inform his brother of the breakthrough. "I've got it! I've got it!" he shouted. "I can play with three fingers!"

As the years passed, that news would eventually spread excitement throughout the bluegrass-music world. Young Earl didn't simply emulate the older boys who had taught him the method. He soon surpassed them. His nimble fingers smoothed the style into a shower of syncopated backup rhythm notes to accompany the melody line.

While Earl was learning the banjo near Flint Hill, North Carolina, in the mid-1930s, his future partner was already entertaining around Sparta, Tennessee. Ten years older than Earl, Lester Flatt had begun singing and playing guitar in his church at the age of seven. He married at seventeen and he and his wife, Gladys, worked in a textile mill by day and teamed up as a singing duo in their spare time. When Lester later joined Charlie Monroe's "Kentucky Pardners" band, he played mandolin and sang back-up tenor, while Gladys sang under the name "Billie Jean."

Despite playing the mandolin during performances, Lester practiced off-hours on the guitar. He became proficient at picking bass runs and melodies on the low strings with a thumb pick while brushing a rhythm on the high strings with a steel pick on his index finger. The union of the two musical masters would occur in December of 1945. After leaving Charlie Monroe in March of that year, Lester landed a sought-after position with Bill Monroe on the Grand Ole Opry. Finally, he could sing lead and play guitar. Bill Monroe recognized Lester's talent and felt comfortable that his "Bluegrass Boys" were coming together as a well-oiled team.

There was, however, one problem. Everybody liked the banjo player, Dave "Stringbean" Akeman, but his traditional frailing style simply didn't fit the fast-paced sound Monroe was developing. Bill asked his fiddle player, Jim Shumate, if he knew of anybody who could keep up with them. Shumate remembered the banjo player for Lost John Miller and the Allied Kentuckians. He had been impressed when he heard him play on an early-morning WSM program. So Shumate hunted him up and invited a young Earl Scruggs to audition for Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys.

He didn't have to ask Earl twice. Playing on the Grand Ole Opry had been his dream. The twenty-two-year-old Scruggs played "Sally Goodin" and "Dear Old Dixie" for Monroe and the band at the Opry house. When

Earl had finished, Monroe quietly turned to Lester and asked him what he thought. "Get him whatever the cost!" Lester whispered back.

With Scruggs on board, Bill Monroe and the Blue-grass Boys took off like wild fire. Fiddler Chubby Wise soon replaced Shumate. Many people have said that group, consisting of Monroe, Flatt, Scruggs, Wise, and bass-player Howard Watts, known as "Cedric Rainwater," may have been the best line-up bluegrass music has ever known.

Once on the Opry, their personal appearance dates began to multiply. Monroe bought a used airport limousine and they hit the road almost nonstop. Within a couple of years, the endless travel took a toll on both Lester and Earl. In early spring of 1948, Earl gave his notice to Monroe. "My cup was 'runneth over'," he would later quip, "with the aggravations of road life." Lester, equally exhausted, soon gave his notice as well.

Fortunately, after their separation from the Blue Grass Boys, they joined forces and their cups began to "runneth over" with country gold. Backed through the years by some of bluegrass music's best musicians, they cranked out a nearly endless stream of classic songs including "I'm Waiting to Hear You Call Me Darlin'," "Old Salty Dog Blues," "Pike County Breakdown" and "Crying My Heart Out Over You."

Throughout the twenty-one years Flatt and Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys played together, they carved out a unique musical legend. As they did, they elevated the status of bluegrass music in general. They recruited legions of new fans with their lively accompaniment to the Beverly Hillbillies television show. Although Lester didn't sing it on the show, the version of "The Ballad of Jed Clampett" with his voice, soon hit the Number-one spot on the country music charts. In addition, the use of their original 1949 recording of the "Foggy Mountain Breakdown" on the popular 1967 movie, "Bonnie and Clyde," spread bluegrass to millions more.

Their acceptance into the mainstream of American life was underscored when, during a concert at Carnegie Hall, the normally subdued audience shouted for them to play their famous jingle of long-time sponsor, Martha White flour. As they sang out, "goodness gracious, good and light," the Carnegie Hall crowd rose and cheered. They should also have given a cheer for a certain ten-year-old's "breakthrough bickering."

#  "Carousel Crooners"

The job of accompanying merry-go-round horses

that started the Louvin Brothers' career spinning

As the multicolored horses diligently raced around their circular track, they were in high spirits. While their giggling passengers gripped the golden poles, the painted steeds rose and swooped with joy. Their shiny wooden lips sported contented smiles. The reason for their delight was obvious. They were being serenaded by two brothers with golden voices.

At the end of the day, July 4th, 1940, the serenaders walked away from the county fair's merry-go-round with a whopping three dollars each. Providing the background music for the carousal had opened their eyes. They could actually earn money doing what they loved to do - singing harmony. With that unassuming job, the stage was set. Like the painted horses they had accompanied, their musical careers would rise and fall in rhythmic cycles before they eventually grabbed the gold ring of stardom.

The origin of those careers dates back to their early years in the 1930's. After the youngsters finished their chores on the family farm near Henagar, Alabama, they looked for relaxation. This often came in the form of Victrola music. They nearly wore the needle through their father's collection of Delmore Brothers' records. Saturday night, of course, meant tuning in to the Grand Ole Opry. As those golden tunes filled young Ira and Charlie Loudermilk, the music stirring inside them soon found its own release.

They began singing in the shape-note choir of their northern Alabama church. In addition to listening to the Delmore Brothers, they studied the smooth harmonies of the Monroe Brothers, the Callahan Brothers and the Blue Sky Boys. In time, with their parents' encouragement, Charlie picked up the guitar and Ira learned to play the mandolin.

As they polished their high-harmony singing style, the brothers decided they were ready to take their show on the road. Traveling to Chattanooga, they entered and won a talent show. The first prize was an appearance on radio station WDEF. As they stood before the station's carbon microphones, the excited brothers weren't sure where they were headed, but they were eager to go somewhere. The country music bug had definitely bitten them.

The next year, 1941, they made their live-performing debut in Flat Rock, Alabama. The audience members, like the carousal horses, wore contented smiles. Not satisfied to merely sing other performer's songs, the brothers began writing their own. By late 1942, they landed a regular early-morning spot, billed as "The Radio Twins" on WDEF in Chattanooga.

The years of studying their predecessors and practicing their own style were finally paying off. The next year they worked with the Foggy Mountain Boys on another Chattanooga station. Later, on that city's station WDOD, they sang with the Happy Valley Boys. As the hopeful duo bounced from station to station looking for their "big break," the local listeners savored their high-lonesome harmonies.

Following Charlie's brief stint in the army, they moved to Knoxville, Tennessee where they nailed down a steady spot on station WROL. Later, they switched to WNOX, the home of the "Mid-Day Merry-Go-Round." Around this time, the brothers decided their given name of "Loudermilk" was too much of a mouthful and too hard to spell. In fact, it even made some folks laugh...which is not exactly the response the two up-and-coming performers wanted when they were introduced to an audience. Charlie recalled they decided to use the first three letters of their name and add "vin," which resulted in an easier-to-pronounce stage name of Louvin. "I'm not sure where we got the 'vin' from," he added. Their cousin, John D. Loudermilk would later keep the family name alive as a well-respected country songwriter.

Like most performers, the Louvin Brothers wanted to preserve their music on records. They recorded on several labels, but their early attempts simply didn't catch anyone's attention. Disappointed, the brothers moved back to Memphis where they took day jobs as postal workers, playing local gigs and radio programs in the evenings.

As they sorted the letters and dreamed of better days, fate finally stepped in. Their music grabbed the attention of the associates at Acuff-Rose publishing house. Fred Rose arranged for a record contract with Capitol Records. This time, the Louvins scored a moderate success with their gospel song, "The Family Who Prays." Their victory, unfortunately, was short-lived. Charlie was recalled by the Army to serve in the Korean War.

After Charlie's discharge, the Louvins once more hit the musical road. They headed to Birmingham to join station WOVK. Once again, fate set up a roadblock. The station already had a close-harmony duo, Rebe & Rabe. To make matters worse, Rebe and Rabe were singing several of the Louvins' own songs. As often happens, however, when fate blocks one road, it opens a detour.

That detour would eventually transport the Louvin Brothers to the exact spot they wanted to occupy. After ten unsuccessful auditions, they made it to the stage of the Grand Ole Opry. Although they had previously specialized in gospel songs, their tobacco-company sponsor convinced them to expand their material to include secular music. "You can't sell tobacco," he informed them, "with gospel music."

Taking his advice, they scored a number of hits on the country charts including "I Don't Believe You've Met My Baby," "Hoping That You're Hoping," "Cash on the Barrel Head" and "Knoxville Girl." They continued to sing gospel music, generating timeless gems like "Steal Away and Pray" and "Make Him a Soldier."

Unfortunately, along with the bright days, fate also sent some dark clouds. Ira's later years were marred with depression and alcoholism. His severe mood swings played a role in the brother's eventual breakup in 1963. Sadly, he died in a car accident two years later. Despite the shadow that moved across their horizon, their legend continues to shine. It still glitters in the eyes of the many performers and fans they inspire. In fact, it shines a lot like the sparkling colors of those county fair painted horses.

#  A "Grease-house Gamble"

An old building behind a service station where

Bill Monroe launched his Blue Grass Boys

As the cluster of young musicians cleaned out the unused grease house behind the little Greenville, South Carolina service station, their hopes were high. They dreamed that, like the rough-running cars that had been adjusted there, they would emerge fine-tuned and ready to go. Their leader, twenty-seven-year-old Bill Monroe, planned to tinker, tune and tighten just like the mechanics that had preceded him.

Unlike those mechanics, however, Monroe didn't want to merely turn out another well-tuned vehicle. He was after something that would stand out from the rest. He had already heard the smooth-running sound of success with his brother, Charlie. From 1934 until 1938, the Monroe Brothers left warm musical memories for the fans of their old-style duet harmony. Their gospel songs like "This World is Not My Home" and "What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul" had become regional favorites.

After they had separated, Bill tried another duo act but found that each radio station he approached already had a successful duet on its staff. Since he couldn't break through with a carbon copy of the Monroe Brothers, he decided to whip up a whole new concoction. As he surveyed the inhabitants of the newly cleaned little building, the ingredients for that potential recipe seemed a little thin.

Nineteen-year-old Cleo Davis had no professional experience. He had joined Bill several months previously in Atlanta after answering his advertisement in the Atlanta Journal for a singer and guitar player. And neither of the other two recruits were exactly seasoned veterans. Art Wooten had played the fiddle around his North Carolina neighborhood and had developed a one-man-band contraption. Amos Garen, a string bass player, had just joined the little group.

Undaunted, young Bill Monroe rolled up his sleeves and set to work. This odd-lot mixture of green recruits, he resolved, along with a good dose of his tinkering and fine-tuning, would become his new musical vehicle. Since he planned to drive that vehicle into country music history, he felt it needed a catchy name. Being from Kentucky, the Blue Grass State, he christened it "Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys."

Throughout the months of tinkering, Monroe added several twists to the style of the little grease-house gang. He taught them to play nearly every song faster than usual. Since his mandolin was tuned the same as Art Wooten's fiddle, Monroe could demonstrate the sound he wanted him to play. Wooten soon developed a driving fiddle style that pushed the music along. In addition, Monroe began to throw in his own high-speed mandolin breaks.

The increased speed wasn't the only unique aspect of the new music. Monroe also experimented with unconventional keys like B-flat, B-natural and E. Before that, most country songs were primarily played in the keys of C, D or G. This variation tended to create a haunting quality that would later typify the "high lonesome" sound of bluegrass.

Prior to Monroe's innovations, the tenor usually sang back-up harmony to a lead singer's melody. Bill often turned that around, pushing his piercing tenor to the front of the song. To go along with their novel sound, Monroe gave the boys a new look. Rather than assuming the "hillbilly" appearance of most other contemporary groups, he dressed them in matching suits and Stetson hats. Month-by-month and song-by-song, the unusual ingredients melted together. The result, just as Monroe had hoped, sounded and looked like nothing that had come before it.

That sound and look began to catch on around the Greenville area. Before long, they were playing a steady stream of small gigs, taking in twenty-five or thirty dollars a night. Bill paid his band members what he could and took care of their extra expenses like haircuts and laundry. As they played on Greenville's WFBC and made the rounds of schoolhouses and courthouses, Monroe beamed with pride. The driving fiddle and mandolin, the unconventional keys, his high-lonesome tenor solos and all the rest were coming together and setting feet to tapping and hands to clapping. It was time, he decided in the fall of 1939, to shoot for the top - WSM and the Grand Ole Opry.

In October, they auditioned for George D. Hay and David Stone. Although Monroe's and Cleo Davis's memories differed as to exactly what songs they played, both remembered playing their high-speed version of Jimmy Rodgers' "Mule Skinner Blues." "I think that's what really sewed it up," Davis recalled. Hay and Stone hired them on the spot. In fact, they told Monroe that if he ever left the Opry, it would be because he had "fired himself."

Their initial performance on the Opry confirmed Hay & Stone's judgment. Cleo Davis recalled their first show. Roy Acuff, Pee Wee King, Uncle Dave Macon and Sam and Kirk McGee were standing in the wings when they began. Davis said they "could not believe when we took off so fast and furious." The audience shared their surprise...and delight. Their version of the "Mule Skinner Blues" reportedly received the first encore in Opry history.

That entry to the Grand Ole Opry was the path to country music history Monroe had been seeking. Through the years ahead, Bill Monroe and the changing personnel of his Blue Grass Boys would give the world such timeless classics as "Footprints in the Snow," "Uncle Pen," "Blue Moon of Kentucky" and "The Kentucky Waltz."

"It's got a hard drive to it," Monroe once said about his innovation. "It's Scotch bagpipes and old-time fiddlin'. It's Methodist and Holiness and Baptist. It's blues and jazz and it has a high-lonesome sound. It's plain music that tells a story. It's played from my heart to your heart, and it will touch you." That's quite a sophisticated mixture...especially for something concocted in a grease house.

#  A Very Special Delivery

A guitar-playing "singing mailman"

who helped shape the Stanley Brothers

Through the decades, rural mail carriers have delivered everything from Snake Oil to mustache cups. This mail carrier, as he rode his faithful horse through the remote regions of Dickenson County, Virginia, would leave behind something even more intriguing. As the mailman stopped off at the home of Lee and Lucy Stanley with their brood of nine children, he would drop off the usual letters and packages. But in addition, in the mid-1930's, he would always give the second-youngest child, Carter, a special delivery.

It wasn't anything in his mail pouch that young Carter looked forward to. It was the music from the guitar the unique singing mailman played as he made his rounds. The instrument intrigued Carter as its chords and notes drifted across the pure Virginia mountain air. Although Carter's mother had been teaching him how to play the banjo, he decided he wanted to switch instruments. His younger brother, Ralph, could play the banjo if he wanted to, Carter decided. He was going to play the guitar - just like his friend, the "singing mailman."

Fortunately, Ralph did want to play the banjo, and his mother taught him the traditional "drop-thumb" or "claw-hammer" style of the day. Once the brothers became adept at playing their instruments, it was a logical step to begin performing together. After all, they had already been steeped in the harmony singing of the local McClure Primitive Baptist Church. As they entertained at neighborhood events, those sacred songs and the lonesome ballads they had grown up with began to mold their sound. Before too many years, that sound would turn their Appalachian region into diehard Stanley Country.

As they listened to the family radio, they began to incorporate the tunes of Uncle Dave Macon, Molly O'Day and the Monroe Brothers. Ralph modified his banjo technique from the traditional drop-thumb method to a new two-finger style developed by Wade Mainer of Mainer's Mountaineers. Little by little, young Carter and Ralph Stanley were honing their skills to create a sound that would bear their own signature.

Any plans the brothers might have had for a musical future were put on hold by World War II. After graduating from high school, they entered the service. Fortunately, with the end of the conflict, they both received early discharges. Carter, who was released first, landed a position with Roy Sykes and his Blue Ridge Mountain Boys at nearby Norton, Virginia's WNVA. When Ralph was discharged, Carter and their father met him at the bus and drove directly to the radio station to perform.

Ralph, anxious to see if they could make it on their own, soon suggested they leave Sykes' group. Recruiting singer and mandolin-player, Darrell (Pee Wee) Lambert from the Sykes' band, they secured a spot on newly opened WCYB radio in Bristol, Virginia. The new station's signal was strong and reached into Tennessee and North Carolina. Their initial performance on WCYB's noontime "Farm and Fun Time" show on December 26, 1946, netted them about $2.25 each. More importantly, it prompted postcards, letters and invitations to perform.

The next year, they signed a recording contract with the small Rich-R-Tone label and turned out the regionally popular "Little Glass of Wine" the following spring. Around this time, they became fans of Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys. After hearing his songs on the Grand Ole Opry, they performed them on their show. Unfortunately, Monroe didn't view their emulation as hero-worship but more as "song poaching." Ralph's transition to an Earl Scruggs-inspired three-finger banjo style didn't help matters.

When Monroe's label, Columbia, signed the Stanley brothers in the late 1940's, it was more than he could take. He permanently switched to Decca. Despite Bill Monroe's indignation, most of the country welcomed the new musicians. Their fans loved Carter's rich mournful voice backed by Ralph's haunting tenor. That distinctive sound would soon echo across the country. During their recording period with Columbia, their songwriting and performing skills were in full bloom. Classics-to-be, such as "White Dove," "The Fields Have Turned Brown," "Pretty Polly" and "Man of Constant Sorrow" poured out of thousands of phonographs and radios.

Their music was strengthened by the Clinch Mountain Boys whom they had assembled and named after a nearby mountain chain. In addition to Pee Wee Lambert's strong voice and standout mandolin work, George Shuffler's signature "cross-picking" on the guitar added a strong background. Together, they all helped forge the golden era of the Stanley Brothers.

The glitter of that gold was soon diminished by Ralph's near-fatal car accident in 1951. During his convalescence, Carter ironically worked for Bill Monroe - which smoothed relations and resulted in a life-long friendship. Once Ralph had recovered, they switched to the Mercury record label and produced more timeless classics, including "Angel Band" and "Tragic Love." It seemed that adversity could not stop the Stanley Brothers.

Despite their close ties to the Bristol area, in 1958 after over a decade with WCYB, they moved to a more lucrative television deal in Live Oak, Florida. Their successful relocation won new fans in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and Alabama. Despite this, it seemed fate was determined to prove that adversity could indeed stop the Stanley Brothers.

On December 1, 1966, Carter died from a severe hemorrhage. Ralph continued on with a successful career, but the era of the Stanley Brothers had ended. Their music and legend, however, had not. Through their records and hundreds of thousands of warm memories, their sound still fills the air, just like the guitar chords of that singing mailman once floated through the atmosphere in those southwest Virginia mountains.

#  A First-rate Second Choice

When young Allison Krauss chose the violin

only as a disappointing alternative

Envy filled the five-year-old's bright eyes as she watched her brother's fingers depress the shiny black-and-white keys. Her mother had told Alison and her older brother, Vicktor, that she wanted them both to learn a musical instrument. But it just didn't seem fair. Vicktor, two years her senior, had already selected her favorite instrument...the piano. Since the family had only one piano, and they would likely practice at the same time, young Alison was informed she had to choose something else. Fortunately, her mother was adept at the techniques of persuasion. She artfully redirected her disheartened daughter's interest toward another instrument - the violin.

As the weeks passed, the glitter of the piano keys faded as young Alison Krauss swept the bow across the strings of her newly acquired violin. "They bought me a book," she later reflected, "and I listened to records. I made a tape of whatever song I wanted to learn and would play it like thirty-five times." Perhaps, it seemed, having to settle for second-best might not be so bad after all. The value of that back-up selection soon became crystal clear.

As she studied classical violin method, the instrument seemed to come alive in her hands. During the next couple years, Alison's teacher likely envisioned her little child prodigy taking her bows in front of a symphony orchestra. The classical music Alison was mastering, however, seemed too regimented for her free-spirited personality. Her attention began to drift toward the livelier style of country and bluegrass music fiddling.

Her new musical selection seemed to fit Alison perfectly. At the age of eight, she began entering...and winning fiddle contests near her Champaign, Illinois home. Despite continued classical lessons, it was becoming obvious that her musical stage would not be the subdued culture of symphony concerts, but the rustic freewheeling world of bluegrass festivals. Her musical gift seemed to accelerate time. By ten, she formed her own band and two years later, in 1983, she won the Illinois State Fiddle Championship. The same year, the Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass in America named her the "Most Promising Fiddler in the Midwest." Her good fortune of being steered away from the piano and toward the violin was obvious.

During that year, fate introduced a character to Alison who would play an important role in her musical future. She attended the performance of a bluegrass band headed by John Pennell, a graduate student at the University of Illinois. After the show, she met Pennell and he gave her several bluegrass tapes to listen to. As she enjoyed the lively sounds of Pennell's group and later, the tapes of the various bluegrass musicians, her future plans crystallized. The mixture of the technical expertise and the freedom of improvisation in bluegrass music was a perfect fit for both her skill and her personality.

That "perfect fit" set a bluegrass fire in the talented grade-school student. She continued to win fiddle contests throughout the Midwest, and made appearances with the Vincent Family's "Sally Mountain" country music show. She filled in for their daughter, Rhonda Vincent, who was often on the road launching her own successful career. At 14, Alison was invited to join the band she had admired from the audience.

She enthusiastically joined John Pennell's group, Silver Rail - which would later become Union Station. Ironically, Pennell, an excellent musician and songwriter, would leave the group before they achieved national fame. While Alison performed with Silver Rail, another skill emerged. Her haunting flawless voice began to captivate the audiences. As the teenager honed her vocal and instrumental skills, she was preparing to fill a very special niche in bluegrass music.

One vital step toward that niche came shortly after she joined the group. Ken Irwin of Boston's Rounder Records was so impressed with a tape of Alison that he offered her a contract. Aware that she still needed time to develop, Irwin didn't bring her into the recording studio for two years. When he did, Alison teamed up with an early Union Station line-up which included Alison's brother, Vicktor, on bass; guitarist, Jeff White; and Alison Brown playing banjo. That 1987 project, "Too Late To Cry," informed the bluegrass world they should prepare a special place for the little sixteen-year-old girl from Illinois.

Two years later, their next release, "Two Highways," was nominated for a Grammy award. Although it didn't win, it wouldn't be long before Alison would begin her still-growing collection of Grammys. "I've Got That Old Feeling," released the next year, won the Best Bluegrass Recording category. By this time, 1990, Union Station's lineup had more or less settled, with Adam Steffey on mandolin, Ron Block playing banjo and guitar, and Barry Bales on bass. Guitarist, Tim Stafford, would later leave to be replaced by Dan Tyminski.

The success of their Grammy-winning album had turned the national spotlight on them. Suddenly music stores across the country were stocking Alison Krauss and Union Station right alongside the established bluegrass legends. During the next few years, that spotlight would intensify. Their 1992 bluegrass release, "Every Time You Say Goodbye," also appeared on the country music charts. The following year, Alison was ushered into the Grand Ole Opry - the first bluegrass artist inducted in nearly thirty years.

Alison's national fame was nailed down in 1995, with the release of "Now That I've Found You: A Collection." Her wispy crystal-clear version of Keith Whitley's "When You Say Nothing At All," burst toward the top of the bluegrass and country charts and even made the Top Ten on the pop charts. That year, Alison swept all four categories of the CMA awards she was nominated for - all this because her brother, Vicktor, choose the piano, leaving her with a first-rate second choice.

#  Gin Mill Geniuses

How the Osborne Brothers escaped the

notorious southern Ohio "gin mill circuit"

Southern Ohio's seedy "gin mill" bars in 1956 were the ideal environments. Ideal, that is, for stabbings, shootings or concussions from flying beer bottles. And the thick smoke mixed with stale beer and perspiration added a unique touch to the atmosphere. Perched above the drunken masses, on an elevated stage, would stand two or three struggling country musicians hoping to leave with a few dollars in their pockets and their skin still intact.

The musical genius of two of those performers would one day push bluegrass music to a new level. But that would still be farther down the road. First they had to find a way to climb up and out of the smoky stench of the dives. And before that, they needed to hurry up and crank out the dance tune the drunken cowboy had just demanded. Those brothers, Bobby and Sonny Osborne, had definitely sunk to the bottom of their career. Their routine of driving taxis during the day and playing the bars at night was sapping the life out of their childhood dreams. After the dances, they would sometimes get together with other striving musicians on the southern Ohio bar circuit.

During one of those sessions, with fellow Kentuckian, Harley "Red" Allen, they found that their trio harmony blended perfectly. They decided to team up to try and escape the bar circuit. Their plan worked perfectly. In the summer of 1956, they netted a contract with MGM Records and that fall they landed a regular spot on Wheeling, West Virginia's WWVA Jamboree. Several factors led to the trio's success. For one thing, they all had great voices. And since both Sonny and Red were excellent banjo players, they concocted a novel "twin-banjo" sound. And then there was "the song." During their MGM audition, Bobby reached back to one of the first songs he had ever sung on the radio - "Ruby."

Back then, on June 3, 1949, the seventeen-year-old Bobby had been selected to perform on Middletown, Ohio's WPFB. His music-loving father persuaded him to sing "Ruby," a song they had learned together from an old Cousin Emmy record. His father's advice had been right on target. Following Bobby's radio debut, the station received about fifty telegrams requesting his return. In fact, his father, Robert Osborne, had lit the original spark behind Bobby's interest in music. He was delighted when his son began to sing along with his collection of Jimmy Rodgers and Carter Family records. Bobby soon learned to play the guitar and before long, had organized a little band in their hometown of Hyden, Kentucky.

His uncle's next-door neighbor was affiliated with the nearby Middletown radio station and lined up an audition for them at their barn dance. The acclaim for his talent and for "Ruby" in particular, earned Bobby a regular spot on the station each Saturday night. Soon, he teamed up with another entertainer there, Larry Richardson, a singer and banjo player from Galax, Virginia. Bobby and Larry had organized the four-man "Silver Saddle Boys." But following a disagreement with WPFB's management, the duo left to find another station - finally landing at WHIS in Bluefield, West Virginia. Within weeks, they joined that station's talented Lonesome Pine Fiddlers.

While Bobby and Larry were playing for the Fiddlers, Bobby invited his twelve-year-old brother, Sonny, for a brief visit. When Sonny saw Richardson play the banjo, he was enthralled and asked him to teach him to play. Richardson, apparently not wanting competition, turned his back while he played so Sonny couldn't watch his fingers. Nevertheless, when Sonny returned home, he begged his father to order a banjo for him. As he waited for the instrument to arrive, he envisioned finger placement for a couple songs, as he sat in his classroom. By the time the banjo came, to the amazement of his father and his newly hired music teacher, Sonny was immediately able to play it. His enthusiasm continued and he practiced relentlessly.

Around this time, Bobby saw a local performance by Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys. Backstage, Bobby met Monroe's newly hired guitar player and singer, Jimmy Martin. They sang a few songs together and realized their voices matched perfectly. When Martin later left Monroe, he joined Bobby and the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers. By this time, Sonny was also playing with the Fiddlers. In the summer of 1951, Bobby, Sonny and Jimmy Martin broke off with their own short-lived group, and Bobby free-lanced with several bands, including the Stanley Brothers. Then fate intervened with a Marines' draft notice for Bobby. Amazingly, despite fierce combat in Korea and a near-tragic mortar shell wound, Bobby became an expert on the mandolin during his service.

Back home, Sonny was honing his singing and banjo skills, and had even performed two summers as one of Bill Monroe's Blue Grass Boys. When Bobby was discharged, the brothers teamed up. After roaming from Detroit to Wheeling, they ended up in the Dayton, Ohio area, playing the notorious gin mill circuit. Once they broke free in that summer of 1956, they didn't look back. Red Allen, their original trio partner, left after a couple years. Throughout their amazing career, the Osbornes continued to use a band member to form their trio harmony sound. That unique harmony, Bobby's incredible lead singing, their mastery of their instruments and all the rest have assured them of a golden spot in bluegrass history. That spot was sealed tight with their 1964 Grand Ole Opry membership.

Three years later, their "B-side" song, "Rocky Top," blew the lid off traditional bluegrass. It was eventually adopted as one of Tennessee's official state songs. In fact, their song "Kentucky," was given the same honor by their home state. As awards mounted up for "Rocky Top" and their other classic songs like "Tennessee Hound Dog," "Georgia Pineywoods," and "Up This Hill and Down," they moved further and further away from their struggling days as "gin mill geniuses."

#  The Maniacal Mandolinist

When the "crazed cross-picker" developed a

vital component of the Jim and Jesse sound

The poor little mandolin knew there was no use protesting, but what was wrong with its owner? Did he think his mandolin was a banjo? Resigned to its fate, the little instrument let him pick out a frenzied shower of melodic rolls and slides. Its master, Jesse McReynolds, admired the newly developed three-fingered banjo style. And like so many other musicians of the time, he had decided to try to duplicate it. But unlike other musicians, he chose to do it with a single pick...on his mandolin! The straining little instrument had every reason to suspect its owner had lost his mind.

Then, as the song was played back during that 1951 recording session, admiration suddenly replaced skepticism. Jesse's brother, Jim; their trio partner, Larry Roll; and even the exhausted little mandolin knew the novel sound Jesse McReynolds had recently invented, was something special. And since they dreamed of making their mark on the music business, "something special" was exactly what they were looking for.

It was the brothers' first recording session. Billing themselves and their partner as the Virginia Trio, they cut ten gospel songs for the small "Kentucky" label. As the little studio recorded their performance, it forever preserved that special touch they had been seeking. Their silk-smooth harmony and Jesse's unique cross-picking mandolin style would stake their claim on the old-time music landscape.

Those records didn't attract much attention, but they set the stage for a pair of Virginia-mountain brothers who would bounce from one musical style to another. They would run the gamut from old-style harmony to bluegrass, western, straight country and even a touch of rock and roll. Eventually, they settled back into the bluegrass mold and landed on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry and in the International Bluegrass Association's Hall of Honor.

The childhood leading up to Jim and Jesse McReynolds's recording session, was steeped in the music of their talented family members. Best known among them was their grandfather, Charlie McReynolds, a locally renowned fiddler. In the summer of 1927, he followed the call of an invitation in the Bristol News Bulletin. Like Jimmy Rodgers, the Carter Family and the rest, Charlie McReynolds and the Bull Mountain Moonshiners came down from the hills to record for the Victor Company.

Jim and Jesse learned to play a variety of instruments. Eventually, Jim settled on the guitar and Jesse on the mandolin. They played at local dances as teenagers but didn't team up professionally until Jim returned from the military. That year, 1947, they performed as "the McReynolds Brothers and the Cumberland Mountain Boys." They landed a daily spot on Norton, Virginia's WNVA \- the station that had hosted the nearby Stanley Brothers a few months earlier.

During the next several years, they bounced from station to station. As they traveled around Tennessee, West Virginia and Georgia, they slowly honed their harmony style to a fine edge. Then, in 1950, they made an unusual move that would foreshadow their habit of leaping across musical boundaries. They moved to the midwest and switched to a western style like that of the Sons of the Pioneers. Needless to say, eyebrows began to rise on the foreheads of the bluegrass purists who followed their career.

After their Western music phase, they moved to WPFB in Middletown, Ohio. There, Jesse perfected his cross-picking technique and the brothers made their first recordings. The next year, 1952, fate dealt them a lucky card. Moving to WVLK in Versailles, Kentucky, they joined the station's Kentucky Barn Dance. While there, they attracted the attention of Ken Nelson of Capitol Records. With the new name of Jim and Jesse and the Virginia Boys, they cut eight sides for Capitol, including one of their best-remembered songs, "Are You Missing Me?" Among the Virginia Boys during that session, were Hoke Jenkins, Curly Sechler and James Loden - soon to be billed as Sonny James. With their pure harmony and unique instrumentals, they won over even the critics who had raised their eyebrows at their foray into western music.

Then, just as they were preparing to hit the road to promote their recordings, their winning streak ended. Jesse received his draft notice. They did manage to squeeze in another recording session in March of 1953 while Jesse was home on leave. But by the time he was discharged the next year, the Capitol Records' folks had lost much of their interest in old-time music.

The brothers again hit the road, looking for their big break. In 1959, that break came not from a record producer, but a flour company. Following their success in sponsoring Flatt and Scruggs, the Martha White Mills executives decided to "adopt" another group to promote their product in the South. That Martha-White connection soon began to open doors. Jim and Jesse started filling in as guest hosts on the Opry, then landed their own morning radio show on Nashville's WSM. The Martha White managers also reconnected them with Capitol Records. The first session under their renewed contract produced "The Flame of Love" backed by "Gosh I Miss You All The Time." In 1964, they were ushered into the Grand Ole Opry. As their songs climbed the charts and the Opry spread their fame, "Jim and Jesse" eased into bluegrass history.

Throughout the years, they would raise a few more eyebrows. Their mid-sixties bluegrass-style covers of Chuck Berry's songs arched them rather high. So did their 1967 country hit "Diesel on My Tail," complete with electric guitar, piano and drums. But as those bluegrass purists heard the flawless harmony and the fired-up mandolin breaks of Jim and Jesse's music, they just couldn't stay mad. In fact, even Jesse's exhausted little instrument had long since forgiven his master, the maniacal mandolinist.

#  A Big-break Breakdown

How a broken-down show bus

jump-started Ricky Skaggs' career

The two teenage friends could not have been much bigger fans of their musical heroes, the Stanley Brothers. As they played and re-played their old songs, young Ricky Skaggs and his buddy, Keith Whitley, soaked up every note of the Stanley's haunting "high-lonesome" harmony. Carter and Ralph Stanley had begun their careers in Virginia, about eighty miles southeast of their young fans' eastern Kentucky home. And the whole Appalachian area remained hard-core "Stanley country."

Sadly, Carter Stanley had passed away four years previously, but his brother, Ralph, was carrying on the tradition. So, of course, the two fifteen-year-old fans just had to see him and his band. The young musicians knew that the 1970 concert in a local club would be a treat for them. What they couldn't have imagined was just how big a treat it would be.

As they settled into their seats, they recalled the talent contest in nearby Estill, Kentucky the previous year that had brought them together. Neither had won, but since then, they had become close friends. They had teamed up with Keith's banjo-playing brother, Dwight, to perform on local radio shows. Their talent, and especially their renditions of Stanley Brothers' songs, began to catch the attention of their neighbors.

As they sat waiting for the show to begin, they learned that Ralph Stanley's bus had broken down and he and his band were running late. To fill in the time, the concert managers turned to young Ricky and Keith. After they took the stage and their nerves calmed, their close harmony wrapped gently around the words and notes of the Stanley Brothers' songs. When Ralph Stanley arrived, he couldn't believe his ears. "I walked in," he later noted, "and these two boys were singing the Stanley Brothers' music better than the Stanley Brothers." After his concert, he hired them on the spot for his band, the Clinch Mountain Boys.

As they toured with Ralph Stanley during the summer festival months, both Ricky Skaggs and Keith Whitley opened their doorways to musical history. Ricky's door had actually cracked open many years before. When he was five, his music-loving father, Hobart, bought him a pawnshop mandolin. His dad played the mandolin himself and intended to teach Ricky the basics but he was called away for a two-week welding job in Ohio. To his amazement, by the time he returned, Ricky had taught himself to play.

The next year, 1959, Bill Monroe and His Bluegrass Boys played in nearby Martha, Kentucky. Ricky's voice and mandolin skills had already become known around the area, so the audience urged Monroe to bring him on stage. Monroe called Ricky up and adjusted his own mandolin to fit the youngster. When he turned him loose, Ricky fired up his rendition of the Osborne Brothers' "Ruby." As he hit the last note, the roar of the crowd for the six-year-old bluegrass prodigy foretold his musical destiny.

The next year, Ricky performed on the Flatt & Scruggs television show in Nashville. An amused audience watched the seven-year-old pull on Lester Flatt's coattail and tell him he wanted to pick. "Boys, this boy wants to pick," Flatt told his band members, "let's let him pick." Then, just as he had with Bill Monroe, little Ricky Skaggs stole the show.

Soon after that, he also learned to play the guitar and fiddle, performing regionally with his parents as the Skaggs Family band. They turned him on to the Stanley Brothers, Bill Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs, while his older sister introduced him to the Beatles. He liked them but didn't quite share her passion. When they watched them on Ed Sullivan, he remembers her screaming, "Aren't they great?" He calmly told her, "Well, they ain't as good as the Stanley Brothers."

He later realized that a musical ribbon runs through time to connect performers with their roots. The Beatles, he learned, were inspired by the Everly Brothers. The Everlys studied the Louvin Brothers. The Louvin's primary influence had been the Stanley Brothers...who loved the Monroe Brothers. "So it all really goes back," he concluded, "to Bill and Charlie Monroe from 1936."

After the quirk of fate that propelled him into the bluegrass arena with Ralph Stanley; Ricky performed with several groups. In 1973, he joined the Country Gentlemen. The following year, he signed up with J. D. Crowe and the New South. In 1976, Ricky formed his own band, Boone Creek. That was followed by a three-year stint with Emmylou Harris's Hot Band.

His solo recognition began in 1981 with the first of his albums on Columbia's Epic record label. During the early and mid-1980's, his bluegrass-flavored country hits rocketed to the top of the charts. Suddenly, modern country music fans were singing along to revived golden gems. Flatt & Scruggs' "Crying My Heart Out Over You," Bill Monroe's "Uncle Pen" and the Stanley Brothers' "Don't Cheat in Our Hometown" took on a whole new life.

Ricky's mixture of old and new hits began to garner CMA and Grammy awards. In 1982 he was voted the CMA's Male Vocalist of the Year. As a measure of how fast he had shot into the country music spotlight, that year, he also received the "newcomer's" Horizon Award. The same year, his childhood dream came true with his induction into the Grand Ole Opry. And in 1985, he was presented with the CMA's Entertainer of the Year award.

Through it all, Ricky Skaggs has followed the advice of one of his hit covers of a Flatt & Scruggs song. He never got "above his raisin'." As the CMA and Grammy awards piled up, he maintained his strong personal character and close family ties. Despite being hailed as a major bluegrass and country music innovator, he remembered exactly where he and his music came from. He will also forever remember Ralph Stanley's disabled bus and the musical door that had swung open during his "big-break" breakdown.

# A "Timely Termination"

Jimmy Martin's fortunate firing that

helped change bluegrass history

"I got fired on my job for singing too much," Jimmy Martin recalled. Singing would soon become his job. But in the winter of 1949, the foreman of his machinery-painting crew apparently didn't appreciate his young painter's vocal skills. The brash twenty-two-year-old, however, wasn't impressed by his foreman's opinion. Jimmy cussed him out as he left the job. Later that day, when he saw him on the street, young Jimmy Martin made a brash prophecy. "Listen in on Saturday night," he proclaimed, "'cause I'm singin' with Bill Monroe on the Grand Ole Opry."

Never one to hide his light under a barrel, the striving musician from Sneedville, Tennessee headed to Nashville and the Opry. He had heard that Bill Monroe was looking for a replacement for his departing lead singer, Mac Wiseman. And since Jimmy had recently been well received on regional radio shows, why not give it a try? Besides, Jimmy grew up listening to the Opry and had always wanted to meet Bill Monroe. So he hopped a bus headed across the barren winter countryside to Nashville. When Jimmy arrived, he set out straight for the Ryman Auditorium. After the Opry performance, he walked up to the backstage door and asked to talk to Bill Monroe.

When he met his musical hero, Jimmy told Monroe that he could sing lead, tenor, baritone and bass. With an uncharacteristic humility, he added, "but I don't sing tenor as well as you can." Jimmy had learned all the parts by singing with his stepfather at funerals and churches. His approach worked, and Monroe asked Mac Wiseman to hand him a guitar for a tryout. Young Jimmy steeled his nerves and joined Monroe on "The Old Cross Road." For a solo, he sang "Poor Ellen Smith." Finally, he played a guitar backup for Monroe's fiddler, Chubby Wise, who fired up the "Orange Blossom Special." When he finished, Jimmy didn't have to wait long for the response. Monroe turned to Chubby Wise for his opinion. "Lordy, I thought Lester Flatt had it," Wise declared, "but this boy's flat got it!" Monroe hired him on the spot. Jimmy Martin's previous foreman would have to wait another week to hear him, but amazingly, the nervy singing painter had fulfilled his bold prophecy.

Becoming one of Bill Monroe's Blue Grass Boys was the realization of a dream born several years before. Playing a beaten-up guitar between farm chores, Jimmy practiced singing traditional tunes. His stepfather was the local singing teacher and gave him pointers. Then Jimmy began walking five miles to take guitar lessons from a neighbor. Although music fueled his passion, it didn't fuel his car or his stomach. He took up house painting to make ends meet. At twenty-one, he landed a few local radio gigs, including a half-hour late afternoon slot on WCPK in nearby Morristown, Tennessee. It looked as if Jimmy was destined to work as a painter during the day and sing a little on the radio after work. But that was before fate stepped up in the winter of 1949, and sent him on that bus ride to Nashville...and his musical future.

That future couldn't have been planted in better soil. Monroe took the youngster under his wing and taught him well. In return for Monroe's support, the newest Blue Grass Boy helped shore up the group that was still feeling the loss of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs. Jimmy's powerful guitar bass-runs and high-energy vocals gave the group a renewed vitality.

During his years with Monroe, they turned out a string of golden classics like "A Voice From On High," "On and On" and "Uncle Pen." He left Monroe in 1951 to work with the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers and his newfound friend, Bobby Osborne. He met Osborne when the Blue Grass Boys played in Bluefield, West Virginia, the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers' hometown. Jimmy returned to Monroe when Bobby was drafted into the Marines. In all, he spent nearly four years with Monroe, recording 46 sides for Decca.

It was inevitable, with Jimmy's standout talent and restless spirit, that he wouldn't settle for long as Bill Monroe's backup singer. In 1954, he left the Blue Grass Boys, once again to sing with Bobby Osborne who had recently been discharged from the Marines. For about a year, Jimmy, Bobby and his young banjo-picking brother, Sonny, played around the Detroit area.

Jimmy Martin's legendary solo career began in 1955, when the Osbornes left for Wheeling, West Virginia. Jimmy stayed around Detroit, playing WJR's Big Barn Frolic program. He pieced together a band called the Sunny Mountain Boys - a name previously used by the Osbornes. The next spring, he signed with Decca Records and began turning out a string of bluegrass classics.

By the late 1950's, his bluegrass songs also began crossing over onto the country charts. Hits like "Rock Hearts," "Ocean of Diamonds" and "Sophronie" poured out of jukeboxes across the country. Jimmy moved from one major radio barn dance to the next. Leaving Detroit, he spent a couple years each at the Louisiana Hayride and Wheeling's WWVA Jamboree.

In the early 1960's, he moved to Nashville and began to appear on the Grand Ole Opry. After several encore performances, it seemed inevitable that he would become a member. He definitely had the talent, and was racking up a number of hit songs. Unfortunately, he also had something else - a unique habit of stepping on the wrong toes. His well-endowed ego and reputation as a "hothead" kept him on the outside of the Opry family.

Year after year, Opry membership eluded him. "I musta hurt somebody's feelin's," he logically surmised. Despite his less-than-tactful interpersonal skills, Jimmy Martin has taken his place near the top of the list of bluegrass legends. Even those with the sore toes he stepped on would agree, it was a great day for bluegrass music when Jimmy Martin's foreman provided him with his timely termination.

#  The "Bluegrass Buzzer"

When Don Reno & Red Smiley triggered

Sid Nathan's built-in talent alarm

Syd Nathan yearned to capture a bluegrass group for his struggling label, King Records. He knew there was money in the new musical style. And by the end of 1951, it seemed that every other label had already latched onto a group. Decca had Bill Monroe; Mercury signed Flatt and Scruggs; Columbia found the Stanley Brothers and RCA nabbed the Lonesome Pine Fiddlers. And the word was out that they were all making money with them.

Nathan thought he had hit pay dirt that August, when he had recorded the talented combination of Bobby Osborne and Jimmy Martin. But just when he was ready to whip out a contract, Osborne was drafted into the Marines. No, despite his fine-tuned talent sensor, he just couldn't seem to close a bluegrass deal.

Then he remembered that during a session with Tommy Magness and His Tennessee Buddies in the spring, his talent sensor had also begun to buzz. The target of his internal alarm was not Tommy, but two of his Tennessee Buddies. There was something about Magness's smooth guitar-picking lead singer and his lively banjo-playing tenor that set Nathan's bluegrass buzzer going at full volume.

Syd Nathan wasted no time responding to his instincts. He learned the two had left Magness and were performing at WWVA in Wheeling, West Virginia. Nathan arranged for studio time, and in January of 1952, Don Reno and Red Smiley launched their duet-recording career with a marathon 16-song session in King's studio in Cincinnati. Among their songs, was one Reno had recently written titled "I'm Using My Bible for a Road Map." The resulting records, especially "Road Map," sold well and garnered a much-needed profit for Nathan's King Records label.

The two paths that led to this session had both begun in the Carolinas. Don Reno hailed from Spartanburg, South Carolina, and Arthur "Red" Smiley, from Asheville, North Carolina. Both of them got an early start in music. Smiley began playing guitar and singing on WROL in Knoxville at the age of thirteen. Reno started on the banjo at five and the guitar the next year.

When he was nine, Reno saw DeWitt "Snuffy" Jenkins perform with the J. E. Mainer group. Jenkins took young Don Reno backstage and explained his unique three-finger banjo playing technique to him. "Put another pick on that third finger," Snuffy told him, "and use it if it kills you." Reno took Jenkins' advice and mastered the new Carolina-born picking style. When Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys came to Spartanburg in 1943, Reno had the chance to join in a jam session after the performance. He showed Monroe and his band that the new technique worked on everything from gospels to breakdowns. Monroe was amazed and offered him a job on the spot.

Don said he would love to join him, but had enlisted in the Army. If he didn't pass the physical, he promised, he would take the job. As bluegrass history is well aware, Reno did pass the physical and Monroe later found another talented young Carolina three-finger picker, Earl Scruggs. Red Smiley had also joined the service the previous year and had been severely wounded in Sicily when bomb fragments ripped through his chest. For the next two years, he recuperated in army hospitals and eventually lost his left lung. Fortunately, this didn't seem to affect his singing ability and when he was finally released, he joined a country band in Ohio.

When Don Reno returned to the states, he found out Earl Scruggs was tearing up the Grand Ole Opry crowd with the new banjo style. Obviously disappointed with his bad luck, Reno returned to South Carolina to run a grocery store, playing banjo on weekends. But after a couple years, fate played a lucky card. Reno had tuned into the Grand Ole Opry one Saturday, as he usually did, when he heard Scruggs was no longer with the band. He wasted no time heading to Nashville, but learned Monroe and the boys had left for a gig in Taylorsville, North

Carolina. Reno tracked them down, parked his car and tuned his banjo as he approached the show. Then without a word, he simply strolled out onto the stage beside Monroe and joined in. Shaken for a second, Monroe regained his composure and calmly said, "Where you been boy? I've been looking for you."

Reno played with Monroe for the next year. Smiley, meanwhile, had left Ohio for a position with Tommy Magness and his Tennessee Buddies. Then near the end of 1949, Reno left Monroe to join Magness at WDBJ in Roanoke. Soon after he arrived, Tommy Magness lined up the session that would set off Syd Nathan's talent alarm. Despite the success of "I'm Using my Bible as a Roadmap," times were tough. They organized a backup band and even though they both hailed from the Carolinas, named it the Tennessee Cut-Ups. Despite their talent, bookings were sparse. "I knew the best kind of pasteboard to line shoes with," Reno reflected, "and the cheapest places to eat." Eventually, the Tennessee Cut-Ups disbanded.

Reno teamed up with one of his former musical partners, Arthur "Guitar Boogie" Smith, and Smiley found work as an auto mechanic. Despite their lack of a permanent band, Syd Nathan brought them together several times during the next couple years. During these sessions, they turned out some great songs, like "Barefoot Nellie" and "I'm the Talk of the Town,"

Fortunately, in 1955, they were able to team up again, and secured a permanent spot on the Old Dominion Barn Dance out of Richmond, as well as other regular television and radio spots. For nearly a decade, until Red's health failed, they carved out their chunk of bluegrass history with classics like "Don't Let Your Sweet Love Die" and "I Know You're Married." As they did, they proved that back in that little Cincinnati studio, Syd Nathan apparently had a perfectly calibrated bluegrass buzzer.

#  The Fortunate Fork

The fork in the road to Rhonda Vincent's future that

led her straight toward bluegrass immortality

Forks in the road of life can create some awfully tough decisions. Throughout the decades, poems and songs have been permeated with regret from lost opportunities and paths not chosen. No, Rhonda Vincent didn't have an easy task ahead of her. But she knew she had come to one of those frustrating branches in her journey, and it was time to choose a path. It was the mid-1990's, and country music was exploding across the nation. Everyone seemed to be raving about Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire, Alan Jackson and all the rest of the red-hot country personalities. Earlier in the decade, Rhonda had veered from her family-grown bluegrass roots and taken the Nashville path. During this venture, she had tasted both success and disappointment.

Rhonda had performed on national television shows, played the Grand Ole Opry and had even opened shows for superstars like Alan Jackson and George Jones. But her two albums for Nashville's Giant Records had racked up only moderate sales so she fell off the label's roster. Despite this, the country-music path still glittered with possibilities. She knew, however, that the further she traveled down that road, the harder it would be to return to her roots.

Then she peered down the other possible trail at the juncture - the bluegrass road. She saw a potential heart-warming homecoming. Rhonda had always loved the homegrown variety of music, and viewed it as a "sister music" to country rather than a competing style. She had been raised on the solid earthy sounds of bluegrass and old-time music and could almost hear them calling her home. But what if her previous fans were upset about her leaving the fold, and wouldn't accept her back?

As her many admirers are acutely aware, Rhonda chose the bluegrass path. "There's nothing like it," she later enthused. "There's an authenticity that you'll find in acoustic music that I don't think you'll find anywhere else." Her fans, of course, required no explanation for her decision to return to them. Despite her concerns about their not accepting her back into the fold, she was welcomed with open arms and standing ovations. Clearly, Rhonda Vincent had chosen the right pathway.

Her first steps along the route, which would eventually lead to that pathway, began very early. Her family had been steeped in the old-time mountain music for decades. Their family band, the Sally Mountain Show, was already a staple on Kirksville, Missouri's KTVO television when five-year-old Rhonda made her 1967 debut. Her grandfather, aunt, uncle, both parents and two cousins proudly backed her up as she sang, "How Far is Heaven." "She fit right in," reflected her father, Johnny, "cut the mustard and fit right in. She just kept getting better and better."

Rhonda not only got "better," she got better in a hurry. That same year, she began to play the drums for the family band. By eight she picked up the mandolin and started on the fiddle at ten. Little by little, that cute little girl on the Sally Mountain Show was transforming into a multi-talented musical force to be reckoned with.

Her father remembered her talent popping through at an even earlier age. The family was driving along one day, he recalled, singing as they usually did. Suddenly three-year-old Rhonda joined them and blended right in. "She could hardly talk," he reflected, "It was amazing to me." She would continue to amaze the Sally Mountain Show audiences throughout her childhood years, honing her vocal skills and eventually mastering nearly every instrument with strings.

Each afternoon, when Rhonda came home from school, her father and grandfather would be waiting for her. They would tune-up, and play and sing together until dinnertime. After dinner, the music usually continued with her family and friends joining in the picking and harmony singing until bedtime. "If you were born into the family or married into the family," Rhonda later explained, "you

were expected to play music." Although some youngsters would have tired of this musical overload, Rhonda thrived on it. She later said that the family jam sessions provided, "this wonderful life of music that I grew up in."

That life and its music would pave the way for her unique future. Once Rhonda decided to return to bluegrass, she planned to head to Nashville to audition potential band members. An automobile accident sidelined her, so instead she hired her band through the Internet. Despite the high-tech method of gathering her band, they were all traditional bluegrass musicians.

Once they met and began practicing, they searched for a name. "I've got the name of your group!" declared Rhonda's husband, Herb. As he looked around their living room, he put together the first letters of Rhonda's name and the names of the band members, Allen, Joey and Earl. "It's the Rage," he continued, "R. A. J. E." Originally, they spelled it that way, but later changed it to Rage. Although the original members have moved on, the name stuck and "Rhonda Vincent and the Rage" can be found printed near the top of bluegrass festival flyers from coast to coast.

Rhonda's name has also appeared at the top of awards postings across the nation. It didn't take long for the bluegrass world to honor their newly returned super-talent. Years-after-year, she garnered the International Bluegrass Music Association's "Female Vocalist of the Year" honors - netting their coveted "Entertainer of the Year" award in 2001.

Similarly, the Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass Music showered her with their top awards. With all those awards and classic hits like "Lonesome Wind Blues," "All American Bluegrass Girl," "Heartbreaker's Alibi" and "I'm Not Over You" she has never had to second guess her decision to follow the bluegrass road. Neither have her many fans around the world who are thankful she selected the bluegrass path leading home when she came to that fortunate fork in the road.

# The "Gigless" Grassers

A mutual lull in their busy schedules

that ushered in the Grascals

"It felt like fate..." noted Jimmy Mattingly. "That was just it," agreed his friend and band-mate, Terry Eldredge, "we were all unemployed." Whether it was fate or merely a fluke, the fact was that six ordinarily busy musicians were all between gigs in the fall of 2003. For years, their hectic paths had crossed and re-crossed, as friendships and professional engagements slowly wove their futures together.

Traditionally, when each of them jumped out of one band, he quickly landed in another. But not in the fall of 2003. Mattingly was a high-demand fiddler who had played for everyone from Garth Brooks to Dolly Parton - but none of them were touring at the time. Eldredge had just left Larry Cordle's Lonesome Standard Time, as had his banjo-playing friend, David Talbot

Eldredge and Talbot were both playing with The Sidemen, the Tuesday-night house band at Nashville's legendary Station Inn. During his downtime, Mattingly had also begun to fill in there. One of the other Sidemen, Jamie Johnson, had recently started singing harmony with Eldredge and they discovered their voices blended perfectly. Johnson, like the others, was between full-time gigs.

Jimmy Mattingly had actually suggested to Eldredge that they organize a band back in the mid-1990's but the timing wasn't right then. They were both playing for the Osborne Brothers and were reticent to cast off from their fulltime jobs. Now, however, they had nothing to hold them back. Again, Mattingly brought up the concept, this time with Jamie Johnson. Johnson quickly agreed, and the two recruited Eldredge and Talbot. The timing might just be perfect, they calculated. After all, they had become friends, and as they had learned while playing in The Station Inn's house band, their styles mixed perfectly.

The newly formed quartet didn't waste time. They recorded a three-song demo which included the old-timey "Sara Jane," a fresh rendition of the Osborne Brother's "Leavin's Heavy on My Mind" and a newly written ballad, "Me and John and Paul." Armed with the demo...and four sets of crossed fingers, they approached Rounder Records. The demo, and the crossed fingers, did the trick. Rounder's Ken Irwin was highly impressed and soon signed the enthusiastic quartet to the label.

Another piece of exciting news soon brightened their horizon. Superstar, Dolly Parton, had learned that the newly formed group was recording in the same studio she was using. Mattingly had previously backed up Dolly on recordings and had played in her backup band, so she was very familiar with his talent. Terry Eldredge, like Mattingly, had played in Dolly's 2002 bluegrass touring band, the Blueniques. Dolly asked to hear their demo, and loved what she heard.

The next day, she met with Mattingly and offered the opportunity to tour with her. "What a huge honor," Jamie Johnson reflected, "She took us in with open arms and treated us just like family. Thank God for Dolly!" With a guaranteed paycheck, the quartet could expand. They quickly added two more musical colleagues - bass expert Terry Smith, and mandolin master, Danny Roberts. With those additions, the group was complete and as Terry Eldredge later put it, "The planets were in line."

The lining up of those planets actually took a couple of decades. As the six Grascals-to-be learned and honed their skills, several of them would weave in and out of the same bands. Two, in fact, had been neighbors and friends. Jimmy Mattingly spent his early childhood in Terre Haute, Indiana, where he learned to play the violin from his father and a grade school music teacher. His talent broke through early and he began entering...and winning local fiddling contests. At he age of ten, his family moved to a farm in Leitchfield, Kentucky. There he befriended Danny Roberts, whose family owned an adjacent farm. Roberts was also a long-time music-lover, and would accompany Mattingly's fiddle tunes with his guitar.

Roberts would later spend nearly twenty years with "The New Tradition," a bluegrass-gospel group he co-founded.

Over in Indiana, young Jamie Jameson began to make musical waves singing with the Boys From Indiana. Later, he helped to organize the Wildwood Valley Boys. After a spell with Gail Davies, he joined The Sidemen in 2001. Canadian-born David Talbot had performed along with Eldridge in Lonesome Standard Time for five years. His baritone and low tenor singing, and his masterful banjo work have graced the albums of everyone from Jim Lauderdale to Reba McEntire. Like the others, North Carolina native, Terry Smith came from a solid bluegrass background. He weaved in and out of the bands of legends like The Osbornes, Marty Raybon and Jimmy Martin.

As the six musicians sifted through the Osborne Brothers' Band, Lonesome Standard Time and Dolly's back-up and bluegrass groups, fate was mixing up a unique recipe. When the ingredients blended and the heat was turned up, a new concoction began to emerge. As it simmered and then sizzled, it was becoming clear that they had brewed up a very tasty new musical treat.

That treat has been savored by bluegrass lovers from coast-to-coast. After a brief time on the scene, their peers honored them with accolades usually reserved for groups that have been around for decades. The year after their emergence, they were nominated for a "Best Bluegrass Album" Grammy. Among other honors, they nailed down the "Song of the Year" award in both leading bluegrass associations, with "Me and John and Paul." The next year, 2006, they won the coveted ''Entertainer of the Year" award.

Eldridge proclaimed that their "band-hopping" days were behind them. "I made it clear up front," he declared, "that this is the band I want to retire with." Mattingly agreed wholeheartedly that he is also in it for the long run. "Everyone is," he added. And "everyone" of course, includes their newly formed legion of fans that stretch around the world. No, one thing is certain, The Grascals will never again be gigless grassers.

# Parlor-pickin' & Pepperoni

The local pizza-parlor bluegrass show

that lit the pilot light for Nickel Creek

Mixed in among the anchovies and the tomato sauce was another ingredient that spiced up the little Carlsbad, California pizza joint - bluegrass music. As the popular local band, Bluegrass, Etc., played at "That Pizza Place" in 1989, they cranked up the energy in the room. Soon, the feet of the hungry kids and their families began tapping in unison with their chomping mouths.

As the pizza chefs splashed the spicy sauce across the waiting dough, the band splashed the room with a syncopated shower of musical notes. And like the chefs' glittering circular knives, their high-pitched vocals sliced through the air with ease. Yes, the "musical chefs" knew they were also adding spice to the recipe. What they didn't know was...they were mixing the ingredients for a tasty treat that, more than a decade later, would sizzle and bubble across the bluegrass scene like molten mozzarella.

Among the tapping toes were those of twelve-year-old Sean Watkins and two eight-year-olds - his sister, Sara, and a neighborhood boy, Chris Thile. The ties that drew the two families to the pizza parlor were musical. Sean had been taking piano lessons and his teacher invited him and his family to hear her son play in a bluegrass band at the local pizza parlor. Intrigued...though not quite sure what bluegrass was, they accepted.

Young Chris Thile had been taking mandolin lessons from Blue-grass Etc. band-member, John Moore. So Chris and his family also received an invitation to hear them play. Once the families had ordered their pizzas and turned their eyes and ears toward the band, magic struck. "It was really fun music," Sean recalled. "As a kid, It was just a lot more fun, and I took to it a lot more." All three of the entranced youngsters would continue their formal music training, but like Sean, the other two had been infected with the bluegrass bug. The rigid rules of their traditional music lessons began to seem more and more like boundaries just waiting to be expanded.

As they began to soak up the bluegrass style, a local promoter approached them with the idea of forming a band. The promoter knew they had musical ability, but as Sara recalled, the reason they were assembled was more like "How cute would it be if they all played together at festivals?" It was cute, of course, but before long, their talent overshadowed their "cuteness."

Recruiting Chris's father, Scott, on string bass, they began to promote their little band. Christening themselves, "Nickel Creek," taken from the name of a fiddle tune one of their friends had written, they soon became regulars on the festival circuit. Originally, Sean played mandolin and Chris, the guitar, but the two soon switched instruments. The decade of the 1990's gave the youngsters time to hone their skills in front of appreciative audiences. As their sounds fused together, they each excelled individually. By 12, Chris released a critically acclaimed mandolin album. At 15, Sara won the Arizona State Fiddle Championship. And Sean, at 16, was a finalist in the National Flat-picking Guitar Championship. It was clear that Nickel Creek had much more to offer than cuteness.

As the 1990's progressed, so did the young group's style. Since freedom from strict rules had attracted them to bluegrass in the first place, it was inevitable that they would soon begin stretching those musical boundaries. They started mixing in bits and pieces of other genres they loved. Little by little, they included elements of folk, jazz, rock...and even old-time theater and classical music.

"We're a conglomeration of everything we listen to," Chris once explained. What they listen to, incidentally, stretches from The Beatles to Radiohead to Bach. Needless to say, many a bluegrass purist has raised a questioning eyebrow when one of these divergent influences surfaced in a Nickel Creek song. In response, Sean reminds critics that bluegrass itself was a hybrid. "It started off as an experiment, a combination," he points out. "It was very cutting-edge at the time, and it's really not even that old."

New York Times writer, Terry Teachout, may have summarized their approach best in his article on Nickel Creek. "The house that Bill Monroe built," he noted, "seems to be going through a stylistic remodeling..." They have been labeled as everything from "Bluegrass Revivalists" to "Acoustic Innovators." When asked to categorize their style, their friend and producer, Alison Krauss, simply smiled and said, "It's just Nickel Creek music."

Despite the occasional raised eyebrow, "Nickel Creek music" has been repeatedly honored by their fans and fellow musicians. Their 2000 self-titled release on Sugar Hill netted them the IBMA's Emerging Artist of the Year award. The following year, that association named them Instrumental Group of the Year, Their next album, This Side, won a Grammy for "Best Contemporary Folk Album." Their 2005 album, Why Should The Fire Die? strayed even farther from their bluegrass roots but also garnered nominations and awards. So did their individual songs like "Smoothie Song" and "Scotch & Chocolate."

Once their career took off in 2000, Chris's father, Scott, left the band, assured Nickel Creek was on a solid path to success. They worked with several bass players, with Mark Schatz eventually settling into the role. One of the best aspects of their success, according to Sean, was being able to play alongside the musicians they had admired as children. And they were able to play alongside some of the best in the field.

During the years since their national breakthrough until they went their separate ways in 2007, they played with everyone from Bela Fleck to Jerry Douglas and Mark O'Conner. "You get to share a stage with your heroes," Sean enthused, "Really, really cool!" Those "heroes" likely also thought it was "really cool" to share the stage with Nickel Creek, the young cutting-edge musicians who traveled light years since the days of parlor-pickin' and pepperoni.

# The Curious Calf

The hand-raised farm animal that launched

bluegrass dobro-master, Randy Kohrs

The little brown-eyed calf wore a quizzical expression as he looked back at his owner - eleven-year-old Randy Kohrs. The well-kept calf was happy about the good care he was receiving from the Iowa farm boy, but something had always intrigued him. It seemed that every time his young owner patted him on the head and smiled, he could hear the distant strains of a resonator guitar in the air. Mighty curious!

The reason for the mysterious music was simple. As soon as the calf was ready to sell, Randy planned to use the money to buy a Dobro. He had been dreaming about the unique sound of the resophonic instrument since he heard his uncle play one. His uncle, Jack Ferguson, headed a local band called Boone County Bluegrass. When he would cut loose, the crowd came alive. Randy said his uncle played a "wonderful, bluesy, almost country Dobro." As Randy watched the audience while the sounds of the Dobro filled the room, he knew he also had to learn to play the lively instrument.

Finally, the day arrived when the calf was ready for sale. His uncle used the profits to buy Randy a Regal Model 60 Dobro at a local bluegrass festival. Randy was fascinated with his new treasure and poured his energy into prolonged practice sessions. His fascination with the music that surrounded him was fortunate. After all, his tiny mid-western hometown of New Virginia, Iowa was not exactly high on the national list of must-see vacation spots. It could get a little quiet at times.

Like so many other country kids in the isolated mid-west, he found much of his childhood entertainment in country and bluegrass music. Once his uncle had turned him on to the sound of the Dobro, Randy headed for the family record player. Randy later remembered buying records of Dobro musicians and "ruining every record needle, listening to any LP I could find and afford..."

Although the Dobro became Randy's primary instrument, he actually started with the acoustic guitar. His uncle Jack showed him a few guitar licks when Randy was eight. That's all it took to set his musical fuse on fire. Other than his uncle's instruction and a handful of professional lessons, Randy's musical schooling was primarily self-taught. "My ear was faster than my patience for learning," he would later explain.

Throughout his youth, his "impatient ear" would pick up the sounds of one instrument after another. His growing list would include the mandolin, banjo, pedal-steel guitar, upright bass, bottleneck blues guitar and a host of others. Like his far-ranging taste in instruments, Randy's inspiration came from many directions, including Flatt and Scruggs, Duane Allman, Leon Macauliffe, the Louvin Brothers and Dobro-great, Josh Graves.

As Randy practiced and soaked up the sounds of his musical heroes, he began to dream about his own future. "I remember looking through music magazines," he reflected, "and wanting to be one of those people who did it for a living." He wouldn't be long turning those dreams into a partial reality. By thirteen, he was performing part-time. Soon, local square dances, bluegrass festivals and pedal-steel guitar gigs at country-dances, added substance to his dreams and money to his wallet.

Being a levelheaded country boy, Randy realized the value of a "day job" and attended college to become a certified auto body technician. For nearly nine years, he worked on car bodies by day and relegated his music to the evenings and weekends. During the late 1980's, he often traveled two-and-a-half hours each way to play the Sally Mountain Show with Rhonda Vincent's family. Eventually, though, the evening and weekend music life wasn't enough. In the early 1990's, the lure of turning music-making into his full-time occupation, pulled him to Nashville

Determined to succeed, he landed a job in a corner window of a little club called Maggie McGee's. Armed with only his voice and an acoustic guitar, Randy played from one o'clock in the afternoon until one o'clock in the morning. "I ate popcorn for about the first three weeks," he recalled, "because I was too stubborn to get a day job. I wanted to play music full-time." Finally his struggling "popcorn days" paid off. Hank Williams III heard him at Maggie McGee's and hired him as a sideman for a tour. After that, Randy hooked a touring gig with Tom T. Hall for a couple years. Then came a stint with Continental Divide, followed by one with the John Cowen Band. He also organized and fronted a bluegrass band for Jim Lauderdale. Little by little, the big-dreaming country kid from Iowa, was engraving his name into the national music scene.

In fact, he received international recognition at the Dobrofest-Trnava in the Slovak Republic, near John Dopyera's hometown. Dopyera was the inventor of the instrument he named the Dobro - do taken from the first two letters of his last name and bro because he and his brothers, Rudy and Emil, marketed them. Dobro also means good in the Slovak language.

Randy's name and talent would also spread far beyond Nashville during his 2002 tour with Dolly Parton, in her backup bluegrass band, the Blueniques. In addition to touring, Randy began to catch on as a popular session musician. His high-harmony singing and expert instrumental work has grace hundreds of recordings, ranging from legends like Hank Thompson to contemporary country stars like Dierks Bentley.

In 2001, Randy decided it was time to step out of the background and record under his own name. Not only have his albums garnered critical acclaim, but his performing skills led to Grand Ole Opry appearances. Add this to his 2008 Grammy as a record producer, his #1 video on CMTPure, and Academy of Country Music and IBMA award nominations - and one thing is certain. Apparently, there was room among the bluegrass masters for a Dobro-playing farm boy from Iowa. That wasn't necessarily surprising to everyone. In fact, that curious little feeder calf back home probably suspected it all along.

#  Sweet Sounds at Stinking Creek

The chance meeting at a festival that lifted

Blue Moon Rising over the bluegrass horizon

"I heard those guys play and was blown away by some of the singing and picking," reflected Chris West. The "guys" he was referencing were all part of a band called Kentucky Wind. In the fall of 2000, they were playing their hearts out in a mountain heritage festival at a site with the less-than-enticing name of Stinking Creek, Tennessee. Despite its name, the event would spark the creation of a group that would one day captivate fans across the country, with the "sweet" sounds of traditional-style modern songs.

Chris had helped organize the event and met with the band after their set to compliment them on their style. At the time, he was playing with a group called Roscoe Morgan and Lonely Train. Not long after the festival, three members of Kentucky Wind decided they wanted to head in a different musical direction. Remembering their new "Stinking-Creek friend," Chris, they gave him a call. "We got together a couple of times," Chris recalled, "and hit it off and really liked the way everything sounded."

Not only did their styles mesh well, so did their personalities. Before long, Chris stood, guitar in hand, proudly singing lead and harmony vocals alongside his new band-mates. Mandolinist, Keith Garrett, also sang lead and baritone harmony. Tim Tipton played bass, and Justin Moses sang tenor harmony and played the banjo. They were all anchored firmly in the traditional sounds of Bill Monroe, Jimmy Martin, The Stanley Brothers and the other bluegrass legends. "All that stuff," Chris would note, "is sacred to the guys In the band."

They soon began to search for a name for their reborn band "Let me tell you," reflected Tim Tipton, "choosing a name for your band is ten times worse than trying to name a child." Eventually, however, the new band was christened. Because of their allegiance to the traditional sound, they decided on a name with a connection to the birth of Bluegrass. It sprang from an article on Bill Monroe, in the Knoxville-based newspaper, the Metro Pulse. The headline for the story, "Blue Moon Rising," nearly jumped off the page at them. "We're all Bill Monroe fans," Tipton noted, "so it just stuck."

As with so many other bluegrass musicians, the roots that eventually sprouted Blue Moon Rising, reach back through their families. Tim was introduced to the music by his grandfather. Chris's uncle taught him to play guitar. Justin grew up performing with his family's gospel group. And Kieth is quick to cite his father as being his primary influence.

While their paths led them toward their eventual union, they weaved in and out of various groups along the way. Keith Garrett played with The County Boys at Dollywood before joining Browder Hollow and later, Kentucky Wind. After working in several bands with his uncle, Chris West played with Coal Creek, The Pitney Seibers' Family, One Way Track and then Roscoe Morgan and Lonely Train. Tim Tipton played with Clear Creek before joining Kentucky Wind. And Justin Moses performed with his family gospel group for years prior to linking up with Kentucky Wind.

Before the ideal combination materialized, a little shifting around was required. In 2002 the boys decided to add a Dobro player to the band. Two musicians filled the spot, in turn, but drifted away. Then, in 2003, Justin Moses left the band, only to be replaced by another banjo-playing Justin - Justin Jenkins. Jenkins had played the Renfro Valley Barn Dance for five years. Finally, in early 2006, Justin Moses returned to sing harmony and play...not the banjo this time, but the Dobro and fiddle. Finally, the formula was complete.

They also developed a winning formula for choosing their songs. Since they all loved the early bluegrass sound, they included some of the classics. In addition, however, they wrote or co-wrote a lot of their own material. But usually those songs also had a traditional sound. "Even though we're writing new songs," Tipton once explained, "they feel like they could have been done twenty years ago." The group specialized in story songs with an emotional message. "We made a commitment a long time ago to the music itself," Tipton added, "and we look for the ones that touch us, before we record them."

As they played to sold-out crowds and their tour schedule grew, it sometimes set their heads spinning. This came from trying to balance their ever-increasing road trips with full-time "day jobs" ranging from a machinist to a chemistry teacher. "You play, pack up, drive home," Tipton declared, "and you may have gotten to sleep a couple of hours, and you may not." "And you may have gotten paid," interjected Chris West with a chuckle, "or maybe not." Then with a wistful smile, he added, "But when you open that music magazine and see your single on the charts...man!"

Fortunately, they were all able to express several "mans!" as their single, "This Old Martin Box," hit the Top Five on the Bluegrass Unlimited singles chart and their album "On the Rise," landed in the Top Ten. Bluegrass Now Magazine's Gospel Truth Chart placed the single "He Arose" in their Top Ten. Their 2006 IBMA nomination for Emerging Artist of the Year elicited similar declarations from the group members.

The original lineup has shifted throughout the years, with Chris West as the sole reminder of the early grouping. One thing, however, has remained constant -Blue Moon Rising's high-quality musical offerings. Great songs like "The Hanging Tree," "Crime I'm Guilty Of," "The Old-time Preacher Man," "Good Time for Going Home," and all the rest, have kept the group on the radio and in the festivals. As always, the many fans of Blue Moon Rising know they will enjoy a savory helping of tasty new songs dripping with the sweet sounds of traditional bluegrass. In fact, their music may be even sweeter now than the sweet sounds at Stinking Creek.

#  A Voice in the Woods

A familiar voice in a campground that lit

the kindling for James king's bluegrass blaze

As the sparks from the flickering campfire filled the air, one of young James King's heroes filled the air with his stories. Through the smoky, piney atmosphere of the campground, boomed the lively voice of none other than Jimmy Martin. He was at his best that 1979 Labor Day weekend, King recalled, "telling his tall tales and just full of himself." No, life just couldn't get much better for a twenty-one-year-old bluegrass fan and musician,

Then, the man next to King addressed the little gathering. King's attention suddenly left Jimmy Martin and riveted on him. "That voice!" King declared aloud. The possessor of "that voice," Ray Davis, was pleasantly surprised that such a young person would recognize him. King told Davis how he had listened to him on an album, over and over, until he had nearly memorized every word.

A few years earlier, King had caught the bluegrass bug and began buying Stanley Brothers' albums. "I bought every record I could get my hands on," He later recalled, "and played the fire out of them." One of the albums in his growing collection featured Ray Davis as the emcee. Each time King replayed the songs on the album, he also heard Davis's narrative.

The two talked for a while and instantly hit it off. Later, Davis invited him to listen to his collection of old Stanley Brothers' tapes. Before long, King demonstrated his own ability to sing in the Stanley Brothers' style. Davis was impressed, and informed the enthusiastic fan that he had remained friends with Ralph Stanley. Then he made an offer that King couldn't believe. Davis said he would be happy to record King, along with his musical hero, Ralph Stanley, for his small Wango record label.

When the album came out, it bore the lengthy title of "Stanley Brothers' Classics With Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys and Introducing James King." Davis only pressed three thousand copies. But that was okay! James King was on his way to fulfilling his dream of becoming a professional bluegrass musician. "It's amazing how a person's life falls together," King reflected. Thinking back on Davis's influence, he added, "He's responsible for putting me where I'm at."

James King's musical aspirations actually didn't start with bluegrass. When he was ten or eleven, he listened primarily to rock music. But bluegrass ran deep in his bloodline. His uncle, Joe Ed King, had played with Delaware-based Ted Lundy and the Southern Mountain Boys in the 1960's. And his father, Jim King, sang tenor and played guitar for the Country Cousins on Roanoke television, with Don Reno and Red Smiley. His father didn't pressure James into switching his musical taste, but he made a prediction. "One day," James remembered his dad telling him, "bluegrass will get you, and when it does, it won't get out."

The prediction came true in King's mid-teens. That's when he got hooked on the Stanley Brothers. Carter Stanley especially mesmerized him. "Carter had to have been a sad man," King reflected years later. "He had sad demons in him." As King played and replayed the records, some of Carter's sadness seemingly crept into his soul as well. King's taste for songs continued to drift toward those that brought tears to his eyes.

As he patiently practiced his musical skills, he slowly developed the knack of bringing tears to the eyes of others. In addition to his father and uncle, another musical mentor had a hand in forging King's style. He hailed from King's little hometown of Cana, Virginia. Rush Edwards of the locally known Edwards brothers, taught him how to cross-pick on the guitar. "I worried him to death to teach me," King recalled. "He was married and had six youngins, but he never refused."

With his newly developed instrumental and vocal skills, young James King pointed his career compass toward a bluegrass future. A tragic episode led him to a job with Ted Lundy and the Southern Mountain Boys. His uncle, Joe Ed, had been playing with them for a couple years, when he died in a car accident. Lundy later asked James if he would join the band. King played with them for a while, then signed up for the Marine Corps. After his stint in the Marines, King played in a band with Ted Lundy's two sons, T, J. and Bobby. Living in a trailer in a Maryland campground, he also hit the club circuit around Baltimore. As he bounced around clubs like the Seagull Inn, Harvey Jr.'s" and the Unicorn Hotel, he began to pay his bluegrass dues. "At the Unicorn Hotel," he reflected, "that band was just anybody we could get. Our pay was just whatever ended up in the hat."

As he slowly worked his way up the bluegrass ladder, he continued to follow his instincts toward heart-felt mournful songs. Through the years he has paved his way to success with tearjerkers like "Whatever Happened to Julie," "Bed by the Window" and "Echo Mountain." "When a song makes me cry," the rough-edged ex-marine noted, "...I'm going to make you cry." He also likes upbeat songs, but realizes he has typecast himself. "I've set myself up as the saddest man on earth," he once observed, "and that's what they're looking for."

Through the years, his golden string of heartrending songs have kept his music placed solidly on the bluegrass charts. Despite personnel changes in the band's lineup, James has continued to provide a constant flow of hard-hitting music steeped in traditional roots. "I've been playing bluegrass pretty much the same way for about 40 years," he explained in April of 2013, "so it just comes natural to me. I really don't think I could play any other kind of music." And of course, the bluegrass world is delighted to bask in the comforting warmth of that "kind of music" as he continues to fan the flames of his traditional bluegrass blaze - the same one that was ignited many years ago by a voice in the woods.

#  Front-row Fanatic

When young J. D. Crowe perched on the

front row to study His musical hero

Magicians will sometimes quip, "Watch closely! At no time do my fingers leave my hands." But the thirteen-year-old on the front row almost expected that to happen as he watched the wizard on stage. The magic he was witnessing had nothing to do with rabbits in hats or vanishing ladies. It involved the mysterious appearance of hundreds of syncopated musical notes flying around the stage with mysterious abandon.

The musical sorcerer, young Earl Scruggs, entranced nearly everyone in the little radio-show audience. But none were as spellbound as his young audience member, James Dee Crowe. James and his father had always enjoyed listening to the Kentucky Barn Dance on the nearby Versailles, Kentucky radio station. One day, they decided to join the studio audience. The minute Crowe saw Earl Scruggs play the banjo, the magic struck. "I never saw or heard anything like that - like it was going to explode," he would recall years later. He wasn't content to simply admire his newfound hero. He remembers turning to his father and saying, "I'd like to try to do that. I think I could do that."

Soon, his thoughts evolved into plans. James became a regular fixture in the audience to watch Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs backed by Everett Lilly and Chubby Wise. In order to study Scruggs' innovative style, young James Crowe would position himself on the front row. As the enthusiastic "front-row fanatic" mentally recorded his hero's finger movements, he likely had no inkling that he would one day be widely recognized as the "dean" of the Scruggs' style of banjo playing. As he strapped on a banjo and began to practice the finger movements he had been observing, the doorway to that eventual "deanship" began to creak open. He squeezed intense practice sessions into the cracks of time between his schoolwork and his later job as a builder. Little by little, he steadily developed a smooth professional-sounding style. Before long, he was proficient enough to play with various groups around his Lexington, Kentucky hometown.

As he played gigs around town, he came to the attention of Mac Wiseman. Wiseman hired him for a tour in 1955. The next year Crowe landed a spot with another bluegrass legend-to-be. Jimmy Martin was traveling through Lexington when he heard Crowe playing on the radio. Martin was so impressed with his banjo playing that he drove to the station and offered him a job on the spot. He didn't have to ask the excited teenager twice. Crowe couldn't wait to become a Sunny Mountain Boy.

The position with Jimmy Martin was ideal for Crowe. Martin gave him the freedom to add some extra touches to his banjo style - even some drawn from the emerging Rock & Roll sound. During his time with the Sunny Mountain Boys, Crowe honed his style to near perfection. His straightforward banjo work and solid baritone harmony was pressed into vinyl history on over forty-five Jimmy Martin classics, including "You Don't Know My Mind" and "Ocean of Diamonds."

By the time he left, in 1961, J, D. Crowe was ready to spread his wings and take off on a solo career. Following his instincts, he continued to add subtle touches of Rock and Roll as well as Folk and Blues music to his innovative style. Clearly, he was whipping up a whole new batch of banjo sounds.

After bouncing around the local clubs for a while, J. D. set about assembling his own band. He formed The Kentucky Mountain Boys to play a steady gig at the Holiday Inn in Lexington. His selection of musicians now reads like a bluegrass Who's Who. The early members included Doyle Lawson, Larry Rice, Bobby Sloan and Red Allen. During the next few years, Tony Rice, Jerry Douglas and Ricky Skaggs would also cycle through. Like Crowe himself, many of his band members stretched the boundaries of the style. But also like him, they kept true to the soul of bluegrass music.

After a decade with the Kentucky Mountain Boys, Crowe formed the more cutting-edge electrified group - J. D. Crowe and the New South. During the mid-1970's, they even expanded their reach into the country arena. With the addition of Keith Whitley, they began to include songs like "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Back to the Barrooms" in their repertoire. This began to attract some previously all-country fans to bluegrass. As before, though, the New South kept enough of the traditional sound to avoid alienating their original bluegrass fan-base.

Their self-titled debut record in 1975 let the bluegrass world know J, D. Crowe and the New South had a delightful new take on the old sound. The innovative album attracted not only new fans, but also new musicians to the genre. It is often viewed by music historians as a turning point in modern bluegrass. Explaining his addition of the various elements of Rock, Blues and Folk, Crowe said he loves the music and the performers of early bluegrass. "But you can't sound like everybody else..." he added, "You gotta try and get a sound that's distinctive."

J. D.'s peers and fans have honored that distinctive sound with a shower of awards. In 1983 he and the New South netted a Grammy for the instrumental, "Fireball." Starting in the 1980's, Crowe was also a member of the recording group, The Bluegrass Album Band. That all-star lineup also included Doyle Lawson, Tony Rice, Vassar Clements, Jerry Douglas, Bobby Hicks and Todd Phillips. They specialized in the more traditional style and would go on to win IBMA's Instrumental Group and Instrumental Album of the Year awards.

J. D. himself would be presented with the IBMA's Banjo Player of the Year award in 1994 and would win it again, a decade later. In 2003 he was inducted into the IBMA's Hall of Honor. With his later offerings like "Come on Down to My World" and "I'm So Afraid of Losing You Again," he demonstrates why he has often been labeled the master of "honky-tonk 'grass." Yes, it seems that the thirteen-year-old front-row fanatic was absolutely right when he told his father, "I think I could do that."

#  A Red-hot Record

A 78 by Flatt & Scruggs, which ignited

Del McCoury's bluegrass fire

"I just couldn't leave that record alone," Del McCoury recalled, "I wore it out!" The record the bluegrass master was talking about was a 78 of Flatt & Scruggs performing "Rolling in My Sweet Baby's Arms." Back in 1950, when Del was eleven, his older brother, G. C., brought it home along with several other records he had just purchased. He likely had no idea what it would do to his younger brother.

Young Del's passion for the old-time country sound had already begun to smolder as he listened to his mother and G. C. sing and play around the house. And that passion flickered a little higher each weekend as the family gathered around the radio for the Grand Ole Opry. But it would take that record, with Earl Scruggs' banjo picking, to ignite the blaze. "He put me on fire for music!" Del reflected. He decided then and there to learn the Scruggs' style of banjo playing from the records.

Del's family had moved from Bakersfield, North Carolina, to Glen Rock, Pennsylvania when he was an infant. This site was ideal for his musical aspirations. Glen Rock was only about forty miles from several Baltimore, Maryland honkytonks that were becoming a hotbed for blue grass music. After a brief stint in the army, Del received a medical discharge and then teamed up with his younger brother, Jerry, to play the Baltimore clubs.

They played with several groups, including the Franklin County Boys, Keith Daniels and the Blue Ridge Ramblers, and Jack Cooke's Virginia Mountain Boys. Although the young banjo player wasn't exactly in the top echelon of the bluegrass world, he was delighted with his fortune. "I used to travel forty miles and make seven dollars to play a night of bluegrass," he recalled. "I always loved playing - always loved the road."

One of his gigs with Jack Cooke, like that Flatt & Scruggs' record, would play a vital role in molding Del's future, Cooke had just left Bill Monroe's Blue Grass Boys, but remained friends with him. Once, when Monroe was playing a date in New York City, he needed Jack Cooke to fill in. They took Del with them to play banjo. "We didn't rehearse anything," Del recalled, "we just walked right on stage - that's the Monroe way."

Monroe later invited Del to audition for a steady spot as a Blue Grass Boy. Del remembers being ambivalent over the offer since he was enjoying the Baltimore area and his gigs with Jack Cooke and the others. But one of his friends, Bobby Diamond, talked him into going, "Some people would kill for that job," Bobby informed him. In fact, he told Del that he would drive him down to Nashville in his Cadillac for the audition.

When Del showed up for the audition with his banjo in hand, he saw another musician, Bill Kieth, toting the same instrument. Monroe took them both over to the National life and Accident Insurance building where the Friday Night Opry was then broadcast. Del was stunned when Monroe handed him a guitar and told him he needed a guitar-playing lead singer. Del didn't know if Monroe even knew whether or not he could play guitar and sing - but fortunately, he had also learned basic guitar skills.

Monroe hired Bill Keith on the spot to fill in on a recording session, and told Del he would try him out on the Opry for a couple of weeks. Del's probation period with Monroe soon turned permanent as he became proficient with rhythm guitar and lead singing. Since he had previously sung only harmony parts, he knew the words to the choruses but not the verses. Del quickly learned the verse lyrics and soon stood beside his hero on the Grand Ole Opry as a full-fledged Blue Grass Boy.

After a year with Monroe, Del decided it was time to set out on his own. He married his girlfriend, Jean, and they headed out to California, along with a friend, Billy Baker. Del and Baker had been offered jobs in a band called the Golden State Boys. But his California dream soon faded. The band didn't travel enough to make much money and Jean was getting homesick. That fall, 1964, he and Jean headed back to southeastern Pennsylvania. After bouncing around the Baltimore clubs again, Del decided to form his own band. He recruited several musicians, including Bobby Diamond, the friend who had driven him to Nashville. One night they were playing a Baltimore gig when a lady asked what their band's name was, "The Dixie Pals," replied Diamond, taking the name from a newly dismantled local band. "It is?" Del turned to him and asked. With that, Del McCoury and the Dixie Pals began a twenty-year run.

Playing bluegrass was not a full-time job for Del until the late 1980's. He toured the festival circuit with the Dixie Pals, but worked in construction and logging as "day jobs." His son, Ronnie, started playing mandolin with the band part-time in 1981 at the age of thirteen. In 1987, Ronnie's brother, Robbie joined - first on bass, then banjo. The same year, Del changed the band's name to The Del McCoury Band.

Although Del was well known on the festival circuit, his universal acclaim came in the 1990's. He won the IBMA Male Vocalist of the Year award in 1990. Del would win it for the next two years and net the Entertainer of the Year award the following year. The shower of awards and the band's 1992 relocation to Nashville put the Del McCoury Band in the spotlight. Suddenly he was the talk of the bluegrass community. And that spotlight hasn't dimmed as the years have passed.

Del and the band members have won over forty IBMA awards and have even crossed over into genres like the "jam band" scene. They have shared the stage with Steve Earle, Phish and the Grateful Dead. In 2005, Del added a Grammy to his collection. His albums like "Don't Stop the Music," "A Deeper Shade of Blue" and "Cold Hard Facts" have become golden bluegrass classics. Apparently that "red hot record" his brother brought home in 1950 set a fire that time simply can't extinguish.

# California Rice

When the Rice Family followed a dream

and planted their sons in fertile California soil

Southern California was the ideal spot for a Rice crop to flourish - Herb and Louise Rice's "crop" of four musical sons, that is. Oh, it's not like their bluegrass futures wouldn't have thrived if their parents had stayed back in Virginia. After all, a lot of bluegrass legends hailed from that state. But for the Rice boys' styles, especially young Tony's conglomeration of bits and pieces of wide-ranging musical genres, California had the most nourishing soil.

Granted, bluegrass musicians had always drawn on a variety of musical styles for their inspiration - like Irish ballads, African-American blues and back-country Gospel. But Bach's partitas and Heifetz' sonatas? Well, that might have been a bit much for the conservative 1960's Virginia bluegrass-festival crowd to wrap their minds around.

Their father, Herb, and their mother, Louise, had followed the lure of California in 1954. "That was our dream," Louise recalled years later. She said that shortly after they arrived, Herb and her brother organized a bluegrass band called the Golden State Boys. "They played hootenannies and coffee houses," she reflected, "It was just music, all the time."

As their family grew, their four sons, Larry, Tony, Ron and Wyatt began to experiment with the instruments lying around the house. It soon became obvious that they had all acquired their parents' musical ability. Not only had all six of Louise's brothers been musically minded, but Herb's sisters had sung with their father on a Danville radio show. It seems the Rice boys didn't stand a chance of not inheriting their parents' musical talent

It wasn't long before Larry, the oldest brother, made use of that talent. He organized a little bluegrass band consisting of himself, Tony, Ron and a neighborhood friend named Andy Evans. Wyatt, the youngest brother, wasn't included because he wasn't old enough to join the group. Christening themselves "The Haphazards," they soon progressed to the point of playing the same venues as The Golden State Boys. As the boys picked and sang, and their parents beamed, the stage was being set for the introduction of the Rice brothers to the bluegrass community.

While they played the southern California circuit, they began to develop musical heroes. They were especially drawn to the more inventive groups like The Dillards and the Kentucky Colonels. The dexterity and crystal-clear guitar work of the Colonels' Clarence White, showed young Tony that the guitar could indeed be a powerful lead instrument in bluegrass music.

One by one, the Rice boys began to make their marks on the bluegrass community. In the mid-sixties, Larry joined a Southern California band called Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party, where he honed his vocals and fiery mandolin style. He then signed on with J. D. Crowe's Kentucky Mountain Boys in 1969.

In 1970, It was Tony's turn to join the bluegrass fraternity. He met a group called the Bluegrass Alliance at a jam session. They were so impressed with his talents they offered him a job on the spot. Never one to dally, Tony joined the group and packed up to drive to Louisville with them that same day. His next musical step, like Larry's, was with J. D. Crowe. Larry, would leave Crowe in 1974, to be replaced by a young Ricky Skaggs. The next year, Larry would join the Dickey Betts Band.

J. D. Crowe's mid-seventies combination of Tony singing lead and playing guitar; Jerry Douglas on Dobro; Ricky Skaggs supplying harmony, fiddle and mandolin; Bobby Slone slapping bass and Crowe on banjo and vocals, is widely considered to be the quintessential contemporary-bluegrass line-up. Tony was right where he wanted to be - surrounded by bluegrass musicians who didn't mind giving the traditional style a little modem twist.

But never one to stagnate, Tony eventually felt his creative juices flowing In a new direction. He had always felt a strong pull toward music that ranged outside the bluegrass field. In 1975, he ran across a like-minded soul at a jam session. California-based, David Grisman, had been flavoring bluegrass with such far-reaching genres as jazz and classical music. Following his instincts, Tony returned to the fertile California soil to help Grisman form a quintet that would soon send bluegrass music into uncharted waters. For the next five years, Tony delved into music theory to help Grisman expand the boundaries of traditional three-chord bluegrass.

In 1979, Tony left the quintet and branched out on his own. Year-by-year, he carved out an inimitable niche as a master, not only of traditional flat-picking guitar music, but of a freewheeling eclectic style he would label "Spacegrass." His fellow musicians and an international following would recognize his genius by sending his albums up the charts and showering him with awards. During the 1990's, he would nail down the IBMA "Instrumental Performer of the Year - Guitar," five times. His group, The Tony Rice Unit, would be named "Instrumental Group of the Year" twice. In addition, the super-group he helped form, the Bluegrass Album Band, would garner awards and turn out five now-classic albums.

Meanwhile, his brothers were making their own marks on the bluegrass landscape. Larry had developed a more traditional style than Tony and forged a renowned performing and recording career. Ronnie played bass for several albums and worked on compilation CD's for Time-Life. And Wyatt's outstanding band, Santa Cruz, gained international recognition.

Fate, unfortunately, also inflicted sad losses. It took Larry from illness and Tony's singing voice from overuse. Fortunately, twice in the mid-90's, all four brothers teamed up to preserve their sound and spirit on albums. As we savor the musical flavors of "Grapes on the Vine," "Teardrops in My Eyes" and the haunting "This Old House," one thing becomes crystal clear. Southern California can indeed grow a fine Rice crop.

#  The "Cheap-seat Chef"

The kid in the balcony who saved recipes

he would one day cook up with Hot Rize

To many of the Jamboree USA audience members, it was just another enjoyable show...but not for the toe-tapping teenager in the balcony. As the entertainers filled the Wheeling Island Exhibition Hall with country and bluegrass music in the late 1960's, they filled thirteen-year-old Tim O'Brien with recipes for future musical dishes. Every Saturday, he would ask his parents to drop him off at the theater, And week after week, his new-found heroes would send their songs sailing up to the cheap seats where young Tim would grab them and save them in his growing "musical cook book."

Jimmy Martin, The Country Gentlemen, Merle Haggard, Roger Miller and all the rest, took turns flinging their tunes up to the balcony. After a while, simply listening to his new WWVA friends wasn't enough, Tim wanted to make his own music. His girlfriend's father was a doctor, and one of his patients. Roger Bland, had been a member of Lester Flatt's band. When approached by the eager teenager, Bland was happy to teach him how to play the banjo.

While Tim was soaking up the banjo lessons, he restrung his father's old mandolin and taught himself how to play that as well. Week by week, young Tim O'Brien was gathering the ingredients he would one day mix in with those of the other super-talented members of Hot Rize. He spent a year at Colby College in Maine, then drifted west to fulfill his musical dreams. After bouncing around Wyoming, he ended up in Boulder, Colorado.

While O'Brien was gathering musical knowledge in the late 1960's, Pete Wernick was gathering academic knowledge in Columbia University. As he obtained his doctorate in sociology, he played in local bands around New York City. He also hosted the city's only bluegrass radio show. Taking on the nickname, Doctor Banjo, Wernick formed the contemporary bluegrass band, Country Cooking. In 1976, he also moved to the Boulder, Colorado area.

Meanwhile, Austin-born Charles Sawtelle had turned his teenage years toward mastering the steel guitar and began playing in area country bands. Austin was also beginning to vibrate with the contemporary bluegrass sound, so Sawtelle took up the acoustic guitar and joined in that scene as well. Sporting a large variety of musical Influences ranging from Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers to Leadbelly and Blind Willie Johnson, Sawtelle took to the road. After traveling around the western states and Canada, he too settled in Boulder in the mid-1970's.

The remaining Hot Rize member-to-be, Nick Forester, was the son of a State Department associate stationed in Beirut, Lebanon. Years later, he would inform Hot Rize crowds that he was, "the only man in the world who was born in Beirut, Lebanon, was bitten by a weasel and has played on the Grand Ole Opry." After spending his early years in New York's Hudson River Valley area, Forester headed to Colorado where he took a job as a guitar repairman at the Denver Folklore Center.

As the magnetic pull of the vibrant Boulder, Colorado bluegrass scene drew the four musicians closer, fate was clearing a path for them to follow. O'Brien worked in a music store in Boulder and played gigs with an acoustic swing band called the Ophelia String Band. In the close-knit Boulder music scene, he ran across Wernick and Sawtelle. After finding out they hit it off both musically and personally, the three musicians decided to form a bluegrass-oriented band they named the Drifting Ramblers. From time to time, they switched the words and billed themselves as the Rambling Drifters.

They recruited bass player, Mike Scap, who left the group after a few months and was replaced by Forester. Gig-by-gig, they began to realize they had combined an ideal mix of talents and personalities. Renaming the group after the secret ingredient in long-time bluegrass and Opry sponsor, Martha White flour, they christened themselves "Hot Rize." As they perfected their style and their stage presence over the next twelve years, they evolved into one of the most popular groups in bluegrass history.

Hot Rize was accepted by the whole range of bluegrass fans. They never strayed too far from the traditional sound to alienate the bluegrass purists but always seasoned their songs with a contemporary twist to keep the sound fresh and innovative. Soon, they were featured on the programs of major festivals across the country. Their contagious music and dynamic performances soon spread outside the country. As they toured Japan, Australia and Europe, they helped expand the boundaries of bluegrass to new audiences and cultures.

As an added attraction, part way into their show, they would introduce another "band." The western swing band, Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers, they informed their audiences, rode with them "in the back of the bus." They left the stage and returned, sporting sunglasses and gaudy western outfits. Their alter-ego band served up a tasty variety of lively swing versions of 1940's and 50's country songs. With O'Brien as Red Knuckles, Wernick as Waldo Otto, Sawtelle as Slade and Forester as Wendell Mercantile, they added another popular feature to their live shows. In fact, the "other" band became so popular that they cut two successful albums of their own.

Their live shows and subsequent albums introduced now-classic songs like "Just Like You," "Radio Boogie," "Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning," "Walk the Way the Wind Blows" and "Colleen Malone." As the bluegrass community around the world tasted Hot Rize's new menu selections, they gave their rave reviews in the form of honoring them as the very first IBMA "Entertainer of the Year" in 1990.

Ironically, Hot Rize broke up that year and the members turned toward their individual projects and goals. The break-up, however, was amicable and they have reunited several times since. One of these occasions was for the '91 IBMA awards, when they won "Song of the Year" for "Coleen Malone." Apparently, like Martha White flour, that "cheap-seat chef and his Hot Rize friends had indeed discovered the secret recipe.

#  The Roots of Bluegrass

The colorful origins of the songs of bluegrass

The lively bluegrass festival sprawls across a grassy park dotted with yellow and white wildflowers. As the songs float through the lawn chairs and drift past the pine trees, they mingle with soft humming and spontaneous hand clapping. Joyful children invent new clogging steps as the birds join in with sidestepping limb dances. What an Idyllic scene!

Then, unexpectedly, the musicians simply stop and begin to pack away their instruments. The leader sadly informs the crowd that they have already played every bluegrass song ever written. The humming and hand-clapping die away. The dancing children stop in their tracks. Even the birds freeze in place. Then, one-by-one, the disappointed families shuffle off to fill the rest of their weekend with housework, homework and honey-do jobs.

Fortunately, thank God, this hideous bluegrass nightmare can never occur. The huge stockpile of old songs and ever-growing supply of new ones can fill festivals from now to eternity. The stories behind many of these songs are as intriguing as the musicians who played and sang them. As we trace their roots, we find they were planted centuries ago in the British Isles.

When the early immigrants from England, Scotland and Ireland began to spread out from Jamestown and other nearby settlements, many headed toward the Appalachian mountain country of modern-day Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia and the Carolinas. The songs they carried in their heads soon rang out through the mountain air of their new homeland and reminded them of their mother countries.

This nostalgia for their previous life-styles, mixed with the natural seclusion of the mountains, kept the old songs in a relatively pure state. In fact, when British folk-song collector, Cecil Sharp, traveled around England in the early 1900's to collect old-English folk songs, he was dismayed to learn that his country's singers had long since forgotten them. It wasn't until he visited America's Appalachian region that he was able to gather unspoiled English folk songs,

Some of the favorites of modem-day bluegrass trace directly to those centuries-old songs. The fiddle standard, "Leather Britches," for example, dates back, under various titles, to "Lord McDonald's Reel" published in an English song collection in 1792. And the sorrowful classic, "Pretty Polly," was first printed as "The Gosport Tragedy" in about 1727. Sung to the tune of an even older song, "Peggy's Gone Over Sea," it chronicled the true story of John Billson's murder of his pregnant girlfriend, aboard the ship named the M.M.S. Bedford.

Despite the mountain folk's preservation of the songs of their mother countries, it wasn't long before they also began to create songs about their newly adopted land. They often fused old melodies to fresh lyrics about the cabins, farms and families of their new homeland. The melody of the bluegrass standard, "Shady Grove," for example, is nearly identical to that of an old English balled titled "Little Margaret." And "Roving Gambler," supposedly written about a traveling gambler in early America, actually descended from an early English broadside ballad.

Like their predecessors in the old countries, some of these newborn lyrics served as "singing newspapers" of the day. The stories of many of their mountain creations portrayed tragic accidents, natural disasters and murders. One of the most famous murder ballads, "Poor Ellen Smith," details the brutal killing of Ellen Smith in Mount Airy, North Carolina in 1893. Along with a host of other sorrowful musical tales, like "Knoxville Girl" and "Banks of the Ohio," it helped to impart an eerie quality to the growing collection of mountain songs.

As secluded as the mountain-dwellers were, they were not immune to events in the rest of the nation. Outside influences slowly began to reshape their music. When the Civil War raged across the country, many of the Appalachian boys joined the fight. As the soldiers rested during the evening, they often played and sang some of the songs of the minstrel shows. This peculiar show, the mountain boys learned, had swept the nation, and usually consisted of white entertainers in burnt-cork makeup. They played and sang in the lively style of the African slave families. When the war was over, the Appalachian sons brought home more than battle memories, little by little, they incorporated many of the new songs they had learned from their newfound friends, into their growing repertoire.

Songs like "Turkey in the Straw," "Watermelon on the Vine," and "Arkansas Traveler" all sprang from the minstrel stage. Likely the most ironic of the minstrel songs is the one written by Dan Emmett for the finale of his minstrel show. Emmett had never seen the South when he sat in his New York City boarding house and wrote "Dixie." He was not exactly thrilled that the southerners later adopted it as their own during the Civil War. "If I had known to what use they were going to put my song," he once lamented, "I will be damned if I'd written it!"

In the mid-1800's, shape-note music teachers traveled throughout the Appalachian region. Their easily read music books, utilizing simple shapes on the bottom of the notes, emphasized harmony singing. As the mountain musicians learned the concept of singing harmony along with the melody, they soon transferred the process to their secular tunes as well. Now-classic numbers like "Keep on the Sunny Side" and "This Little Light of Mine" were born during the shape-note times.

The traveling medicine shows also had their impact on the developing Appalachian music sound. While the silver-tongued "doctors" of the medicine shows proclaimed the wonders of their magical tonics and elixirs, the show's entertainers offered songs borrowed from repertoire theater companies, vaudeville and minstrel shows. Songs like "The Preacher and the Bear" and "Cripple Creek" rang out through the mountain air from the medicine show wagons and truck-beds, as the professors and doctors peddled their Snake Oil liniments and blood purifiers.

The building of the railroads also widened the horizons of the mountain musicians. As steel rails stretched across their once-secluded world, they began to hear the songs of the African American railroad workers. Little by little, the mountain musicians began to incorporate some of the workers' bluesy tunes and rhythmic work chants. The well-played bluegrass standards, ''John Henry" and "Nine Pound Hammer" both sprang from the songs of the early railroad workers.

Year by year, the music of the mountains simmered and bubbled into a distinctive musical dish like none other in the world. As the outside world slowly seeped through the mountain barriers, further ingredients entered the recipe. The parlor songs that had become popular after the Civil War added tunes like "Wildwood Flower," "If You Love Your Mother" and "A Song of the Hills."

When the popularity of the minstrel shows faded, vaudeville and other variety shows took its place. As the songs that filled their shows became popular, publishing companies printed song sheets by the thousands. A section of New York City's 28th street became the heart of the songwriting and song sheet-publishing empire. It was nicknamed "Tin Pan Alley" for the "tinny" sound of all the pianos playing simultaneously in various keys and tempos as the song-promoters accompanied themselves.

Many of the songs that poured out of Tin Pan Alley, were tearjerkers about displaced family members longing for the old home place. The mountain boys, who had left home to find work in the city, often sought comfort in them. Numbers like "I Wonder How the Old Folks Are at Home," "My Old Plantation Home" and "Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane" could bring a tear to the eyes of even the toughest steel-mill worker.

By the time young Bill Monroe worked his magic on the music of the mountains, it was already a unique mixture of old and new, sorrowful and joyful, homespun and professional songs. When he marched his little band onto the Grand Ole Opry stage in October of 1939, he knew he had mixed up something special. He had cranked up the speed of the mountain music, added some haunting minor-key touches, raised the pitch of the instruments and sprinkled in his lightning mandolin runs. The spontaneous eruption of the Opry audience confirmed his feelings. Mountain music would never be the same again - Bluegrass was taking root.

Despite the old-timey nature of the new genre, from the start, Monroe and the other early legends wrote new bluegrass songs. That process has never slowed. Each musical generation created more " old-sounding new songs." Legendary songwriters like Bill Monroe, Jimmy Martin, Don Reno and A. P. Carter added dozens of now-classic songs to the bluegrass repertoire.

As the circle remains "unbroken," there are more bluegrass songwriters now than ever. One of the most prolific of these, "retired" from a 34-year career as country music's favorite storyteller. Since bluegrass songs are often story songs, Tom T. Hall was a natural to slide right into a second career as a bluegrass songwriter and singer. Even in the country field, his songs were usually simple stories about real people living everyday life. His topics and style fit perfectly into the bluegrass genre. He and his super-talented wife, Dixie, have penned such neo-classics as "Clinch Mountain Mystery," "Bill Monroe for Breakfast" and "The Knoxville Boy."

Contemporary songwriter and singer, Larry Cordle, nailed down the International Bluegrass Music Association (IBMA) Song of the Year spot in 1992 with "Lonesome Standard Time" and again in 2000 with "Murder on Music Row." These, along with his other hits like "Highway 40 Blues" and "Black Diamond Stings," have assured him a lasting spot in the top ranks of bluegrass songwriters. The Kentucky-born Cordle has also had his songs recorded by Ricky Skaggs, Alison Krauss, The Osborne Brothers and a host of other bluegrass legends.

Another modern-day bluegrass songwriter, Harley Allen, followed the lead of his famous father, Red Allen. Young Harley became interested in his dad's songwriting and decided to try his hand at the craft. He moved to Nashville from his hometown of Dayton, Ohio and decided to give songwriting his full attention. The result of that decision eventually led to several nominations for Songwriter of the Year. Songs like "Simple Life" recorded by Ricky Skaggs, and "Being Me" sung by the Grascals, climbed rapidly up the bluegrass charts. In 2005, he won the IBMA top songwriting award for the poignant "Me and John and Paul."

Few current bluegrass songwriters have been as consistently on target as Mississippi-born Carl Jackson. The multiple Grammy-winner is also known for his vocal and instrumental abilities. Carl has written bluegrass songs for nearly everyone in the business from The Country Gentlemen to Rhonda Vincent, Doyle Lawson, Ricky Skaggs and Jim & Jesse. With a string of hits like "Little Mountain Church House," "Lonesome Dove," "Letter To Home" and "Hillbilly Hemingway," it's easy to see why Bluegrass Unlimited magazine found that Jackson wrote or co-wrote eight of their "Top 200 Bluegrass Songs of All Time."

Another name often found beneath the titles of many top-ranked bluegrass songs, is that of Jerry Salley. Jerry has especially shined in the bluegrass gospel area with songs like the 1990 Dove Award Song of the Year, "His Strength is Perfect." He has had over 300 of his songs recorded including "It's Not What You Know But It's Who You Know," "He Carried Her Memory" and the "The Distance," which he recorded with Rhonda Vincent.

Former Hot Rize lead-singer, Tim O'Brien, has also climbed to the top rung of the modern bluegrass songwriting ladder. His eclectic appreciation of bluegrass, jazz, big band and mainstream country music has helped expand the boundaries of bluegrass songwriting. Year by year, he built his songwriting reputation on finely crafted songs like "Walk the Way the Wind Blows" and "Hard Year Blues." In 2006, his "Look Down That Lonesome Road" took the IBMA honors for Song of the Year.

Yes, it looks as if the future of bluegrass songs is definitely in good hands. All the songwriters of days gone by and those of days yet to come can keep the instruments picking and the voices soaring until the end of time. That horrible nightmare about running out of bluegrass songs will never materialize. The children can continue to invent clogging steps and the birds can return to their side-step limb dancing. And best yet, families can relax, lean back on their lawn chairs and forget all about housework, homework and honey-do jobs.

# Bibliography

for Country music section

Bufwack, Mary A. and Oermann, Robert K. Finding Her Voice,

the Saga of Women in Country Music. New York: Crown

Publishers, 1993.

Byworth, Tony. The History of Country & Western Music.

New York: Bison Books, 1984.

Carlin, Richard. The Big Book of Country Music. New

York: Penguin Books, 1995.

Carr, Joe and Munde, Alan. Prairie Nights to Neon Lights.

Lubbock, Texas: Texas Tech University Press. 1995.

Carr, Patrick (editor): The Illustrated History of Country

Music. New York: Doubleday, 1979.

Cornfield, Robert Fallwell, Marshall Jr. Just Country.

New York: McGraw-Hill, 1976.

Country Music Magazine (Editors). The Comprehensive

Country Music Encyclopedia. New York: Random

House, 1994.

Country Music Foundation (Editors). Country, The Music and the Musicians. New York: Abbeville Press, 1988.

Ellison, Curtis W. Country Music Culture, From Hard

Times to Heaven. Jackson, Mississippi: University

Press, 1995.

Green, Douglas. Country Roots, The Origins of Country

Music. New York: Hawthorn Books, 1976.

Hefley, James C. Country Music Comin' Home. Hannibal,

Missouri: Hannibal Books, 1992

Internet Fan Club Biographies: (Randy Travis) Bob Oermann.

(Alabama) QLI Webb Team. (The Judds) Katie Pruett.

Kingsbury, Paul. The Grand Ole Opry History of Country

Music. New York: Villard (Div. of Random House), 1995.

Kingsbury, Paul. (Editor) Compiled by staff of Country Music

Hall of Fame. The Encyclopedia of Country Music, The

Ultimate Guide to the Music. New York: Oxford Press, 1998

Lewis, George H. All that Glitters: Country Music in

America. Bowling Green, Ohio: Bowling Green

University Popular Press, 1993.

Malone, Bill C. Country Music, U.S.A. Austin:

University of Texas Press, 1985 (American Folklore

Society - 1968).

Malone, Bill C. and McCulloh, Judith. Stars of Country

Music, Uncle Dave Macon to Johnny Rodriguez.

Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1975.

Marshall, Rick. The Encyclopedia of Country & Western

Music. New York: Exeter Books (A Bison Book),

1985.

McCloud, Barry. Definitive Country, The Ultimate

Encyclopedia of Country Music and its Performers. New

York: Perigee Books, 1995.

Parton, Dolly. Dolly, My Life and Other Unfinished

Business. New York: Harper Collins, 1994.

Shestack, Melvin. The Country Music Encyclopedia. New

York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1974.

Stambler, Irwin and Landon, Grelun. The Encyclopedia of

Folk, Country & Western Music. New York: St.

Martin's Press, 1983.

Tosches, Nick. Country, The Biggest Music in America.

New York: Stein and Day, 1977.

# Bibliography

for Bluegrass music section

Books and Magazines

Artis, Bob. Bluegrass. New York: Hawthorn Books, Inc.,

1975.

Bluegrass Music Profiles: A Magazine of Bluegrass

Publications, LLC PO Box 850 Nicholasville, KY.

various issues

Bluegrass Unlimited Magazine. : Bluegrass Unlimited, Inc.,

9514 James Madison Hwy., Warrenton, Virginia.

various issues

Carr, Patrick (editor). The Illustrated History of Country

Music, New York: Doubleday, 1979.

Erbsen, Wayne. Rural Roots of Bluegrass, Songs, Stories &

History. Ashville, N.C.: Native Ground Music, 2003.

Goldsmith, Thomas. The Bluegrass Reader. Urbana &

Chicago; University of Illinois Press, 2004.

Kingsbury, Paul. (Editor) Compiled by staff of Country

Music Hall of Fame. The Encyclopedia of Country Music,

The Ultimate Guide to the Music, New York: Oxford

Press, 1998.

Malone, Bill C. Country Music, U,S.A. Austin: University

of Texas Press, 1985 (American Folklore Society –

1968).

Price, Steven D. Old As The Hills, The story of bluegrass

music. New York: The Viking Press, 1975.

Rosenberg, Neil V. Bluegrass, a History. Urbana &

Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1985.

Shestack, Melvin. The Country Music Encyclopedia. New

York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1974.

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activemusician.com

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alison.krauss.com

allmusic.com

amazon.com

angrycountry.com

answers.com

artistdirect.com

artistopia.com

awcubed.com

bamesandnoble.com

birthplaceofcountrymusic.org

bismarktribune.com

bluegrasscounfry.org

bluegrassgospel.com

bluegrassmuseum.org

bluegrassmusic.com

bluegrassmusicprofiies.com

bluegrass-usa.com

bluemoonrisingband.com

b1ueridgecounty.com

blogcritics.org

boonebluegrassfest.com

bostonphoenix.com

bsmusic.com

calacademy.org

canoe.ca.com

carljackson.net

celticcafe.com

chrishillman.com

chuckthewriter.com

citypaper.net

cmt.com

contactmusic.com

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countrysales.com

countrystandardtime.com

countrystars.com

countrystarsonline.com

countryworks.com

cybergrass.com

dawgnet.com

davidhoft.com

delmccouryband.com

dtweekend.com

dirtynelson.com

dobrofest.sk.com

donreno.com

drbanjo.com

earlscruggs.com

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encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com

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mp3.com

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