The Book of Nicholas

The Book of Nicholas

In that year was the fullness and the fullness was made known. And the Lord spake and it was so and all did hear His voice and quake at His fury. And the Lord looked down upon His people of crimson and said “Ye have become a haughty people, full of pride and I shall remind ye of who is boss”. And so it was that He raised up those who always wore orange in the north from the hill known as Knox and those in the south who wore orange who lived upon the Plains and especially those in the east who wore red and black in the regions of Athens and He did smite the people of Crimson, for His wrath was great. And their enemies struck down the warrior named Tua Somethingnobodycanpronounce and the others.

And the people of Crimson did cry out with a great voice “Lord! Have we not been thy people and are we not the chosen ones?” And the Lord said “Thy pride hath made thee arrogant and I shall move my will upon Nicholas the Great and cause him to retire”. And the people cried “How? Why would the Great One retire with so many more battles to win and foes to vanquish?” And the Lord said “I shall offer him a lifetime supply of Little Debbies and it shall be so”.

And the Great One did retire and the warriors of crimson were become like empty sheaves and were vanquished by all- even those from the house that Vander built. And their anquish was known far and wide and celebrated by those who opposed them. And the region of their great battlefield did run red with the blood of their warriors. And the Lord saith “Never again must you think you are greater than me!”

And in Heaven at His right hand his beloved one, St. Paul Bear did say “Praise be to You, Lord. He almost made them forget about me”.  So saith the word of the Book of Nicholas and so it is and shall be. And the people said AMEN.

My Greatest Hit

    The question I always get from people who find out I've written songs for 45 years is "What was your biggest hit?" Its such a difficult question to answer because there are so many ways to measure the success of a song. There are charts that tabulate sales or radio airplay. You could base your answer on how many dollars in royalties have come in. Maybe you would want to consider industry awards a song has won. Nowadays we can talk about how many views or streams a song has. Or maybe a composer's greatest hit is the one that has been recorded the most times.
     For me, all those metrics would indicate a different song. But one kind of success is just impossible to quantify except in how it makes you feel.
     A number of years ago the legendary Bill Anderson and I were scheduled to write one day. Bill has not only had a remarkable career as a recording artist, he's also known far and wide as an emcee for radio and tv shows and a host of the Grand Ole Opry. And, if all of that is not enough, he has written massive hit songs for other artists, too.
     The day of our co-write Bill showed up with a story he'd heard. It was about a WW2 vet who came home and never stopped wearing his old army hat (much to the embarrassment of all his grand kids). When the World War Two Memorial opened in DC he and his grandson took a trip to see it. While there, the old man met a little boy who had lost his father in a more recent war. When the veteran heard the boy's story he walked over and put the hat on the little boy's head and told him he thought he needed it more than him.
     Eventually Billy Ray Cyrus recorded the song. Before his session he called and asked if I would be there when he sang it to help make sure he sang it like we meant it to be sung. Of course, Billy didn't need my help at all. It was just a gesture of kindness.
     When he asked me what I thought about his recording I told him that I was most proud of the fact that I knew my dad, a Navy veteran, would be moved by it. Billy responded "I want you to call me one day and let me ride to Alabama with you to meet him and shake his hand". I still regret never getting around to that before Dad passed.
     Another friend of mine I have written a number of songs with, Michael Peterson, recorded it as well. It seemed to find a heart and take root now and then and, after all, that's what a songwriter hopes for with every song we write.
     Eventually Bill Anderson recorded his own version of the song. A number of people have mentioned hearing one version or another even though none were smash hits on the radio. But Bill makes the song a regular part of his shows and more and more people tell me they heard it and heard I was one of the songwriters. They always tell me about some connection they have to a military person that makes the song meaningful to them.
     Last night Mr. Ed Haley, the man who inspired the story, and his family, were Bill's guests at the Grand Ole Opry. He is 95 years old today. I drove up to Nashville just to be there when Bill recognized him from on stage before his performance of "Old Army Hat". Standing backstage I watched the crowd's reaction. Some smiled and there were some tears. All stood up and cheered. On the face of Mr. Haley was gratitude and pride. It was a special honor that Bill introduced me as his co-writer and had me come out and take a bow. There is no audience more appreciative of country music and the people who make it than the one at the legendary Grand Old Opry.
     So what is my greatest hit? I never know how to answer that. But last night in Nashville at country music's most venerable venue it was a song called "Old Army Hat". It has not made me wealthy or famous but it has certainly reminded me why I've spent 45 years writing songs. Thank you, Bill, for letting me work on it with you. And I especially want to thank you, Mr. Haley. It was an honor and a privilege to shake your hand.

                                                       Bill Anderson, Ed Haley and me

Old Stuff

I think I'm just a time traveler who got stuck in the wrong place somehow. Everything I love seems to be old.
I love old guitars. They have more soul than new ones even though the news ones are often made to more critical specifications. It's kind of like all the notes and chords and vibrations and harmonics that were ever inside them still live
in the wood. You can pick one up and tell if there are more songs and stories that still haven't been discovered.
I scour Craigslist and eBay and Facebook Marketplace and other trading sites looking for old stuff: musical things, recording things, books, guns, fishing things, certain furniture and furnishings and other strange items. I have old stuff everywhere.
I sit for hours at auctions and never bid for anything waiting for the gem that no one else knows is a gem or, at least, wants more than me. I sit in my old jeans, old tee shirts and old boots and watch other people buy old things that don't really appeal to me but I know they like them for the same reasons.
Old things carry the stories of all the hands that have carried and used them. They are worn and smooth and broken in and that very fact tells you what you want to know. It tells you that the thing was good and useful and worked so well it got used over and over and saved and taken care of and guarded. When the other things of our lives get broken and tossed and given away and sold and replaced and stuck away in places that don't matter old things were out being used. They may be cracked and taped and glued and scarred but they still work and, more importantly, they survive because someone sees their value.
I hope I am that kind of old man.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I reckon it would be different for all of us. But I really love October.
First of all, the colors the leaves change to just never cease to amaze me. You would think after 62 fashion shows from the out of doors I would have become desensitized to them. But the oranges and reds are as spectacular every single time I see them.
And sports! College and pro football, the World Series, hockey and basketball starting. A guy can dang near wear a remote control out on an October weekend.
Now when you factor in the long awaited respite from the oppressive temperatures we live with in the summer in the Deep South you've got the piece de resistance. A cool fall day watching a football game with chili on the stove and beautiful colorful trees outside my window is just the best. Especially when its Alabama and they win. What am I talking about? They always win...

Wrong Bullets

It’s another morning of waking up to headlines about more senseless killing. These are the 5 Dallas policemen killed randomly in response to viral videos of unimaginable police brutality perpetrated on what appear to be innocent African American victims. The world seems to have completely gone crazy sometimes. Americans have become desensitized to more lives lost now. It must be like being an Israeli seeing yet another bombing in a public place.

Some would blame guns. I tend to think that argument is as empty as blaming cars for automobile accidents. Others are quick to point at whoever the politicians holding office are. I do believe our elected officials are big on promises and small on results but I’m not sure where the blame lies for that. Still others blame radicalized religious and racial groups. Who really knows?

I grew up in the 60s and 70s- another time of great social upheaval. The Viet Nam War accounted for over 60,000 dead and 150,000 wounded and no one could tell us exactly why we were at war. Blatant racism was fighting to remain a way of life in many cities. Young people were asking why leaders seemed to have the interest of big corporations and not American citizens at heart.

So, to the point I want to make. Through it all, music lead the way. It voiced concern, shouted in anger and called to action. It affected change. It convicted us to “Reach out and touch somebody’s hand and make this world a better place if you can”, “put a little love in your heart” and “what the world needs now is love, sweet love”. The Beatles declared that “all you need is love”. We were called to “get ready for a train a’comin”. It was a peace train or a love train. There were songs for peace and unity and change.

These were not protest songs reserved only for folk clubs in the Village in New York or a hippie club in San Francisco. They were main stream, top 40, huge hit songs that we all heard on our radios in heavy rotation. The words of the songs made us believe in the idea that love could change our world for the better and that it had to start with each individual.

There are probably songs like these in niche markets of alt rock or folk artists today. But modern pop, top 40, country and urban artists sing about sex, dancing and doing whatever it takes to feel good now. The songs are the most disposable, vapid and unimportant renderings I believe have ever been written. The subjects are booties, dancing all night, anacondas and other equally embarrassingly shallow topics. Is this the sum of all abilities for modern artists to think or are they just so afraid they might not get their song on the radio and be wildly popular with their social media slurping, selfie taking fans?

 Sure, there were silly ditties when I grew up. In fact, there were a lot of them. There have always been silly songs on our radios like “Yes, We Have No Bananas” or “You Ain’t Nothing but A Hound Dog” or “Supercalifragilisticexpealadocious”. But along with all that side of the entertainment cube were the meaningful songs. The words are as needed today as ever.

When rap music swept over the world like a tidal wave it originated in the anger and angst of inner city despondence and hopelessness. It voiced injustice and gave white America a real glimpse at how African Americans felt. It rode to massive success on the swell of human emotion and pathos.

For any readers who are making art or aspiring to it I implore you to do your best to matter with the words you say. The time span that most artists have in the public eye is very short. Make your time there count. We need wisdom and guidance more than ever. When the Youngbloods finished recording their hit “Get Together” in the late 60s they sent a copy to all senators and congress representatives. The words cried “Come on people now- smile on your brother everybody get together, try to love one another right now”. Whether you support an organized religion or a spiritual self awareness you must believe in the power of people getting together and loving one another and how much better our world would be if that happened. Americans are firing the wrong bullets. And you musical creators and artists of our time are either unconcerned or you have absolutely no idea the power you have at your fingertips.

Words. They are now and forever the building blocks or wrecking balls we can change the world with. Sing about peace, shout about peace, blog about peace. If you are one of the chosen ones who has an audience and the power to implement change shame on you if the best you can do is write words about staying up all night to get lucky without an occasional call for everyone to love each other.

Connections

Lately I have been struggling with whether or not to sell my 1992 Ford Ranger truck. I have an F 150 that is roomier, has more muscle and has all the bells and whistles I like. But the Ranger was my dad’s. He’s been gone a little over three years now and it makes me feel connected to him.

It’s amazing how things connect us to people, places and other times. Maybe it’s an old Case knife or a ring or a piece of glassware you inherited. I have guitars that attach me to songs which attach me to the people I wrote them with and the time and place we wrote a particular song. I have old duck decoys that connect me to hunting pals and sunrises over marshes when the cold morning dripped icicles off those decoys’ bills.

Sometimes just picking up an old baseball glove transports me instantly to a game of catch with one of my daughters or further back in time when I still had dreams of being Sandy Koufax or Mickey Mantle. Maybe this is the motivation for all the little collections I have: staying connected.

There is a box full of snowglobes in my attic. I used to pick one up everywhere I went. And I also have a book full of Do Not Disturb signs from hotels from all over the world. I have collections of autographed photos and collections or musical instruments. My gun collection is pretty small compared to some of my friends. But, importantly, it includes my first Daisy BB gun as well as my first Remington semi auto. An important piece of that collection is my dad’s Browning Sweet 16. I cannot begin to tell all the memories I associate with that gun and being a youngster sitting by my father and learning to watch and listen to the woods.

I have old baseball, football and basketball cards that I keep in hopes a grandson will be interested someday. Many of the cards are fairly valuable. But their real value to me is the fact that I was the one who carefully chose the pack, opened it up, chewed the bubble gum and saved those cards all this time.

My latest collection I have begun is old bibles. You can find them overseas at booksellers or auction sites (in Europe a 200 year old book is not nearly as coveted as it would be here). I like to think about the people who opened them and read the words or gathered them up and went to Sunday services on the wagon with the book beside them. One of the bibles I bought is a little pocket bible that belonged to a Civil War soldier. The American Bible Society made thousands of them to pass out and because of their compact nature many became an important part of the contents of a knapsack when I young boy headed off to muster in to the army. The one I have has a lot of illegible pencil writing but I can make out the name Collins. And there is a poem written in it that looks like it might have been part of a presentation. It says “Apples are good, but peaches are better, if you love me rite me a letter” it is signed “Sara”. It is easy for me to imagine a 17 year old boy named Collins leaving for war and his girl Sara giving him this as an important parting gift.

Having opened the bible I am now connected to these two people. And having read this, so are you. We’ll probably never know the real story. But the book is a connection to people and places and another time. That is the whole motivation that drives collectors.