My story "Dragons at the County Line" is set in Aldo's Domino Parlor, a place where the old men rattle bones and chew the fat. The jukebox at Aldo's is filled with country gold, though the domino players occasionally debate the merits of various country artists. In "Dragons at the County Line," the ol' boys get in a brief, though heated, debate about Ray Price, the Cherokee Cowboy.
I had the opportunity to see Ray Price at a couple of Willie Nelson's Fourth of July Picnics. At the picnic in Selma (near San Antonio) in 2008, Ray told the story of how at one point he had hired Willie to be his bass player. After Willie had been playing with Ray for a while, he said something like, "I bet you didn't know that I don't play bass," to which Ray replied with something like, "Willie, I know that very well."
Here is Ray Price performing "Heartaches by the Number."
Johnny Cash, the Man in Black, would have been 86 years old today. Although he is often associated with classic songs like "Ring of Fire," "Folsom Prison Blues," and "I Walk the Line," his catalog is vast and versatile. He sang a duet of "Girl From the North Country" with Bob Dylan on Nashville Skyline. He covered Depeche Mode, Nine Inch Nails, and Bob Marley. Cash was a musical outlaw, and he rode whatever range happened to suit him.
In celebration of Johnny Cash's birthday, here is his cover of Texas songwriting legend Guy Clark's "Texas 1947."
My next book signing for Waylon County: Texas Stories will be held at Deep Vellum Books in Dallas on March 10 from 6 pm to 8 pm. Deep Vellum Books is at 3000 Commerce Street in a building where Leadbelly once lived. Folks who hung around Deep Ellum in the 90s will remember the building as Club Clearview.
If you are within driving distance, stop by and visit even if you already have a copy of Waylon County. The bookstore is incredibly well-curated and features titles by Deep Vellum Publishing, including one that was long-listed for the prestigious Man Booker International Prize.
In the early 20th century, a number of Slavic people settled in North Fort Worth and left an indelible imprint on Cowtown. Poland-native Joe Riscky, for example, founded Riscky's Barbeque on Azle Avenue in 1927. Longtime Fort Worth residents, myself included, will likely remember eating a Riscky's chopped sandwich at the grocery store counter on the North Side. Considering that Joe Riscky started out working at the packing house in the Fort Worth Stockyards, it seems appropriate that Riscky's barbeque can now be enjoyed on Exchange Avenue.
Many Czech people also arrived in Fort Worth in the early twentieth century. According to J'Nell Pate, in North of the River: A brief history of North Fort Worth, Saint Thomas the Apostle Catholic Church on Azle Avenue celebrated mass in Czech until the 1950s. Another Czech institution, the Sokol (which means "Falcon" in English) gymnastics hall on Boat Club Road, was built on the principle of "a sound mind in a sound body." Not far away from these two institutions, on Roberts Cut-Off, the local Czech community built the National Hall. The hall, which was originally known as the Svaz Cechoslovanu (Alliance of Czechoslovaks), is now open for the occasional polka.
I first heard Ruthie Foster on the Oxford American's Texas compilation album, and she absolutely blew me away. As soon as I heard her, I couldn't believe I hadn't heard her sooner. Ruthie Foster can take you to the Delta or straight to the here and now. She has that power. I was also glad to see the lyrics to her song, "Mama Said," included in Her Texas: Story, Image, Poem & Song, a collection of works by Texan women released by Wings Press. Although I have never heard Ruthie Foster live, I did see where she (perhaps) had autographed the men's room wall at the Old Quarter Acoustic Cafe in Galveston.
Here is Ruthie Foster playing a groovy, bluesed-out cover of Black Sabbath's "War Pigs."
A German act called No Lonesome Tune and I recently made one another's acquaintance through the magic of Twitter. These guys are all Townes all day. While checking out their posts, I even saw a picture of a girl with a Townes Van Zandt tattoo on her arm. This, of course, made me happy because in Waylon County there is also a girl with a Townes tattoo, though she is purely fiction. The girl featured in No Lonesome Tune's post is apparently very real, and she plays guitar, too.
Here is No Lonesome Tune playing a very interesting interpretation of one of Townes' more well-known songs.
It came a gully washer in North Texas today. It rained so hard that the windshield wipers seemed ornamental. They did not seem to serve any real purpose. Speaking of hard rain and flooding down in Texas, I got to thinking about one time when Martina and I were in Austin early in the week and went to dinner with our ol' buddy Brent. After we ate, we happened by the Continental Club, and it turned out that Jimmie Vaughan was playing upstairs in the gallery.
So we hung out and heard this Texas legend playing with the late Frosty Smith on drums, who I remember from his Soulhat days at the long-lost Black Cat. About an hour or so into the set, it began to rain, and you could see it falling beyond the big window with its stellar view of the Austin skyline. About that time, the band started playing "The Sky is Crying." The room, which holds about fifty people, was mesmerized. I could hardly believe our luck that day.
"Britches" is one of my favorite words. Etymologically speaking, "britches" is related to the word "breeches," which hardly has the same comic appeal. Britches, in my opinion, is a word that should be used when describing virtually every kind of trouser. On the catwalk in Milan, for example, a model might be sporting "fancy britches" made by Dolce and Gabbana. On Christmas Day, many folks prefer to wear their "eating britches," a form of garment often defined by the setting of the Christmas meal. During Oktoberfest, some men wear "leather britches," which are known in some circles as lederhosen. As one can see, the word "britches" is not simply a word for the bucolic crowd. It is a word for everyone.
Yes, this is a Texas blog, and I highlight the work of Texas musicians, but I could not help posting "Britches" by Elvis the Pelvis from Tupelo, Mississippi this evening. So here is the Texas tie-in. Early in his career, Elvis not only played in big cities like Dallas and Houston, he also played in smaller towns such as Fredericksburg, Alpine, Gainesville, Sweetwater, and Paris.
Time and space are relative, and this weekend seems to be a case in point. I feel like the time passed at hyper-speed, and the weekend is now gone gone gone.
Speaking of being gone gone gone, here is Lefty Frizzell from Corsicana, Texas. He'll be the first to tell you that crying won't bring her back.
One of my great-grandfathers used to ride the rails to South Texas to pick fruit during the Depression. He was a hobo, a migrant worker, in those years, though he retired from the packing house up in Fort Worth. I did not learn of his hoboing days until he had long since passed. I can only imagine what kinds of stories he had to tell. I can only wonder if stories like Woody Guthrie or John Steinbeck might have told were resting on his tongue.
Here is some rare footage of Jimmie Rodgers, the Father of Country Music, playing "Waiting for a Train." I love this old song's storyline.
When I was writing Waylon County: Texas Stories, I began to pay a lot closer attention to the names of streets and towns in Texas. One street name that is found in many places is Lamar. Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, and Austin all have a Lamar, and there are Lamars in other towns as well.
These streets are named after Mirabeau B. Lamar, who was the second president of the Republic of Texas. Lamar was a poet, a general, and a great supporter of public education. In fact, he is known as the "Father of Texas Education." So, the next time you're cruising down Lamar, tip your hat in memory of Texas' second president.
"The cultivated mind is the guardian genius of democracy."
Valentine's Day is a great day to watch men fumble around in stores looking at flowers and nighties and jewelry and other things they are not accustomed to buying. We tend to scratch our heads, make uncomfortable expressions, and ask random women for their opinions.
This afternoon at the grocery store I was one of many men on a solo mission to bring the wife joy. Being a Valentine's Day veteran, I strolled in the store with confidence, and without asking for any female counsel whatsoever, acquired Valentine's Day goods for the lovely wife. I reckon I achieved some level of success considering that I arrived home with yellow roses and chocolate-covered strawberries in tow.
Here is a little Valentine song from Uncle Willie. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!
One day I was hitchhiking to Vienna in the snow with another American I had met in Cesky Krumlov, in southern Czech Republic, and we got picked up by a trucker at a gas station just off the main highway. The trucker spoke good English, and he told us about his son who was living in America. It was a nice, casual conversation, and it was great to see Austria rolling by from the cab of a big rig.
The snow was blowing in wild flurries, and the windshield wipers were slapping time while the radio played. About halfway to Vienna, a German version of "Me and Bobby McGee" came on the radio. It was a really nice moment, a moment I have carried with me for years, and I thought it might be a good story to share on a day celebrating our friends on the dial.
Here is Texas' own Kris Kristofferson playing what is perhaps his most well-known composition.
On this day in 1888, the inventor of the electric typewriter, James Field Smathers, was born in Valley Spring, Texas. This got me thinking about the typewriters associated with two of Texas' most well-known writers, both of whom write on old mechanical models.
Cormac McCarthy wrote about 5,000,000 words on a brave old Olivetti Lettera 32 before it finally had to be retired. The typewriter, which was replaced for less than $20, sold at auction for more than $250,000, with the profits being donated to the Santa Fe Institute.
Larry McMurty uses a Hermes 3000. My understanding is that he has them stationed in locations that he frequents. Lonesome Dove, for example, was written on typewriters in Washington, D.C. and Archer City.
These days I could not imagine composing on a mechanical typewriter. I wrote on one some when I was young, but the keys always seemed to get stuck, which tended to run off the muse. Here is a little demonstration video of a Hermes 3000. For older folks, this is nostalgia. For younger folks, this is edification.
Our ol' buddy Honza sent some pictures from the Sydney Opera House last week. I got to wondering how far that is from Fort Worth, and it is approximately 8,550 miles. That is a mighty long way. Believe it or not, there is actually a non-stop flight from D/FW to Sydney, and it is one of the longest passenger flights in the world. I hope to make that flight someday. Camping by a billabong in the outback sounds like a fine time.
If you do not yet have a copy of Waylon County: Texas Stories, here is the link:
"Stella! Stella!" I called from the bed, but our little dog wouldn't come. I kept looking down at the floor, and I could see her ears beyond my pillow. She had to have heard me. I continued to say her name, but she was not going to move, which I found strange because she always comes when she is called.
Then I sat up in bed and discovered that what I was seeing was not Stella at all. It was my boot. My eyes had clearly deceived me.
Whenever I get the blues, I pull out my guitfiddle and strum away those troubles. Here is one of my favorite songs to play on my back porch when I need a little rainbow in my heart. It is called "Don't let the Sunshine Fool Ya" and was written by Guy Clark, although the first version I ever heard was by Townes Van Zandt.
A few years ago, I was walking along a sidewalk near Bunratty Castle in County Clare enjoying the afternoon. The grass was as green as any picture makes Ireland seem, and the sun was warm and pleasant. As I walked along, caught in the moment, I heard a familiar song coming from a sound system nearby. Although the song was Irish in form and spirit, the voice was that of Texas singer-songwriter Steve Earle. At that moment, the two worlds seemed to merge in perfect harmony.
Here is Steve Earle playing the song I heard, "Galway Girl."
In the Great State of Texas, your bottom dollar is your last buckaroo. If someone says you can bet your bottom dollar on something, that means it's an absolute certainty. You can count on it happening. Nobody, after all, would want to bet their last buckaroo on something if there was a chance of being left busted flat.
Example 1:
"You reckon it's gonna rain?"
"You can bet your bottom dollar it's gonna rain. I saw a bunch of animals lined up two by two getting onto a great big boat. It's gonna come a gully washer."
Example 2:
"Hey Roy, ol' Billy Bob said he could whoop you any day of the week."
"Ol' Billy Bob's about to eat crow. You can bet your bottom dollar on that."
Here is Corsicana's own Billy Joe Shaver singing about that "Bottom Dollar."
"I can't go to sleep until I'm so tired that I can't stay awake," Blaze Foley says at the start of this video. I feel the same way, and his song, "Our Little Town," is spot on for the evening as well. I tip my hat and thank the Lord for good ol' Blaze Foley.
I usually shy from tabloid-like news on this blog, but I just happened across what I consider an exceptionally bizarre story. In 2015, a Nebraska woman weighing in at 124 lb. managed to eat three 72 oz. steaks plus all of the sides in a mere 20 minutes at the Big Texan in Amarillo. To put this into perspective, this woman could eat a four month old baby, three baked potatoes, three dinner rolls, three shrimp cocktails, and three salads in a single sitting.
I have passed the Big Texan, with its "Free 72 oz. Steak" sign, on many occasions, but I always knew in my heart that I would never be able to finish the steak in the allotted amount of time and that I would end up having to fork over $72 for the meal. In my mind, I figured that no one short of a big, burly eight foot tall cowboy would be able to finish the steak. Thus, the idea of a rather trim woman shoving back three steaks in 20 minutes left me in awe. As a side note, this same woman just ate 501 chicken wings in thirty minutes on Groundhog's Day in Philadelphia.
Here is a video of Molly Schuyler, the competitive eater, gobbling down three steaks at the Big Texan in Amarillo. I personally could not watch the entire video due to its sheer decadence as well the champion's lack of table manners, but I did want to share.
Goliad, which played an important part in the Texas Revolution, received its name by official decree on this day in 1829. The presidio and mission were originally called "La Bahia," which means "The Bay," and a legislator for the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas thought this an absolutely useless name for a place so far inland, so the change was made. And it gets more interesting. The name "Goliad" is actually an anagram for the name "Hidalgo," the priest who spearheaded the movement for Mexican independence. This leaves us with a question: Why is there no "H" in "Goliad" if it is just "Hidalgo" with the letters all mixed up? Here is my best answer. In Spanish, the "H" is always silent, so apparently the detail didn't bother anyone too much.
Here is a picture of Goliad taken on a cloudy day a couple of years ago.
According to multiple news sources, Texans eat lots of chili on Super Bowl Sunday. Some folks even have little chili cookoffs at their homes for the big game. I even heard of an informal chili cookoff that was won by sweet potato chili. And no, I'm not making that up.
Now I will be quite frank. I do not engage in debate about chili. Here in Texas, it's like debating politics or religion. Beans or no beans? You could start a thermonuclear war with that question. Or, at the very least, folks could start lobbing jalapeno missiles at one another. Anyway, if you are looking for a recipe for Super Bowl chili, I have provided you with two. Enjoy your bowl of red!!!
Happy Groundhog Day, y'all. For today's installment, I would like to discuss the similarities and differences between groundhogs and prairie dogs. In terms of commonalities, groundhogs, also known as woodchucks, as in "how much wood could a woodchuck chuck," and prairie dogs are both in the squirrel family. They have the same number of toes, and their eyes ride high on their heads. In terms of differences, prairie dogs are smaller than groundhogs, and, if you will pardon my somewhat biased opinion, much more attractive.
Okay... My opinion is not somewhat biased. It is absolutely biased. I love prairie dogs. When I was a kid, we used to go to the little prairie dog town near my grandparents' house in Hurst and watch the little fellows frolic around. And I enjoyed seeing the prairie dog town in Lubbock when I was there for a journalism competition in high school. Those little critters just make me laugh.
Speaking of Lubbock, there once was a famous prairie dog named Prairie Dog Pete out there, and on February 2nd he would poke his head out of the burrow and make weather predictions, but I do not know where he is today. I do, however, know where Punxsutawney Phil is. He's in Pennsylvania, and he saw his shadow today, which means we will have six more weeks of winter.
Here is an article about the differences between a groundhog and a prairie dog.
In parts of Europe, folks celebrate their name day, which is the feast day of the saint after which they were named. The celebration is similar to that of a birthday. Since "Heath" is not a name on the Catholic calendar, I technically do not have a name day. However, my friend Igor Heinz, the Czech composer and music historian, always called me "Hynek," an old Czech name that he found easier to pronounce than "Heath."
When Igor and I first met, we did not have a common language other than music. Still, we had great conversations. I would play guitar with Igor accompanying me on the violin, and he and I would play country songs together for hours. Although I eventually learned to speak Czech quite proficiently, it didn't change things too much. We didn't need words to understand one another.
Today is the feast of Hynek, and when I got home from work my wife gave me chocolate. The present would have come as an absolute surprise, but my mother-in-law in the Czech Republic sent me a "name day" text yesterday, which, of course, reminded me of the occasion. Since name days are not part of the North Texas culture, I always tend to forget mine, which means I get a little surprise party every year.
Here is a photograph of the late, great Igor Heinz.
