Willie Nelson's Letters to America Read online

  Willie Nelson’s Letters to America

  Copyright © 2021 by Willie Nelson

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Harper Horizon, an imprint of HarperCollins Focus LLC.

  Any internet addresses, phone numbers, or company or product information printed in this book are offered as a resource and are not intended in any way to be or to imply an endorsement by Harper Horizon, nor does Harper Horizon vouch for the existence, content, or services of these sites, phone numbers, companies, or products beyond the life of this book.

  ISBN 978-0-7852-4155-3 (eBook)

  ISBN 978-0-7852-4154-6 (HC)

  Epub Edition April 2021 9780785241553

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021930698

  Printed in the United States of America

  2122232425LSC10987654321

  Information about External Hyperlinks in this ebook

  Please note that the endnotes in this ebook may contain hyperlinks to external websites as part of bibliographic citations. These hyperlinks have not been activated by the publisher, who cannot verify the accuracy of these links beyond the date of publication

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Introduction

  “Who’ll Buy My Memories?”

  Dear America

  “Three Days”

  Dear Mama and Daddy

  “Family Bible”

  Dear Sister

  “Healing Hands of Time”

  Booger Red Gets with It

  Dear Abbott

  The Willie Hustle

  Dear Zeke

  Booger Red Gets Going

  Dear Texas

  “Texas”

  To All the Young Songwriters

  “The Songwriters”

  Dear Music Executive

  “Write Your Own Songs”

  The Hungry Years

  Dear Trigger

  “Funny How Time Slips Away”

  Dear Pocket

  “Night Life”

  The Red Headed Stranger

  Dear Paul

  “Me and Paul”

  Yesterday’s Wine

  “Yesterday’s Wine”

  A Family Band

  Dear Family Band

  Dear Audience

  “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground”

  Shotgun Willie

  “Shotgun Willie”

  It’s Not Supposed to Be That Way

  “It’s Not Supposed to Be That Way”

  A Letter from the Road

  My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

  Dear Lord

  “Red Headed Stranger”

  Back in the Saddle Again

  Dear Gene Autry

  Dear Will Rogers

  Dear Booger Red

  “Heaven and Hell”

  High on a Hill

  Dear Luck

  “Lady Luck”

  Dear Readers

  Dear COVID-19

  “These Are Difficult Times”

  Blue Skies

  “December Day”

  Dear Roger Miller

  I’d Have to Be Crazy

  To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before

  “Love Just Laughed”

  Bad Boys and Bad Girls

  “You Don’t Think I’m Funny Anymore”

  String of Pars

  Dear Golf Gods

  Thirty-Five Years of Farm Aid

  Dear Family Farmers

  “Heartland”

  The Road Goes on Forever

  “The Highwayman”

  Whiskey River

  Dear Cannabis

  “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die”

  Happy Birthday, Woody!

  Marriage Is a Four-Letter Word

  “There Are Worse Things Than Being Alone”

  Dear Kids

  “Valentine”

  Dear Santa

  “Pretty Paper”

  Band of Brothers

  Hey Mark

  “We Don’t Run”

  America the Beautiful

  Dear Founding Fathers

  “America the Beautiful”

  Dear Fourth of July

  “Uncloudy Day”

  To My Fellow Native Americans

  “A Horse Called Music”

  Mama, Don’t Let Them Babies Grow Up to Be Presidents

  “Vote ’Em Out”

  Dear Jimmy Carter

  “Georgia on My Mind”

  Dear Mother Earth

  “American Tune”

  The Power of Positive Thinking

  The Healing Powers of Music

  “When Willie Went Up to Heaven”

  Live Every Day

  “Still Not Dead”

  Dear Time

  “Come On Time”

  Bring It All Home

  Dear Willie Nelson’s Songbook

  “One More Song to Write”

  God Is a Four-Letter Word

  Dear God

  “In God’s Eyes”

  To Young Booger Red

  “Goin’ Home”

  Dear Road

  “On the Road Again”

  Permissions

  About the Authors

  INTRODUCTION

  DEAR READERS,

  Thanks for picking up a copy of my new book, a collection of fond memories, personal letters, good songs, and bad jokes. These are stories that start back when I was a kid in Abbott, Texas, and reach forward to the current pandemic, which has us locked up at home singing our own versions of “Hello Walls.”

  It’s been a long time since I wrote, “Shotgun Willie sits around in his underwear,” but it don’t seem like all that much has changed. Just ask my wife, Annie. The song of the year for married couples ought to be “How Can I Miss You When You Never Go Anywhere?”

  One good thing about the lockdown is this eighty-seven-year-old guitar picker has had time to write out a few of the stories that made me who I am, and to think about what I’d like to say to people I love, and to some I loved who aren’t with us anymore. I’ve also written to people I’ve admired or who’ve inspired me along the way.

  I’ve always been a letter writer. I spent a lot of my life on the road, so I sent notes to family to say things I couldn’t say in person. When I was young, I was taught to write thank-you letters. I could spend the rest of my life writing thank-you notes to friends, family, and my heroes, but I’d still end up leaving out someone I love. So I’ll say it now. Thank you. Every one of you. If you’re wondering if I mean you, the answer is, “Yes, I do.”

  There is nothing more important than family and friends, so this book is dedicated to all of you. I know you accept me as I am. For those who don’t know me as well, if some of my thoughts don’t hit a home run with you, you should at least know that they come from my heart. Differences are to be expected in life, especially in difficult times. Despite our differences, this is a time when remembering our common bonds and dreams has the power to bring us all back together again.

  I’ve done a fair amount of rough and rocky traveling, so I guess this is the good, the bad, and the funny. Like those jokes I mentioned, life is better when we don’t take it too seriously.

  Speaking of which . . .

  “What do you call a guitar player without a girlfriend?”

  “Homeless.”

  If you don’t think that’s fu
nny, you probably don’t know many guitar players.

  Okay, where was I? Oh yeah . . . letters! We all know the art of letter scribbling ain’t what it used to be. And grammar ain’t either. Back when you had to write or type something with your own hand, mail it halfway across the country, then wait for a reply, there was reason to invest a lot of thought into your letters. If you were good at it, those letters were like carefully crafted songs. That art has been replaced by the instant exchanges of texting, and even though I’m a champion thumb-typer, there are some things that don’t fit in the length of a tweet.

  My songwriting and producer pal Buddy Cannon and I often write songs by text, sending verses and choruses back and forth like teenagers making plans for Saturday night. That may sound crazy, but don’t knock success unless you’ve tried it. It’s a system that’s worked for us for years, and the lyrics to a few of those songs are in this book. I’m also including lyrics for some of my classic songs and a few stories about how I wrote, sold, or recorded them.

  I’m working on a new song now, but so far I only have two lines:

  If you don’t leave me alone

  I’ll find someone who will

  I don’t know where that one’s headed. But I’ll keep you posted.

  I once wrote a song called “Who’ll Buy My Memories?” And I guess I’m about to find that out. So, without any more jabber-jaw, here are my songs, my stories, and my letters to America. And a few bad jokes.

  WHO’LL BUY MY MEMORIES?

  by Willie Nelson

  A past that’s sprinkled with the blues

  A few old dreams that I can’t use

  Who’ll buy my mem’ries

  Of things that used to be

  There were the smiles before the tears

  And with the smiles some better years

  Who’ll buy my mem’ries

  Of things that used to be

  When I remember how things were

  My memories all leave with her

  I’d like to start my life anew

  But memories just make me blue

  A cottage small just built for two

  A garden wall with violets blue

  Who’ll buy my mem’ries

  Of things that used to be

  DEAR AMERICA,

  This is your old friend, Willie, sending a note to see how you’re doing and to say I’m doing fine. I’ve long believed in the positive idea of being fine and being committed to a goal of always moving forward. If I’m backing up, it’s just to get a running start. Those are words you can live by.

  But when times get tough for family and friends—and I like to think of everyone around the world as my family and friends—I sometimes look back on songs I’ve written that might contain some wisdom or maybe a laugh that still applies today. I once wrote a country song called “Three Days,” about the three toughest days of heartbreak—yesterday, today, and tomorrow. So I guess I’m thinking now about lessons I learned yesterday that would apply today and tomorrow.

  When the going gets tough and the tough need a little inspiration to get going, I think about another of my songs.

  Lord, please give me a sign

  For these are difficult times

  These really are difficult times. As for me, I’m getting bored to all hell sitting at home and wishing I was on the road making music with my friends. But my problems are small potatoes compared to many millions of people who don’t know where their next paycheck is coming from or how they’re gonna feed their families.

  I was born during your Great Depression of the 1930s, so I had some early experience with hard times. My sister, Bobbie, and I were raised by our grandparents. After my granddaddy died, times were even tougher. For Thanksgiving dinner one year, we split a can of soup! Some may not think of those as the good old days, but my grandmother, who we called Mama, was always there for us. It took love and faith and music to carry us through.

  Even today, I can hear my grandmother’s voice and her fingers on the piano keys as she played and sang “Old Rugged Cross” and Woody Guthrie’s great anthem to America, “This Land Is Your Land.” The hard times made us strong, and the good times made us stronger. Together, they made me who I am.

  Now here we are, America, eight decades later, and just like the old song, hard times have come again once more. Once again, we are trying to hold to each other and hold to your great American dream for every person. We’re trying to find what unites us—to remember our shared beliefs in family, in love, and in your democratic ideals, so we can come through as a stronger America. If we don’t find what unites us, we will once again be a house divided. We tried that once in the 1860s, and six hundred thousand Americans died fighting against each other. That should be our reminder that we need to get our shit together and remember the ways we are alike rather than focusing on the ways we’re different.

  When our nation was in mourning after 9/11, you gave me the opportunity to do my part for the live concert America: A Tribute to Heroes. That inspiring event had one of the largest audiences in television history. I followed a string of great artists—Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Alicia Keys, and many more. Then I got to lead everyone in an inspiring rendition of your beautiful song, “America the Beautiful.” As we sang onstage that evening, I felt that I could hear the television audience singing, too, a nationwide chorus raising our voices from sea to shining sea.

  To sum it all up, I’d like to amplify across America the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “Let freedom ring!”

  From a hilltop in Texas,

  Willie Nelson

  I wrote this song when I was in a bar with my friend Zeke Varnon. An old drunk came up and asked for some money. He said, “I ain’t had nothin’ to drink in three days: yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” I gave him some money, laughed, and wrote this song.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS

  by Willie Nelson

  Three days that I dread to see arrive

  Three days that I hate to be alive

  Three days filled with tears and sorrow

  Yesterday, today, and tomorrow

  There are three days I know that I’ll be blue

  Three days that I’ll always dream of you

  And it does no good to wish these days would end

  ’Cause the same three days start over again

  Three days that I dread to be alive

  Three days that I hate to see arrive

  Three days filled with tears and sorrow

  Yesterday, today, and tomorrow

  There are three days I know that I’ll be blue

  Three days that I’ll always dream of you

  And it does no good to wish these days would end

  ’Cause the same three days start over again

  Three days that I dread to see arrive

  Three days that I hate to be alive

  Three days filled with tears and sorrow

  Yesterday, today, and tomorrow

  DEAR MAMA AND DADDY,

  I hope you forgive me for taking so long to write. I also hope this letter finds you both in your “shining city on a hill,” though I suspect the heaven you’ve found is on a prairie with a white-framed house and a porch, a guitar, and a piano. You were my grandparents, but you raised Sister and me, and the names Mama and Daddy were perfect for you.

  Sometimes when I slow down and pay close attention, I can feel Daddy placing my hands on the frets of that first guitar he gave me when I was just six. It was only a Stella from the Sears & Roebuck catalog, but to me it was the world. Daddy, you taught me how to play the D, A, and G chords, the building blocks of country music. And look what happened. You were a big man, and I remember your bass voice singing, “Where have you been, Billy Boy?” I remember you working hard in your blacksmith shop. After the flu and pneumonia took you, those chords and that music have never been far from my side. Neither have you.

  And Mama, if I close my eyes, I can still hear you singing, “Rock of ages, cleft f
or me.” I’d give about anything to really hear your voice again, and for you to see how me and Sister Bobbie turned out. For Bobbie is a glorious wonder, as beautiful now as she was as a girl, and filled with the spirit of music and love that you gave to us both.

  After Daddy died—with me just six and Sister Bobbie only nine—you never let us doubt that there were good things ahead for us. Whenever hard times found me, I remembered the examples you set and the lessons you taught me. I still do.

  Truly the Nelson family has been blessed. I’ve had eight wonderful kids and a whole bunch of grandkids and great-grandkids, and I’m proud as buttons of every one. I don’t know if you can see them all, but I see you in all of them. Daddy too. My friend and teacher Reverend Taliaferro used to say there is no such thing as death. When I look at all the Nelson generations that still carry the two of you with them, I know that it’s true.

  You taught me a lot, and I’ve tried to pass some of that to my family. Back in Abbott—at home, at school, and when I worked in the fields—I learned the importance of believing we could do anything we wanted to do. If we worked hard enough, you said, we could become whoever we dreamed of being.

  I dreamed of being a songwriter and musician, but I also knew that I wanted to be surrounded by family. You instilled that in me, and though my parents were young and didn’t stay together, I came to know their love as well.

  Each in their own way, my kids have carried on our family traditions of music and love. As America recently committed to staying at home for the general health of all, I’ve been fortunate to hunker down at my home outside of Austin, with my wife, Annie, and our sons, Lukas and Micah. The boys have their own bands and have toured with me and many others. They miss being on the road just like I do, but in the evenings, when we pull out our guitars, we pass the hours playing and singing our favorite songs. And we all know this extended time together is a blessing.

  Sixty years ago, when times were hard for me, I went to see my mother at her new home in Oregon. While I was there, I started writing a song that sprung from you, Mama and Daddy, and from that little frame house in Abbott, Texas. The song I wrote in Portland was probably the first truly good and lasting song I’d ever written. And it was called “Family Bible.”