The Facts of Life Read online

  I said, “Right. But now I have to come up with seven thousand dollars just to get the son of a bitch home!”

  Billy said, “Right.”

  Now I have to find a place to put him. I got an idea. I still owe Faron Young a fat calf, and this is one of the fattest he could ever get. So I had Bill Polk, the gentleman who worked for me and took care of the livestock, to load him up and take him to Nashville. He took him right to Faron's office and left him in the trailer, in the parking lot.

  I called Faron and told him his calf was out front.

  “What calf ?”

  “How soon we forget,” I said. He called me back later to say thanks, and that this was the heaviest bull he'd ever seen. He said he was going to make a fortune in breeding fees. I thought, Right.…

  PAMPER MUSIC WAS a companyowned byRayPrice and Hal Smith. Hank Cochran and I were out behind the offices in a garage that had been turned into a sound studio and a place to write. There was no phone, one window, a piano, and a couple of guitars. Maedell Sandusky, the secretary, came in and told Hank he had a phone call. By the time Hank had gotten back from his call, I had written “Hello Walls.” If Hank hadn't gotten that phone call we would have written it together and it would have been half his. We laughed a lot about the phone call that cost him half of “Hello Walls.” I mayhave laughed a little more than Hank did.

  We did write songs together though. One night we were in the basement of my house in Ridgetop. We wrote seven songs. One of them is called “What Can You Do to Me Now?” The next day my house burned down.

  What Can You Do to Me Now?

  What can you do to me now

  That you haven't done to me already?

  You broke my pride and made me cry out loud

  What can you do to me now?

  I'm seeing things that I never thought I'd see

  You've opened up the eyes inside of me

  How long have you been doing this to me?

  I'm seeing sides of me that I can't believe

  Someway, somehow, I'll make a man of me

  I will build me back the way I used to be

  Much stronger now, the second time around

  'Cause what can you do to me now?

  The Party's Over

  Turn out the lights, the party's over

  They say that all good things must end

  Call it a night, the party's over

  And tomorrow starts the same old thing again

  What a crazy, crazy party

  Never seen so many people

  Laughing, dancing, look at you, you're having fun

  But look at me, I'm almost crying

  But that don't keep her love from dying

  Misery, 'cause for me, the party's over

  Once I had a love undying

  I didn't keep it, wasn't trying

  Life for me was just one party and then another

  I broke her heart so many times

  Had to have my party wine

  Then one day she said

  “Sweetheart, the party's over”

  I WAS AT A CHRISTMAS PARTY AT Lucky Moeller's office. I get a phone call from my nephew Randy, who was at the house in Ridgetop. He said, “Uncle Willie, the house is burning.”

  I said, “Is everybody OK?” He said yes. I then said, “Pull the car in the garage and get out.”

  Sure enough, when I got there, it was burning pretty good. There were fire trucks, police cars, and a lot of other people. I ran in through the back door and the kitchen was full of smoke, firemen, policemen and I don't know who all. I walked down the hall to a closet, picked up my guitar and a bag of weed, and ran out the back door, giving the weed to a friend who ran to the woods and hid it.

  Everyone had gotten out of the house OK and they put the fire out before it reached the garage. Too bad, too, it was a piece-of-shit car. I moved to Texas.

  Texas

  Listen to my song

  And if you want to sing along

  It's about where I belong

  Texas

  Sometime far into the night

  And until the morning light

  I pray with all my might

  to be in

  Texas

  It's where I want to be

  It's the only place for me

  Where my spirit can be free

  Texas

  AFTER THE HOUSE BURNED IN RIDGETOP, I moved to Austin. I thought about Houston first because Connie's family lived there. But after visiting sister Bobbie in Austin, I decided this was a better spot for me. The weather was better, the hill country was beautiful, and the Austin music scene was well under way with Jerry Jeff Walker, Steve Fromholz, Michael Murphey, Gary P. Nunn, and just a lot of great fans.

  I was playing Big G's in Round Rock, a cowboy/redneck good-ole-boy-and-girl beer joint. I saw a couple of long-haired cowboys in there. Very interesting, I thought. Then I went to the Armadillo World Headquarters, and there I met a lot of long-haired cowboys and cowgirls who liked to drink a beer and listen to country music. I saw two audiences in the same area, separated by what was called a generation gap. The old and the new coming together, or trying to come together. They were finding common ground, country music.

  I called Waylon. I said, “Waylon, you're the luckiest son of a bitch alive just to know me. I'm gonna save your ass again. Come to Austin.” And, of course, when the Armadillo crowd heard Waylon they loved him at first sight. They could relate. Here's another crazy, talented lost soul looking for new friends. And he found them. We both did. Long live Austin, Texas, the Armadillo World Headquarters, and, of course, Big G's, where the heart of two worlds came together.

  WAYLON WROTE most of this song, but I took half.

  Good-Hearted Woman

  A long time forgotten

  Her dreams have just fell by the way

  And the good life he promised

  Ain't what she's living today

  But she never complains of the bad times

  Or the bad things he's done, Lord

  She just talks about the good times they've had

  And all the good times to come

  She's a good-hearted woman

  In love with a good-timing man

  And she loves him in spite of his ways

  That she don't understand

  Through teardrops and laughter

  They'll pass through this world hand in hand

  This good-hearted woman

  In love with a good-timing man

  He likes the night life, the bright lights

  And his good-timing friends

  And when the party's all over

  She'll welcome him back home again

  Lord knows she don't understand him

  But she does the best that she can

  She's a good-hearted woman

  In love with a good-timing man

  “Outlaws”

  IN THE EARLY '70S, the name “Outlaw music” was given to some of us by Hazel Smith, a friend and writer in Nashville. I wanted Hazel to tell you in her own words how it happened.…

  During '72 and '73, music by Willie, Waylon Jennings, and a bevy of cosmic creators began to find itself on the side of the majority. Hippies and lawyers, rednecks and suits, sat side by side on the Texas ground and dug Willie Nelson, Billy Joe Shaver, Jerry Jeff Walker, et al. It was unlike anything I had ever seen in the three decades I'd been in the music business.

  In the beginning, radio sparsely programmed the music. Three stations had the balls to play only “Progressive music,” as we called it for lack of a better term, and they were in Ashboro, North Carolina; Flint, Michigan; and Austin, Texas. Like western swing, rhythm and blues, and bluegrass, I knew the music needed a hook. “Progressive” was too uppity and prissy.

  Searching out names for the genre, “Renegade” wasn't bad. But if you read Webster's, you'll find it's not good. “Outlaw” crossed my mind time and again. Perhaps the Lee Clayton song, “Ladies Love Outlaws,” was the inspiration. I can't say,
but I can say I looked up “outlaw” in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, and the one line that jumped out at me was, “Living on the outside of the written law.”

  Outlaws and solid citizens (left to right): Ray Stevens, Waylon Jennings, me, Bobby Bare, Glen Campbell, and Ralph Emery in 1990 in Nashville.

  Waylon frowned, Willie shrugged. Tompall Glaser said, “Don't tell nobody you named it.” Truth is, those guys just wanted to pick, sing, and make a living. I'll tell you how great Outlaw music was. The creators are in the Country Music Hall of Fame. Enough said? Enough said.

  —Hazel Smith

  April 9, Williamsport, Pennsylvania, 9:30 P.M.

  I MADE A BIG RUSH TO GET TO my pen and paper to write something brilliant. Now I've forgotten it. Oh well. It couldn't have been that brilliant.

  The other day a lady golfer came into the pro shop complaining of a terrible beesting. “Where did it sting you?” asked the golf pro. “Between the first and second hole,” she cried. The pro said, “Well, the first thing, your stance is too wide!”

  We had a great golf game today, me, Bee, Poodie, and Paul. We met a lot of nice people at the golf course. They made us feel right at home, and for four old guys, we didn't play too badly.

  Scooter Franks came by the bus and we talked and laughed awhile. Scooter and his brother, Bo, have been handling the concessions on the road with me for many years. Scooter drives along behind the buses every night. He travels every mile we do, and does a terrific job of hawking swag. I let him read a little from this book today, and he laughed in all the right places. Thank you, Scooter.

  I'VE BEEN WATCHING the stock market go up and down for several years. It's like “follow your bouncing money.” I don't own any stock at this time, so I can watch and sing along. A lot of the guys in the band own stock, and it's interesting to see how they've aged. Paul English told me today that he has already lost half a million dollars in the stock market this year. I thought that was really bad, but I said, “Paul, you're the only drummer I know who can say that.”

  They all have that “leave it alone and it will be fine” attitude. I'm beginning to think they're right.

  Did you hear about the nervous bank robber? He walked into the bank and yelled, “Stick up your ass or I'll blow your hands off !”

  Paul Simon is on TV doing “Graceland” with all the original African backup players and singers. It is wonderful! I recorded that song a few years back. Paul called many years ago, I suppose after he had cut the song in Africa. I had heard the song before, of course, and Paul thought I should record it. I thought it was a wonderful song, but Paul had already done it. He called a few years later and asked me again to consider recording “Graceland.” This time I thought I'd better do it.

  I was in the middle of recording a CD called Across the Borderline, produced by Don Was. When I mentioned “Graceland” to Don, he thought that Paul should produce it. This was a good idea, and I did the best I could, but in my mind I feel that my version wasn't nearly as good as Paul's. This was, and is, his creation, and can only be done by him. This is just my opinion, and of course opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one.

  DID YOU HEAR about the guy in the bar who stood up and said, “All lawyers are assholes!”? Another guy stood up and said, “I take exception to that remark, sir!”

  The first guy said, “Are you a lawyer?”

  The other guy said, “No, I'm an asshole.”

  Ninety-nine percent of the world's lovers are not with their first choice. That's what makes the jukebox play.

  Summer of Roses

  A short time I have to be with you my love

  But a short time is better than no time you see

  So I bring to you all my possessions

  And would that you'd share them with me

  I bring you one springtime of robins

  One springtime of robins to sing

  And I bring you one summer of roses

  One summer of roses I bring

  I bring you one autumn of dry leaves

  Dry leaves will be helpful you know

  To soften the fall of your snowflakes

  When I bring you your winter of snow

  She's Not for You

  Pay no mind to her

  She only wants to play

  But she's not for you

  She's not for you

  And I'm the only one

  Who would let her act this way

  But she's not for you

  She's not for you

  So she told you she found heaven

  In your eyes

  Well I think it only fair to warn you

  That sometimes she lies

  But it's your heart

  I can't tell you what to do

  But she's not for you

  She's not for you

  She just looks for greener pastures

  Now and then

  And when she grows tired she knows Old Faithful

  Will just take her back again

  So just leave her here

  I'm used to feeling blue

  She's not for you

  She's not for you

  You Left Me a Long, Long Time Ago

  You tell me today that you're leaving

  But just think a while

  I'm sure that you must know

  Today might be the day that you walk away

  But you left me a long, long time ago

  Today's just the day that ends it all

  Except the usual memories

  That always linger on

  And today might be the day that you walk away

  But you left me a long, long time ago

  I stood with helpless hands

  And watched me lose your love

  A little more each day

  Then it was gone

  And I kept wondering

  Just how long until this day would come

  Just how long could your pride keep hanging on

  So please don't say you're sorry

  Don't say anything

  Don't try to say why you must leave

  Just go

  And today might be the day that you walk away

  But you left me a long, long time ago

  Permanently Lonely

  Don't be concerned 'cause it's time I learned

  But those who play with fire get burned

  But I'll be all right in a little while

  But you'll be permanently lonely

  And don't be too quick to pity me

  Don't salve my heart with sympathy

  'Cause I'll be all right in a little while

  But you'll be permanently lonely

  The world looks on with wonder and pity

  At your kind

  'Cause it knows that the future is not very pretty

  For your kind

  For your kind will always be running

  And wondering what's happened to hearts

  That you've broken and left all alone

  We'll be all right in a little while

  But you'll be permanently lonely

  Running lonely

  Half a Man

  If I only had one arm to hold you

  Better yet, if I had none at all

  Then I wouldn't have two arms that ached for you

  And there'd be one less memory to recall

  If I'd only had one ear to listen

  To the lies that you told to me

  Then I'd more closely resemble

  The half a man that you've made of me

  If I had been born with but one eye

  Then I'd only have one eye that cries

  And if half of my heart turned to ashes

  Maybe half of my heartaches would die.

  If I only had one leg to stand on

  Then a much truer picture you'd see

  For then I'd more closely resemble

  The half a man that you've made of me

  So Much To Do

  My oatmeal tastes just like confetti
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  The coffee's too strong so forget it

  The toast is burning, so let it

  There's just so much to do since you've gone

  Too much to do all alone

  My tie's lost and I can't find my sweater

  There's the doorbell, I hope that's your letter

  My head aches, I hope I feel better

  There's just so much to do since you've gone

  Too much to do all alone

  So much to do since you've gone

  Too much to do all alone

  And time, time rolls on like a river

  And oh there's just so much to do

  And I just can't do without you

  Country Willie

  You called me Country Willie

  The night you walked away

  With the one who promised you a life of joy

  You thought my life too simple

  And yours was much too gay

  To spend it living with a country boy

  I'm writing you this letter

  I write you every day

  I hope that you've received the ones before

  But I've heard not one word from you

  And every day I pray

  That you will not forget your country boy

  While you're living in the city

  With riches at your door

  Is this your love, is this your kind of joy?

  Or do you find there's something missing

  Does your heart cry out for more?

  And do you sometimes miss your country boy?

  A cottage in the country

  With roses around the door

  Could not compete with flashing city lights

  But it's all I have to offer

  Except for one thing more:

  A heart so filled with love that it could die

  Well, it's time to end this letter