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• 2 • Action Magazine, March 2018

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Spring Specials

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• DEPARTMENTS •

• FEATURE •

Editor & Publisher ................Sam KindrickAdvertising Sales ....................Action StaffPhotography.............................Action StaffDistribution............................Ronnie ReedComposition..........................Elise Taquino

Volume 43 • Number 3

Action Magazine, March 2018 • 3 •

advertising is worthless if you have nothing worth advertisingPut your money where the music is. . .

Advertise in Action Magazine

I have been performinglive country music full-timeor part-time since 1969. Ihave performed on stagesbehind chicken wire,dodged thrown beer bot-tles, and even had patronsdestroy furniture at the

end of a good-time Satur-day night. Nothing muchsurprises me. But, much to my sur-prise few years back Ibegan singing periodicallyat Heavenly Pho, a Viet-namese restaurant on

Blanco Road in San Anto-nio. As it turns out, thosefolks love country music. After my cancer diag-nosis last summer, I wasforced to cancel all per-formances for a while andjust returned to HeavenlyPho last month. It was agreat venue when I firststarted there, and, undernew ownership, it still is.The food and service areoutstanding. It was my good fortuneto return to a packedhouse, but I cannot takecredit for that. While anumber of my followerscame, many, many morepeople came, because itis a great restaurant thathappens to book livemusic. And, that’s what I wantto write about. In today’s ubercompet-itive restaurant market,many proprietors are look-ing to live music perform-ers to bring thembusiness. Live music per-

formers, on the otherhand, are depending onthe venue to have a crowdthat will add to the per-former’s income and num-ber of followers. Gee, I wish it were thatsimple for both parties, butit isn’t. There is a com-bined energy in the pro-motional efforts made byboth the venue and theperformers. Working to-gether, better things canhappen for both parties. Ithink the word I’m lookingfor is synergy. I have had the pleasureof working synergisticallywith Patrick Flores whoowns and runs Las Chi-ladas Mexican Restaurantfor a number of years. I re-spect his views, and I be-lieve he respects mine. Heruns a tight ship with greatfood and service, just likeHeavenly Pho. He evenhad a stage with lightingbuilt to accommodate livemusic and comedy eventshe books frequently.

There are countlessother venues and perform-ers in synergistic relation-ships throughout the city,but no amount of synergywill create and sustainsuccess without the sup-port of customers. Thereare noble efforts beingmade at the state andlocal level to help San An-tonio become known as amusic-friendly city. But, the danger thatpresents itself in my mindis this: if every venue intown featured live music, itwould be so easy for lis-teners to take each per-formance for granted,because it would becomeso common. All of the livemusic performers I knowput a lot of effort into whatthey do to entertain audi-ences to help relieve thestresses of daily living. It is, therefore, incum-bent upon the listeners topause and think aboutwhat life would be likewithout live music in public

performance. In my opin-ion, traffic noises fromcongested roadwayswould be a lot harder todeal with. So, please sup-port those venues that dooffer live music, and take amoment to stop and smellthe music by acknowledg-ing the efforts of the per-formers. Some of us are not allthat secure. ... Jim Chesnut, foundingpresident of the Texas LiveMusic Association, is a formermajor label recording artistand staff songwriter withAcuff-Rose Music in Nashville.After 25 years away from themusic business, he began per-forming in and around San An-tonio in 2008. Since then, Hehas self-produced and re-leased four CDs. Since Janu-ary 2016, he has had fiveconsecutive Top-10 nationalindie country singles, three ofwhich reached #1 in the Top-40chart of IndieWorld CountryRecord Report. He has been afreelance contributor to ActionMagazine since the beginningof 2016. Contact info:[email protected]


Chesnut says ‘stop and smell the music’


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I am sad to report that famed evangelist BobHarrington is gone. I just learned that he died of kidneyfailure on the Fourth of July at his daughter’s home inStigler, Oklahoma at age 89.

This is the celebrated Chaplain of BourbonStreet known for his television debates with worldrenown atheist Madalyn Murray O’Hair.

The Reverend Bob was my friend. He was bestknown in San Antonio for closing down the infamousGreen Gate strip joint on North St. Mary’s Street, thenleading Green Gate owners Guy and Evelyn Linton intothe Castle Hills Baptist Church where they remainedfaithful members until their deaths.

Several years after that fateful night in theburlesque house, the flamboyant preacher returnedto San Antonio where he was to co-star with GaryP. Nunn and the Lost Gonzo Band at Sam Kinrick’sOutdoor Revival and Music Extravaganza on thebanks of the San Antonio River south of the city.This was the sequel to the World ChampionshipMenudo Contest I had promoted in Raymond Rus-sell Park, featuring Willie Nelson and some 30 otherbands.

I met Bob Harrington that night in 1968 whenhe chased the devil out of the Green Gate. We becameinstant friends. I was writing for the Express and News

back then, and the Lintons wanted the world to knowthat they were turning their lives over to Jesus Christwith the Bourbon Street Chaplain’s blessings.

The script had been written before Harrington’sthunderous strip joint sermon: There would be no morealcohol drinking and no more naked female bodies inthe Green Gate. I can distinctly remember Candy Cane,the Green Gate headliner at the time, blushing and try-ing to cover her tits with a T-shirt. Poor little Candy didn’tknow whether to spit or go blind. The Reverend Bobwas wound tight and hitting on all cylinders.

I was drinking heavily in those days, and Itold Evelyn Linton over the telephone that Iwouldn’t cover the Green Gate closing event unlessI could drink beer. The Lintons wanted the dailynewspaper ink in the worst way, so a concessionwas made.

With much fanfare, I was allowed to drink thelast alcoholic beverage ever consumed in San Antonio’sinfamous Green Gate. It was a Falstaff beer.

After Bob’s sermon, the Lintons paid off theirstrippers and bar staff, and hung a sign on the GreenGate’s entrance which read: Closed Forever. See youin church.

Harrington became a well-known evangelistduring the 1960s and 1970s following his conver-sion to Christianity at age 30 in his hometown ofSweet Water, Ala. He was a popular guest on na-tional television shows including Phil Donahue,Merv Griffin and The Tonight Show due to his one-liners and unconventional religious wit. In the1970’s, Bob met famed atheist Madalyn MurrayO’Hair.

The two could not be more polar opposite peo-ple. “Yes, many may say Madalyn knows the Scripturesbetter than I do, but I know the author,” said Harrington.The unlikely duo toured 38 cities debating the existenceof God.

You can listen to some of these rancorous wordduels by Googling Reverend Bob Harrington and Mada-lyn Murray O’Hair.

“Do you mean to say,” Madalyn asks, “thatyou actually believe that all of these dead peoplewill crawl up out of the ground and start walkingaround with us? We certainly don’t need them. Wehave a population explosion as it is.”

To which Bob replied: “I believe in God becauseI want to believe in God, and that is your answer, Mada-lyn.”

I had interviewed Madalyn O’Hair in the Ex-press and News city room shortly after her lawsuit thatended prayer in publi schools. Like Harrington, she wasa hard act to follow when it came to outrageous flam-boyance, and the two of them entertained the country-

side if nothing else. In 1960, after only a few years of preaching

throughout the South on flatbed trailers and in tents,Harrington moved to New Orleans Baptist TheologicalSeminary with his wife Joyce, and daughters, Rhondaand Mitzi.

During his time in seminary, Harringtonserved as assistant pastor of First Baptist Churchof New Orleans with J.D. Grey and continued hisministry as an itinerant evangelist. In a chapel serv-ice, NOBTS President Leo Edleman said, "Whereverthere is a pocket of sin, there is a mission field, andthe nearest Christian to it is a missionary." Accord-ing to Harrington, "the nearest pocket of sin wasBourbon Street."

Harrington had begun a street ministry armedwith a microphone and a Bible. Several months laterdeacons at First Baptist New Orleans loaned himenough money for a few months' rent to open a chapelon Bourbon Street in the heart of the French Quarter.Harrington began witnessing and preaching in the barsand strip clubs of Bourbon Street.

And in 1962, Mayor Victor Schiro proclaimedhim "The Chaplain of Bourbon Street."

Harrington's street ministry message was boldand simple. "God loves you just as you are. He knowsyou are a sinner and wants to save you. Don't figure itout. Faith it out.”

Before long his unorthodox story reached Dou-bleday Printing. "The Chaplain of Bourbon Street," writ-ten by Harrington with Walter Wagner, was published in1969. Harrington went on to publish seven more booksand released more than 30 record albums.

The sermon album "Laughter, Truth and Music"was released in 1965 and Harrington was presentedwith a gold album for more than $1 million in salesworldwide. Later he received a second gold album for"Chaplain of Bourbon Street," a recording of his first tel-evision show.

But Bob Harrington was to fall out with hisfaith and hit bottom after divorces and bankruptcy.He says the devil threw him a pass which he caughtand ran into defeat. He said he came back to Godfor good before retiring to the home of hisyoungest daughter, Mitzi.

When I telephoned him more than a year ago,Mitzi answered and asked how I was getting on.

I told her I hadn’t had a drug or a drink of alco-hol in 27 years.

“Hey, Daddy,” she called out, “Sam says he has-n’t had a drink in 27 years.”

Bob’s evangelical bass boomed in the back-ground;

“Praise the Lord.”I will never forget the Chaplain of Bourbon

Street.


Sam Kindrick and Rev. Bob Harringtonat Action Magazine’s Outdoor Revivaland Music Extravaganza.

By Hector Saldaña Before there was Willie,before there was KingGeorge, there was JerryJeff Walker. Forty-five years agothis summer, he embodiedoutlaw country and red-neck rock with the album“¡Viva Terlingua!” He was arguably itsmost influential proponent.Certainly, Walker isamong its most menacingand wild talents. Before that, he’d beenmainly known as thedrifter folk singer-song-writer who wrote andrecorded “Mr. Bojangles”and settled in Austin in1971. His breakout album,recorded with the LostGonzo Band in August1973 at LuckenbachStore, captured lightningin a bottle and definedwhat it meant to be a pro-gressive country, party an-imal, cosmic cowboy. “Jerry Jeff was moreoutlaw than Willie everwas,” recalled Augie Mey-ers, who first met Walkerat a miserable, rain-soaked outdoor racetrackgig during those earlydays. “He was fucked-updrunk and dropped hisTelecaster in the mud.” Walker, Meyers re-members, simply pickedup his electric guitar andtold the drenched crowd,“Shit happens some-times.” “¡Viva Terlingua!” wasequally loose, unpre-dictable and inspired. It’s abible to some. Music criticThom Jurek called it “the‘Live at the Fillmore East’of redneck, Texas folk-rock.” There’s no argument itwas a seminal record. Hip-pies and rock ‘n’ rollersstarted wearing cowboy

hats and drinking LoneStar longnecks. Shit kick-ers let their hair down andgot high. Jerry Jeff’s songs onthe record were first-rate,from the woozy ditty “San-gria Wine” and the lovely“Little Bird” to the harrow-ing “Wheel,” which was re-ally about witnessing thedeath, when he was ateen, of his maternalgrandfather in a tractor ac-cident. But it was Walker’s in-stincts and uncanny abilityto pick songs by unknownAustin songwriters that ef-fortlessly suited his voiceand vibe that really was ondisplay. There was Ray WylieHubbard’s “Up Against theWall Redneck Mother,” atongue-in-cheek answerto Merle Haggard’s “OkieFrom Muskogee.” “Red-neck Mother” became arowdy anthem, albeit onewhich would become analbatross for Hubbard,who was more of a bluesyfolkie, deep down. Hecouldn’t escape it. In a mid-1970s inter-view, Walker revealed thathe’d winged the lyrics dur-ing “Redneck Mother.” “Like when we spelled‘mother,’ we just made itup,” Walker explained tojournalist Jack Handyabout the famous part ofthe song in which “mother”is given its rowdy mean-ing. “We used to say ‘T isfor titty. E is for enema.” Guy Clark’s “Despera-dos Waiting on a Train”played into the imageWalker was creating, rightdown to Walker’s hand-made Charlie Dunn boots. The same was truewith Michael Martin Mur-phey’s “Backslider’s Wine”

and Gary P. Nunn’s “Lon-don Homesick Blues.” Who didn’t wanna gohome with the armadillo? Two years later, pho-tographer Melinda Wick-man captured one of themost enduring images ofWalker at the height of hisfame. He’s sitting atop ahorse, smiling at the cam-era, wearing an openwestern shirt and tippinghis hat. It was for the coverof the “Ridin’ High” album. The title was literallytrue, professionally andpersonally. He’s a littlebleary-eyed if one looksclose. Walker, mercurial ashell, had gotten a reputa-tion for drunken cocaine

binges and an explosivetemper and ego. Action Magazine’s pub-lisher/editor/columnistlived through, and partici-pated in, those crazeddays and witnessed andchronicled those tantrums,guitar-smashing outbursts– and the genuine song-writing genius. “I was getting dogdrunk with Jerry Jeff whenhe wrote ‘Night Rider’sLament’ out behind theLuckenbach Store,” re-called Sam Kindrick, whoranks Walker as “one ofthe best songwriters I evermet.” Both men never likedeach other much andviewed each other withsuspicion, although they

were to eventually learn totolerate each other. “NightRider’s Lament” ended upon “Ridin’ High.” Walker wasn’t alwayslike that. And thanks to hiswife and manager, SusanWalker, he got straight inthe mid-1980s and will becelebrating his 76th birth-day on March 16. His buddy, the late BudShrake, the respectedjournalist and screen-writer, never thought ol’Jerry Jeff would make it to50. An exhibition at TheWittliff Collections at TexasState University – “¡VivaJerry Jeff! The Origins andWild Times of a TexasIcon” – sheds new light onthe legendary and influen-

tial singer-songwriter.Itruns through July 8. The exhibit is based onWalker’s massive archive.It contains handwrittenlyrics, letters, posters,photographs, journals,stage outfits, the mastertapes of his entirerecorded catalog and rareartifacts. In January, The WittliffCollections acquired hisearliest known recordings– New Orleans coffee-house performances inthe summer of 1964 whenhe was working under analias and a reel of originalsongs (some unpublished)from December 1965. Both captured Walkertalking about the songs.

Continued on pg. 9


Wild assedWalker stilloutlaw icon

There will never be but one Jerry Jeff Walker.

The mono, quarter-inchreel-to-reel tapes havebeen digitized and will beavailable to researchersand to the public and willbecome part of the exhibit. Many fans aren’t too fa-miliar with Walker’s folksinger period when he

was better known bythe alias Jerry Ferris.

The 1964 record-ings reveal a talkin’

blues performer still in hisformative stages andheavily under the influ-ence of Woody Guthrieand Bob Dylan. Some of his lyricstouched on civil rights,urban renewal and the

anti-war movement. Nodoubt, some fans wouldn’trecognize his voice orLightin’ Hopkins-style gui-tar picking. By 1965, he settled onthe name Jerry JeffWalker and his true voicebegan to emerge. The 1965 recordings,true song demos, wouldlater be re-recorded and

re-arranged for his stint inthe Houston psychedelicacid-rock act Circus Max-imus and solo records.Some remain unpub-lished. Walker’s road to be-coming a Texas musicstar was unlikely. Inmany ways, it mirrorsDylan’s path. Both lefttheir rural home

towns when they wereyoung, changed theirnames and took over vi-brant, if chaotic, musicscenes. Dylan became the dar-

ling of the

Greenwich Village folk andpoetry scene barely intohis 20s. Walker’s conquestof Austin would comemany years later.

Jerry Jeff Walker continued from pg 7

Continued on pg. 14


Old Action photo of Jerry Jeff and wife Susan.

Young Jerry Jeff was known as RonCrosby when this early photo wastaken.

In his youth, Walker hitched and rodethe rails. He looks downright happyabout it in this early photo.

Jerry Jeff in his prime.

Jerry Jeff and Bob Livingston of theLost Gonzo Band harmonize onstage at Willie Nelson’s July 4 Picnicat Gonzales.

The Upstate New York kid wanted tobe a cowboy when he was 6. Fromthis shot in 1948, Jerry Jeff Walkerevolved into a country music figurelike no other.


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By Sam Kindrick Let this serve as a SamKindrick sidebar to the

Jerry Jeff Walker cover

story for this issue of Ac-

tion Magazine. The article on Walkerwas written by Hector Sal-dana, formerExpress/News musicwriter who is now curatorat the Wittliff Collection atTexas State University inSan Marcos. The Wittliff is now fea-turing a collection of worksby Walker, the onetimemercurial Texas song-writer icon who is knownfor writing such monsterhits as Mr. Bo Jangles andnumerous others. This Scatter Shots col-umn is customarily writtenin the third-person, butSaldana wanted a SamKindrick take on theWalker story, largely be-cause (here goes the firstperson writing style) I wasa part of the “redneckrock” insanity of the 1970sand 1980s which starredsuch musician rebels asWillie Nelson, Ray WylieHubbard, Rusty Wier,Kinky Friedman, B.W.Stevenson, Billy JoeShaver, Gary P. Nunn,Willis Alan Ramsey, andJerry Jeff Walker. I was tight with Willieback in those halcyonyears of Texas music’s ref-ormation. The hippieswere melding with the shitkicker country owlhoots,drinking Lone Star, smok-ing weed, and snortingcoke off pocket mirrorsand pickup hoods. Willie,Waylon,”and the boys” hadput Luckenbach, Texas onthe national map, andGary P. Nunn’s song Lon-don Homesick Blues had

everyone wanting to gohome with the armadillo. Those were headytimes. We were all goingto live forever, and thebumper stickers that readE Pluribus Willie soundedgood for even those whodidn’t understand a wordof Latin. Jerry Jeff Walker and Iwere both close to HondoCrouch, the legendaryimagineer and owner ofLuckenbach, who was amediator of sorts whenWalker and I got our gal-loping egos in out of kilterpositions. And such wasthe case that drunken af-ternoon out behind theLuckenbach Store whenJerry Jeff and I came asclose to blows as twocommode-hugging, knee-walking drunks could pos-sibly come without everthrowing a single punch. Two of Walker’s mostobnoxious and irritatingcharacter defects involvedguitars and cowboy hats.For reasons known only toWalker, he was known tosmash expensive guitarsthat he owned againstbarns, rocks, and treestumps, often shatteringthe hearts of young, poorand struggling musicianbystanders who wouldcould only dream of own-ing such an instrument. Walker’s other infuriat-ing distinction involved hisperverse habit of crum-pling, stomping on, andotherwise disfiguring cow-boy hats belonging toother people. Me espe-cially. The incident whichcharacterized the strangefriendship between meand Jerry Jeff came afteran entire day of harddrinking out behind the

Luckenbach Store. Jerry was writing histune Night Riders Lament,trying out lyric lines on meand a few others, when hereached over the picnictable where we were sit-ting to snatch the brandnew Resistol straw hat Ihad just purchased the

day before. “This ain’t a real cow-boy hat until it gets brokenin,” Walker said, twistingand crumpling the hat intoa wrinkled glob of brokenstraw. “Now it looks like ahat.” With that, he threw myhat under the table, mak-ing a feeble attempt tostomp on it from his woozysitting position. Although Walker wasknown for Texas cowboysongs, I knew that he was

born and raised in upstateNew York. And I never lethim forget it. “Okay, Yankee boy, getyour ass up from thattable.” Walker struggled torise. He was too drunk toget off the table bench. I had every intention of

hitting him in the mouth,but I couldn’t get up either. We could do nothingmore than sit and slobberand cuss each other. Andthat’s what we were doingwhen Hondo Crouchwalked out of the store toadmonish us: “Well, I can see a realblood bath in the makinghere. I want both of you tocrawl to your trucks andsleep it off.” Walker and I didn’t seeeach other for several

months after the drunkenhat incident. Then hecalled up to invite me toparticipate in a film projectrequested by the BritishBroadcasting Company.This, I figured, was JerryJeff’s way to makeamends for the hat fiasco,although he didn’t offer tobuy me a new hat. What interested theBBC in a Jerry JeffWalker/Luckenbach filmwas never clearly defined.But Luckenbach ownerHondo Crouch was theborn showman whohelped set it all up. The plan called forJerry Jeff to be filmedwhile picking and grinningand swapping yarns withhis Texas cronies aroundthe wood-burning stove inthe Luckenbach store. His “cronies” were to in-clude me, Crouch, aspir-ing cowboy actor RustyCox, and cowboy cartoon-ist Ace Reid. What transpired wasthe horror of Luckenbach. The BBC reporter wasan unsuspecting Brit ladywith red hair who had noidea what she was into.Neither did her cameraman. First off, Ace arrived tofall out of his truck amidsta shower of empty beercans and one whiskeybottle. He had a driverwho brought him fromKerrville. Apprised of the plan,Jerry Jeff balked immedi-ately. The BBC peoplewanted to put a time limiton the film session.“We ain’t actors” Walkerfumed to Crouch. “Tellthem we can’t do it with atime limit.” The red haired Britishreporter was getting antsy.

Rusty Cox, a cowboy gad-fly and aspiring actor, wasall but begging Jerry Jeffto comply. Rusty could seehis chance to star on TV inGreat Britain slippingaway. At this point, I hadlost what little interest Ihad in the doomed proj-ect. Ace was drunk and get-ting drunker, while HondoCrouch was all but frantic.He wanted Luckenbachon British TV. Jerry Jeff had beendrinking steadily, and hehad probably had morethan a few whiffs ofColombian marching pow-der along the way. “Why are we here?” J.J.was heard to say. “Theyain’t paying us. I say to hellwith it. Who wants to be onTV in England anyway.” At this point, I can dis-tinctly recall the red hairedBritish reporter asking AceReid about the wavy grayflora hanging from limbson the oak trees at Luck-enbach. That there is Spanishmoss, lady,” Reid drawledas only he could drawl. “Oh, my,” said the BBCreporter, “what is it for?” “The Indian womenused it when they wasmensturating,” Ace said.“They poked it up theirpussies.” While the BBC crewhurriedly packed up theirfilm gear, I recall themournful sound ofHondo’s voice. “Awwww, Ace...”Crouch was near tears. By this time, Jerry Jeffhad disappeared. And so had the chancefor any of us to appear onBrit TV.


Two drunks on the microphone,Jerry Jeff and Sam.

By Jim Chesnut Sometime in the late1970’s a rough-runningvan owned and driven bySan Antonio’s Bill Greenlimped to the curb in frontof my home in Henderson-ville, Tennessee, a home Iwas told that had once be-longed to either LesterFlatt or Earl Scruggs. Idon’t remember which;after all, it was the 70s,and I don’t remembermuch of the 70s. Anyway, Bill and hisband, The Texas Greats,showed up expecting meto be able to get themback on the road, which Idid in short order. You seeback then, I moonlightedas an aircraft mechanic ata Cessna dealership inGallatin, Tennessee. So much for having amajor label recording con-tract. Anyway, I deftly diag-nosed the problem, andsoon, they were on theroad back to San Antonio. If I had been in theirshoes I would have said a

prayer of gratitude thatthey weren’t flying in oneof the airplanes I workedon. Here’s the way BillGreen tells it. “I remember first meet-ing Jim Chesnut around1980 (give or take). Atthat time, the band and Iwere coming back fromGreenville, Tennesseefrom a gig and the vanwas on its last leg of a fuelpump. I was goingthrough Hendersonvilleand called my pal, JohnWesley Ryles. He said,‘Give Jim Chesnut a call.He’s a purdy good me-chanic.’ “So I did and we crip-pled the van over to Jim’shouse, and he was gra-cious enough to help usget it running well enoughto get to Memphis. Oncewe got to Memphis, webroke down on a Sundayafternoon in the middle ofthe bridge over the Missis-sippi River, in the middleof August. Ugg.

“Well, a station wagonwith three Nuns stoppedto pick me up and take meinto West Memphis to anauto parts store where Ibought a new fuel pump.Mike Kennedy was playingdrums with me at the time,and he, too, was a purdydang good mechanic. Heput the new pump in andthe van ran another100,000 miles before wefinally retired that ’78Dodge van. “Thank you Jim for get-ting us to Memphis and, ofcourse, for your friend-ship.” A drummer fixed it!Egad. Not even a real mu-sician. Nothing personalMike. I tell this story to illus-trate what a miracle life is.It is indeed a miracle thatBill and I are still friendsafter my 60-mile warrantyon curbside van repairsexpired. I’m glad Bill has madeit this far. He and his wife,Debbie (married since

1978), are true troopers inthe tough-as-Hell Texasmusic business as ownersof BGM Studios and Deb-bie Green Promotions. Ac-cording to Bill, he startedBGM in 1979 (known thenas Texas Greats Promo-tions) in one of the bed-rooms in their home, butby 1980 found an office torent that was locatednearby. “We hired a lady to runthe booking and start ourpublishing operations. Weloved that lady, MarilynVon Steiger. She used towork for the ‘infamous’Huey Meaux before com-ing to BGM. I learned a lotof publishing businessfrom her. Anyway, around1982 my second son,Tyler, was born and I de-cided it was time to leavethe road and concentrateon the music businessand be with my family. “And so the multi mil-lion-dollar venture began(HA!!). Debbie finally quitteaching school and came

into the proverbial musicbusiness promotingrecords. Yes,RECORDS.(vinyl) Actuallybefore she retired fromteaching, she started pro-moting my records on aregional basis then got se-rious and started workingthe Billboard charts onother acts around ‘84. “Our pal Bobby Jenk-ins’ single, “BlackJackWhiskey” was her first bigBillboard single. Bobbyand I have a lot of goodstories to tell about thatera. Anyway, the early 80spaved the way for what Iam still doing today. It’sbeen quite a ride and yes,we have truly beenblessed,” according to Bill. Those involved withTexas/Red Dirt music areindeed blessed by Bill andDebbie’s presence in theindustry. When I askedDebbie to give me somebackground she ex-plained, “The music youare talking about is themusic that has become a

genre since the formationof the Texas Music Chartback in 2000. “The Chart was createdto emphasize the artistsand groups that were play-ing all over Texas andOklahoma in the dance-halls and clubs in bothstates. It became a sort ofdefined ‘genre’ when PatGreen’s distribution com-pany, could not get recordstores (you rememberthem vaguely don’t you?)to carry his records, be-cause he was not gettingairplay on radio. “Major radio stationshave never played much‘independent’ music. Theysure weren’t playing a guywho basically pressed hisown cds and sold themout of his trunk at all of hisshows that were held in allthe college towns acrossthe state. The part theyreally missed was thatthere were as many as10,000 screaming college


Continued on pg. 13

Bill and Debbie Green at their San Antonio recording studios. Note wallpainting of ‘Trigger,’ Willie Nelson’s well-worn Martin guitar.

Green Machine hangs tough in recording scuffle

kids at these concerts thatwere standing in front ofthe stage singing everysingle word! “ Following up, I askedher to briefly explain howthe charts work. “The chart was startedby Shane Media in Hous-ton,” she said. “A panel ofradio stations was put to-gether that agreed to re-port the number of spinsof each ‘Texas/Red Dirt’

song they played eachweek to the Texas MusicChart; and, they postedthe top-50 songs eachweek. “The Texas RegionalRadio Report Chart camealong a few years laterand they posted the top-100 songs each weekwhich gave more artists achance to be seen. Thestations report the spins ofthe Texas/RedDirt singlesthey played; they areadded up and the stationwith the most spins is #1and it goes down from

there. “There are terrestrialstations, Internet stations,and syndicated showsthat report their spins tothe chart. The chart com-piles only the Texas/Red-Dirt singles. As I saidbefore, the idea of thechart was to bring thegroups that were playingall over the two states tothe radio, so the artistsand clubs could be morevisible.” Note: The Texas MusicChart no longer exists,probably as a result of the

death of its founder, EdShane, in 2015; howeverThe Texas Regional RadioReport is still being pub-lished by its founder, DaveSmith, a former nationalmajor label record pro-moter. When I asked Bill andDebbie to describe thecurrent state of theTexas/Red Dirt industry Igot two different answers. According to Bill, “In myhumble opinion The stateof the scene is…TheSUPPLY HAS EX-CEEDED THE DEMAND!

Oops, sorry for yelling.Poor musicians today areworking for less moneythan we got paid in theearly 70s, if they can get agig. There is a basic eco-nomic law. It’s called ‘sup-ply and demand’. Oversupply, less demandequals less money for thesupply. And there ya haveit.” On the other hand,Debbie’s answer is morepromising, “The TexasMusic scene is starting its18th year. The availabilityof technology has made it

seem easy to createmusic, so now it is easierthan ever for musicians torecord music and put it outthere to the public. Thescene is strong. “We have about 15-20core well known acts thatare selling lots of recordsand drawing really bigcrowds. There are morefestivals than ever beforegiving fans a great placeto see a wide variety ofacts over several days. “The state of Texas


Continued on pg. 14

The Greenscontinued from pg 12

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music is strong. God blessTexas Music.” So naturally I asked,“Are there enough record-

ing studios to cover thesupply side of the eco-nomic situation?” Bill said sarcastically,“More studios??? Sure,why not? That’s what weneed. After all, almostevery band has a com-

puter, a DAW [digital audioworkstation], a few mics intheir bedroom or garage,and enough knowledge tobe dangerous. And, byhaving more studios wecan compete with moregarages and bedrooms.

Yep, that makes perfectsense to me.” To know Bill is to appre-ciate his sense of humor,in my opinion. Debbie calmly replied,“You don’t need more stu-dios anywhere to promote

a scene. Robust industrycomes from robust peo-ple! Get out and enjoy livemusic, recorded musicand different music.” To which I must reply,“Amen, Sista. Where everyou’re preachin’ I’m in.”

... Jim Chesnut is a free-

lance contributor to Action

Magazine and writes a

monthly column titled

Music Matters.

Walker said in a Januaryinterview he didn’t mindthose hard-luck times. “It let me become me,”he said. Figuring out who“me” was, wasn’t easy forthe rebellious loner. Walker was bornRonald Clyde Crosby onMarch 16, 1942 inOneonta, New York, asmall town in upstate NewYork. From a young age,he showed a love of cow-boys, music and sports. His maternal grandfa-ther, Clyde Conrow, andhis wife, Grandma Jessie,were musical. He playeddrums; she played piano.Jerry Jeff’s mom and auntwere singers. Clyde Conrow boughthim his first guitar, a usedHarmony for $80. YoungRon picked up a ukuleleand learned chords fromthe owner of a pizza hang-out. Ron Crosby was aflat-out sports stud, play-ing baseball and basket-

ball, but excelling at bas-ketball on the championOneonta High School Yel-lowjackets. He was often featuredin the city newspaper’ssports pages for his scor-ing, and he made head-lines when he twisted anankle and might miss agame. He was that good. Crosby sang in thechoir and in a teen doo-wop group called theChymes. After graduating in1960, he languished andanguished about gettingstuck in Oneonta. Hebutted heads with his par-ents. He tended bar at aplace called Jerry’sLounge where he be-friended the 1940s and’50s Harlem jazz andbebop musician andrecording artist KirbyWalker, whose last namehe eventually took. (JerryJeff also admired actorClint Walker and adoptedhis black cowboy hat stylefor awhile). Crosby joined the New

York Army National Guardin 1961. Because he wastoo young to legally drinkin bars, he used the draftcard of a fellow guards-man named Jerry Ferrisas a fake identification. He began hitchhiking tosee the country. In Febru-ary 1963, Crosby wentAWOL with only a Martinbaritone ukulele andsatchel and kept the aliasJerry Ferris. For two years,he used that alias. He triedthe name Jeff Walker butthat didn’t stick. This is the most myste-rious and tantalizing timeof Walker’s development.He is constantly hitchhik-ing across the country butmost often in New Orleansand in Texas during theearly and mid-1960s. For example, when hefirst hit the French Quarterin ’63, he’s a street singerplaying baritone ukuleleand singing songs like theMills Brothers’ “Up a LazyRiver” and the KingstonTrio’s “Scotch and Soda.” He’s dirt poor and stay-ing in flophouses or

shacking up with girl-friends. He befriends ayoung married couple, Jayand Anne Edwards, whoencourage him and arethe first to record him for asongbook project. On July 5, 1965,Walker is arrested in theFrench Quarter for publicdrunkenness, bookedunder his real name, andspends hours in jail withan old white drifter calledBojangles. It’s that incident whichleads him to write “Mr. Bo-jangles.” The characterwas a composite of thestreet performers anddown-and-out people he’dmet. In them, he found hu-manity and dignity. When “Mr. Bojangles”was released in 1968,after Walker’s short-livedstint in Circus Maximus, itproved to be the breakhe’d longed for – and des-perately needed. His determination hadpaid off. His parents werehappy with the newfoundsuccess but not with hislong-haired looks during

“his hippie stage,” as hisyounger sister described. “I thought he lookedcool,” recalled CherylCrosby Harder, who re-membered she was theonly one in the family whowould walk beside him inpublic. The case can be madethat without “Bojangles,”Walker’s impact in Austinwouldn’t have been thesame. It allowed him to ar-rive with critical acclaimthat matched his hard-knock drifter experienceand reputation as a toughloner. Austin was ripe. “He was one of the firstto come to Texas and ex-ploit it,” Meyers recalled.“Doug (Sahm) had comeback, too.” Robert Shelton, theNew York Times folk musiccritic who first wrote aboutDylan in 1961, champi-oned two unknowns in thesummer of 1968 as prom-ising artists to watch –Joni Mitchell and JerryJeff Walker.

“(Walker) veers towarda hip-country style, folkishmodern Nashville in amanner that recallsWoody Guthrie, BobDylan, Roger Miller andother rural rambler-bum-blers with a funny hat, abeat-up guitar and headfull of lyrics,” Sheltonwrote, praising his gentleintrospection and lilt whichdraws one “into his cos-mos.” He still has that abilityonstage, though he’s beenailing of late. Walker wasdiagnosed with throat can-cer last summer and hasreceived treatments. His legacy, archived atThe Wittliff Collections,and his recordings (someof them yet to be heard),are the enduring gravita-tional pull of the originalcosmic cowboy.

... Hector Saldaña is thecurator of the Texas MusicCollection at The WittliffCollections at Texas StateUniversity.


Where to find Action Magazine

Greenscontinued from pg 13

Jerry Jeff Walkercontinued from pg 9

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I have recognized Sam Kindrick’sbrillance, insight, and unfetteredstance to tell the truth in any situation since he worked for theSan Antonio Epress-News. Samis a wordsmith who turns thewritten page into art. He is agreat iconoclast. Sam is a personthat I consider a sounding boardfor almost every situation thatlife throws at me. I greatly re-spect and honor his friendshipand support.

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