Bayou Texan – Episode I
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Cabin
The cabin is rectangular with two rooms off each side where if stood upright the structure resembles a cross. It’s one-of-a-kind in the piney woods. To look out a window, canebrakes grow snug against the glass while outside the exterior is clapboard warped and peeling from the tug of vines. They creep inside and come up through the plank floor. And where the crossbars meet a deep freeze serves as the only furniture to be found.
Shuletta Foshee . . . my cousin is here. And she’s brought me to tie up loose ends. I’ve never met great-uncle Jesse. Nor am I aware the crackle from a skillet is to mark our first encounter. At this moment the spirit of Jesse Byrd spry, smiling with a wink, shimmers beside a cast iron stove. Barefoot, pants legs rolled up, Thomas Jesse Byrd Senior is a visitation fryin’ catfish.
You might think that a sign or premonition. And I would tend to agree.
Southland
I’ve been away now for a long time
Southland do you remember me?
Comin’ home is really all I have in mind
I miss your company
Take me Southland I wanta go
Right over yonder
Where that Cane River flows
Not too far from here
Just a ways up the road
Fish are jumpin’
I do declare
A scent of honeysuckle
Lingers in the air
White Cape Jasmine
Fill their blossoms everywhere
Devil Mountain
(Instrumental)
Kenny Ray
“It’s kinda hard to uh . . . find a starting point. But I’ve heard about John A. Murrell since I was five years old . . . big enough to understand what was goin’ on. And uh . . . there’s no doubt in my mind that John A. Murrell was one of the biggest crooks and scoundrels and murderers that I’ve ever heard of . . . I think he was worse than Jesse James and the Younger Boys all rolled in together.”
PROLOGUE
Nashville, Tennessee
1968
Never seen anything like it. Southern Red Oak, Maple, and Ash. Yellowwood and Buckeye. Thirty to forty feet tall they line to form a canopy of forest green above the road.
After dark they transform. Under glow of mercury-vapor, streets become a network of tunnels that wind the hills. West End to Hillsboro Village and Music Row . . . the Hermitage, Natchez Trace, and Belle Meade. Music City is a whole new world. My personal haunt to come of age.
Least till now, life has pretty much stayed on course. Time-wise, that is. 1950 journey kicks off in a world of flatland dust. The High Plains. Hub City, Texas, where streets are squared in a checkerboard under vast open sky. Here and there tree bent from the wind. That’s what I’m used to. Start out a sawhorse cowboy, then Davy Crocket. World is black and white. Lone Ranger, The Stooges and Twilight Zone on TV. Me and my buddies chase tumbleweeds in vacant lots.
But you know . . . not as though I’ve never seen a forest. Early days . . . most of the ‘50s I go back and forth from flat land cottonfields to piney woods northwest Louisiana. Two-lane blacktop all the way. I ride with Mom and Cousin Shuletta. And we go visit Granny, Grandad, and my southern kin.
Country folk. I’m thinking about them right now. Music City, Nashville is full of down-home, good-natured folks with southern drawl. Same as my aunts, uncles, and cousins round Shreveport. Especially the Norsworthys . . . Paw Paw, Aunt Florence, cousins Tood and Kenny Ray down in Kisatchie.
Uncle Sib comes to mind, too. He’s the family musician. Got them big ears. Plays fiddle and mandolin. Can even pull a tune out of a handsaw. By mid ‘60s . . . ’65 to be exact I’m playing guitar myself. Rock-and-Roll. Got a natural feel for psychedelic haze. That’s how I come to Music Town. And to be honest why tonight all this has changed. Time-wise that is.
Nashville, Tennessee
1834
I’m used to what Shuletta calls . . . visitations. Long as I can remember we’ve seen apparitions . . . phantoms that come and go. Though, tonight I’m confused when the asphalt corner of Acklen Avenue and Natchez Trace transforms. What has been heart of Music Row is now a dusty lane where the shimmer of a young man bout my age is tied to a post. Long hair, fierce look in his eye . . . under torchlight a posse of ghosts . . . shadow men dressed frontier hold him down and take a hot iron to his thumb.
Music City
1972
It’s over in blink of an eye.The illusion . . . if that’s what it is. Spooky scene fades in a time warp. All out of sorts, feelin’ sick . . . find myself at this moment in the alley behind Red Dog Saloon off Music Row. Got a bloody nose, holding my broke-neck guitar. Psychedelic world of Rock-and-Roll ain’t workin’ out. Far as that goes, I’m done . . . through with music. Leavin’ home for West Texas tonight.
Funny thing though. Haven’t noticed till now the historic marker by the street where I come of age. Been there all along. Just never paid no mind where now under glow of mercury-vapor it reads,
“John A. Murrell
6 mi. S lived the Notorious Bandit and Outlaw
1804 – 1844”
Clip clop of houseshoes brings a sudden chill. Tap on my shoulder . . . air turns foul. Now I’m choking’ on stench of a cold-eyed shadow . . . rears on hind legs to gallop away through tunnels of forest green.
Dr. Simon told me I should write this down. Said it might help. Just might do me good.
Jacksboro Highway
Lanny Fiel
Down Jacksboro Highway
Out One-Ninety-Nine
Stands a little white cross
By the roadside
Jacksboro HighwayUnderneath the big sky
It’s a bright shiny day
Not a cloud in sight
Leavin’ Fort Worth
Been this way a thousand times
BAYOU TEXAN
A Memoir of Known Facts
By Robert Alan
PART I
THE JOURNEY
Hub City to Shreveport
Mom told me to hold it in or pee in a can. She’s just not gonna stop the car.
Mostly, I fidget and jabber calling, “Red Horse!” Where first one to count ten red cars gets a lemon drop. Shuletta gives me a swat if I cheat. But like always, she lets me win.
Rick
“I don’t know how many times a year. Usually, probably about a couple at least every year . . . we would go to Shreveport.
“Of course, we’d go through Dallas it was the old . . . the old Jacksboro Highway and then you go through . . . had to go through Dallas . . . I think it was actually a toll road . . . turnpike through there you had to pay . . . but there was an old road, too. But we went over there pretty often.”
Now the Green Frog Café
Ain’t in the same place
Not where I recall
A time we come through late
Rollin’ off a mesa
Drop into the draw
Musta been someplace else
It’s been awhile
It’s an extra-long haul for a kid.Hub City to Shreveport, Louisiana. Jacksboro, Ft. Worth and Dallas go smooth. After that, it’s a drag. Towns in East Texas are so few and so small it’s hard to even remember their names.
Mom . . . Shuletta’s Aunt Audrey . . . she can’t wait to get back home. Granny and Grandad . . . all my aunts, uncles and cousins will be there. For me it’s a chance to get spoiled rotten. For Mom, it’s her way to keep me grounded with family and something other than solitude, dust, and wind.
Ethyl
“Uh . . . do you remember the first . . . uh dust storm you ever waked up to?
“Well, I do. I was sleepin’ upstairs . . . and uh . . . I woke up next morning and my bed was just the . . . funniest lookin’ thing. And down on the floor oh . . . it went . . .
“I had a window right on the northwest, and it just filled up and I never heard . . . I didn’t know what it was that happened.
“So, I got downstairs and got the paper . . .”
High Plains Voodoo
It’s that High Plains voodoo
Casts a spell on you
Where wind calms to whisper
Then leaves with a whiff of déjà vu
Just outside the town of Quitaque
Buffalo ghosts haunt dry river sand
Where they roam in all directions
Through tourist’s courts
Cross Llano land
It’s that High Plains Voodoo
High Plains Voodoo
Rick
“Probably about three or four weeks and every Friday there’d be a storm?
“And there was tornados . . . in the area. And . . . and you know . . . and it was kind of scary you know cause, it really was . . . all this purple and black looking stuff everywhere . . .”
“I remember just watching them here out south it was just . . . you know you could see it was a big snake. You know, it was really cool, you know . . .
“See, there’s one over there! See how far away that is . . . you know . . .
“That’s miles away. There ain’t nothin’ out there but cotton fields. See, look at the way it’s going . . .”
The Adobe Clinic
‘Bout halfway Shuletta cracks the window for air and takes the wheel. Me, I’m counting phone poles. They remind of where I come from on the High Plains.Back there on a clear day the sky is a gigantic blue dome above an adobe house.
My folks . . . Dr. Charlie the Yankee and Audrey Ellen from the Sugar State . . . they built it to be a clinic . . . an overnight hospital. Walls outside are stucco with vigas . . . pine timbers that stick out and follow the roofline. Inside, there’s a waiting room with an earth oven fireplace, Indian pottery . . . wrought iron fixtures with dark blue, white, and red corn hanging from the timbers.
Audrey Ellen
“The Vigas that they . . . in the ceiling. In the . . . they stuck out about that much on the outside. Built just like Santa Fe. You’ve been to Santa Fe.
“And uh . . . it took a while to do it. But I laid the floor . . . the floor in the big lobby. I laid the random oak floor and . . .
“Do you believe that?”
“Uh huh.”
Sometimes . . . like now I watch the Adobe shrink in the west while a ‘Dust Devil tries to keep up. Mom . . . Audrey Ellen the Registered Nurse wearing starch white with her folded cap. She’s busy with patients . . . tucks me in an exam room for the afternoon. I sneak out down the hall. And sometimes an old Indian with a weathered face is waiting in the lobby.
Joe Toya
Lanny Fiel
If I could talk to Joe Toya
Standin’ here today
I think we could work it out
Set the record straight
Take a walk in the cornfield
Sift a grain of truth
If I could talk to Joe Toya
He’d know what to do
Rick
“His name was Joe Toya. He was an old . . . he was a pretty old guy. God he was a lot older than you know . . . than Dad.
“And I remember we went over once they had a corn dance. I don’t know what you call their adobe house . . . this house you know . . . a dirt floor.
“Joe Toya was the man’s name. He was his friend.”
Feast of Our Lady of the Angels
Jemez Dancers at Pecos
Audrey Ellen
“We went up to the uh . . . some kind of festival . . . Indian festival . . . the Indian . . . the corn dance.
“And uh . . . we started goin’ every weekend to get ideas. And he met Joe up there uh . . . somewhere close to Santa Fe. Then uh . . . he’d go up and visit with Joe and take ‘im . . . Joe would take him fishing. And uh . . . they got to be good friends.”
Joe Toya
Other side of Big D Mom’s got her second wind. Talkin’ how she and Dad met at Parkland Hospital in ’38. They fell in love, got married . . . moved out west where they met the old Indian. Wise and weatherworn Joe Toya showed ‘em how to make bricks from mud. They brought the timber from Santa Fe . . . built the clinic in a West Texas cotton field.
Joe Toya
Lanny Fiel
Start out with a roll call
Of things left undone
Oaths and broken promises
Races never run
High above El Valle
Cloud cross in the sky
Square account with destiny
Embrace the magic eye
Audrey Ellen
“Carmen came out and we’d take this long tool . . . I don’t know what you call it . . . had a handle on each end and . . . and uh it was a knife. And I peeled logs.
“Carmen and I sat out there and peeled logs till we’d get so tired we’d just come home and . . . and uh we’d uh . . . peel logs till we just give out.
“And he was uh . . . somebody who felt you should work till you dropped.
“And we dropped.”
Another phone pole goes by. I’m sneakin’ where Dad’s X-Ray machine prowls a dark corner. It casts the shadow of a prehistoric insect. Just before it knows I’m there I slip off to the lobby. Folks all over West Texas . . . farmers, ranchers . . . roughnecks from the oil patch . . . they’re here for Dr. Charlie to cure their ills.
Charlotte
“I just remember that my impressions of the office. I mean . . . everything was so big you know . . . everything. And then . . .”
Audrey Ellen
“So, we’d have . . . we had a big Waiting Room. That’s where I laid the floor. And uh . . . uh they’d all come at once and visit. The whole . . . I . . . I wouldn’t have enough seats for people to sit.
“They’d be sitting out on the front porch and all in the . . . all the seats in the Waiting Room. And he . . . if he enjoyed somebody’s hmm . . . talking well he’d keep ‘em and hour. They’d sit there and talk. And it’d make me mad.
“So, I’d go knock and I . . . I’d say . . . uh . . . ‘Time’s up.’”
Me, I’m like Dad. Love to visit. I’m making the rounds . . . talkin’ and talkin’ . . . talkin’ . . . buggin’ the old timers. Now here comes Mom. Diggin’ her fingernails into my wrist. Scoots me along while the leather face of Joe Toya cracks a dry smile.
Joe Toya
Lanny Fiel
If I could talk to Joe Toya
Standin’ here today
I think we could work it out
Set the record straight
And when floods
Crash the arroyos
Lay it all to waste
Could well talk to Joe Toya
And find another way
That Whistle in the Night
Robert Swanson
“Oh, diesel queen of the glittering rail,
Pride of the streamline train,
Your throbbing pistons rule the grade
Where once was Steam’s Domain.
The iron horse has spent his day,
Now fades his thundering might;
But diesel, diesel save for me
That whistle in the night
The Super Chief
Lanny Fiel
Yonder comes the Super Chief
Warbonnet silver, yellow red
‘Long mountainside
Windin’ prairie canyon land
Full steam ahead
Westbound Pacific
Hair parted by the wind
‘Hoe-boys’ hang the breeze
Breathless in suspense
At razor edge
Where rainbow’s bend
Catchin’ on the fly
Caprock spirits risin’ high
All board The Super Chief
California do or die
Railroad Crossing
Looks like we’ll be here awhile. Flashing red lights keep time with the warning bells. I’m up and at ‘em watching the line of freight cars rumble clickety clack.
It’s a special treat. Endless stream of tank cars, gondolas and hoppers roll by. I know ‘em all. Every crossing we play a game where Shuletta and I call out their names.
Railroads always get me goin.’ Two blocks from Granny’s there’s a trunk line. And when we get to Shreveport I’ll curl up on the front porch, listen to ‘em talk while fireflies’ blink and the whistle blows.
Jan, Dick and Brenda
“I decided that two most lonesome sounds in the whole world was an old steam engine going through the old pine woods off in the distance and everything. And that sound comin’ through the woods and everything . . . that was the most lonesome sound.
“Or an old cowbell way off you know . . . like it was . . . you know how a kid’s imagination and everything. I imagine that cow trying to find his way home.”
“Lookin’ for a lost calf.”
“That panther out trying to eat ‘im and all that stuff.”
“Aw . . .”
That Whistle in the Night
Robert Swanson
Silence forever – if you must –
The roar of steam and fire.
Let soulless men be satisfied
With the growl of a diesel flier.
The clanking rod and roaring stack
Forever fades from sight;
But diesel, diesel save for me
That whistle in the night.
Out of the Blue
They come and go in a blur. Long hair parted by the wind. Three kids, teenagers runnin’ alongside an empty boxcar. They grab hold . . . jump through an open door. And for a split second in the backdrop the Adobe Clinic comes into view.
It’s a sandy day. Tucked in for the afternoon like always I’m dreaming of having my very own electric train. Silver warbonnet yellow, red the Santa Fe Super Chief is heading west where I am safe, and everything is brand new
“Caboose!” Shuletta hollers.
Crossbar lifts, bells ringin’ loud that last car fades with those three boys . . . one with a guitar . . . they shimmer and toss a careless wave.
The Super Chief
Lanny Fiel
Cisco and Woody
Slingerland Guitars
Swap tunes cross the boxcar floor
Cold nights
Set the planks on fire
Desert moonlight
Arizona sand
Pass by while night crawls
Time on our hands
That Whistle in the Night
Robert Swanson
Oh, let me hear that plaintive wail
Across the lonely plains,
Or feel the snow-clad peaks fling back
The voice of thundering trains.
Then in my soul there stirs a peace
That tells me all is right
So, diesel, diesel save for me
That whistle in the night.
The Super Chief
Lanny Fiel
Yonder comes the Super Chief
Warbonnet silver, yellow red
Long blindside
Windin’ the extreme
Hangin’ by a thread
INTERLUDE
Jacksboro Highway
Lanny Fiel
Down Jacksboro Highway
Out One-Ninety-Nine
Stands a little white cross
By the roadside
Jacksboro Highway
Underneath the big sky
It’s a bright shiny day
Not a cloud in sight
Leavin’ Fort Worth
Been this way a thousand times
Through the canyons
To the Caprock shelf
Turn off the radio
Thinkin’ to myself
Couldn’t a been more than three years old
Ridin’ took so long
Stood up on the backseat
Great Plains Life
Twistin’ in a dust storm
Little paper flowers
Faded from the rain
Brighten a gravel pit
Cross the passin’ lane
Now the Green Frog Café
Ain’t in the same place
Not where I recall
A time we come through late
Rollin’ off a mesa
Drop into the draw
Must have been some place else
It’s been awhile
I remember Aunt Ora Belle
Takin’ that trip
Dropped peanuts in our cokes
Then took a sip
We called out, “Red Horse!
First one to ten.”
Now I’m countin’ crosses
Thinkin’ ‘bout where I been
Down Jacksboro Highway
Out One-Ninety-Nine
Stands a little white cross
By the roadside
Jacksboro Highway
Underneath the big sky
Kimber
“Growin’ up we didn’t vacation per ser. You know . . . you didn’t go to Disneyland or anything like that. We’d all pile in the car and drive ten hours out to Shreveport.
“And we’d get there and doggone it was so humid comin’ from West Texas.”
This Side of Natchitoches
Lanny Fiel
Yeah, this side of Natchitoches
Gettin’ by pretty well
Sure ‘nough this side of Natchitoches
Gettin’ by least far as I can tell
Some folks here
This side of Natchitoches
Been around since the flood
Mind their business
Rarely do act up
Cane River runs in their blood
Come from
Down the Notchy Trace
Out where the cypress stand
True believers marchin’ with the Saints
On their way to Glory Land
Ann
“The highlight was when Audrey came home. Then everybody came to Granny’s. (‘Yep’)”
PART II
TWO HOMES IN TWO WORLDS
Shuletta wakes me up when we get there. 2615 Murray Street, Shreveport, Louisiana. Far cry from High Plains desert. Hot and steamy. Back of my T-shirt’s soaking wet. I open my eyes to a little clapboard house under a canopy of forest green. Granny’s rockin’ on the screened in porch, toothless smile. Aunt Ora Belle and Aunt Christine . . . full of hugs and kisses. And look over there. Penny the notched eared cat is climbing that big elm tree.
Country Song
Lanny Fiel
Hey big city
With skyscrapers tall
Has it crossed your mind?
Have you givin’ thought at all?
That there might be something missing
Behind those concrete walls
Have you ever heard
A country song?
Jan, Ann and Robert Alan
“Well Chris really had this ol’ uh . . . Siamese Cat . . . and uh . . .”
“Her name was Penny.”
“Granny never liked that cat.”
“Had the ear.”
“She’d walk by and . . . and that ol’ cat would walk by Granny and Granny would be . . . grab it and twist its tail and . . . and my . . . my kids just went crazy.
“And Granny would start that silent . . .”
“Little belly laugh. That little belly just shook.”
“She . . . she was so pleased she made kids laugh.”
Homegrown
All my southern kin . . . everybody’s come to see me.
I’ve got more aunts, uncles and cousins. And as they come and go Ola Mae is keeping dinner hot on the stove.
Rick
“Of course, dinner in the south is lunch. That was really the big meal. There’s always a bunch of good stuff there . . . and uh.
“It was a lot of fun seein’ all the family and hearin’ all the stories . . .”
Kimber
“And it was just non-stop goin’ down to Natchitoches . . . and. And just goin’ doin’ a lot of sittin’ around listenin’ to people talk. And . . . and whenever your Mom and my Grandmother and Aunt Florence . . . those sisters would get together . . . Good grief they could tell stories and . . .”
Charlotte
“You know when . . . when people were still alive . . . the family was still alive, and we were going over a lot it wouldn’t be an hour after I was over there that I would start talking like this.
“And they can make so many syllables out of every word . . . “
Country Song
Lanny Fiel
Well, if you truly listen
You’ll hear those hollers ring
Or a prairie song
That you might want to sing
Snapshot
Provencal, Louisiana
Mr. Bill
“We have uh . . . several varieties of pine trees. We have the Loblolly. We . . . we have the Slash. And we have the Short Leaf Pine. And then we have the Longleaf Pine. The Longleaf Pine is a beautiful tree. All of ‘em are beautiful. But the Longleaf Pine is real pretty.”
I don’t know how we got everybody into the car. We’re on our way to the old place near Provencal. Aunt Orie, Christine . . . Mom and Shuletta . . . twin cousins Jan and Jannie. They’re talkin’ and carryin’ on. And I’m ridin’ shotgun. I’ve never been in the country. Tall pines, thick on either side of the road, it’s a whole new world . . . a whole new world for a kid from the flatlands.
Jan
“Well bayou . . . Bayou Blue was uh . . . just oh . . . probably less that a mile from where Granny and Grandpa lived. And you’d walk up to the road and walk down the road that way . . . until somebody knew . . . that . . . that tree is where you turn off.”
Audrey Ellen
“My mother would uh . . . take us out into the woods. And we knew every shrub . . .
“Yeah.”
“And every tree. And we’d gather hickory nuts and walnuts . . . black walnuts . . . and wild plums and wild sloes . . . and . . . just everything. We could’ve lived off the land.”
“Yeah.”
“And we mostly did.”
“Did . . . yeah . . .”
Country Song
Lanny Fiel
Well, I could go on and on
Talkin’ ‘bout the home folk
‘Bout dust bowls and freight trains
And a life you’ve never known
But in this world we’re livin’
That don’t know right from wrong
You’ll find comfort
In a country song
There’s always comfort
In a country song
Audrey Ellen
“Do you remember the Cape Jessamine bushes . . . (yeah) . . . by each side of the gate?
“They grew way out like this. I can still see ‘em.
“Yeah, me too. Me, too . . . smell ‘em.”
Country Guitar Blues
(Instrumental)
Vowells Mill
Early Days
The old place at Vowells Mill is built on blocks with a crawl space underneath. There’s a railing each side of the steps that leads to the front porch and a dog run through the center of the house. Outside it’s a lot like Uncle Jesse’s cabin.
Jannie and Audrey Ellen
“And I know one year when we went down there’s this swing down at the other end of the house in front . . . not in front of Granny and Grandpa’s bedroom . . . but down at the other end of the porch. And it was covered . . . it was just a solid wall of honeysuckle.”
“And it smelled so good.”
“It did. And the next time we went down the honeysuckle was all gone and the swings up at the other end.”
To hear ‘em talk the family . . . aunts, uncles . . . cousins . . . they’re bringing back memories to show me where they all grew up. The smell of sweet bay out front is still there by a grove of trees. That chinaberry . . . well, it’s way overgrown and the garden’s run down . . . picket fence collapsed and saggin.’ The porch is in good repair though. And the swing still works where Granny used to sprinkle sand.
Audrey Ellen
“Well, it was pretty common in the South . . . in my part of the South. They had plain plank floors that they scrubbed with a . . . a cornhusk broom.
“And uh . . . after it dried, well they . . . take the clean river sand or . . . or creek sand in our neighborhood uh . . . that the overflow in the spring had left upon the banks of the creeks.
“And they’d scatter it in uh . . . uh . . . patterns on the floor. Maybe stars and moon or flowers . . . or whatever.”
Cross the Rubicon
Lanny Fiel
Cross the Rubicon
Take the unexpected path
Where done is done
Die is cast
No turnin’ back
Change of direction
Must go where that river flows
Through the great abyss
Beyond distance
Far from the shore
The Passageway
Five years old I don’t know what to do first. Can’t sit still. I head for the crawl space. Mom drags me back. I start up that chinaberry tree . . . she tells me to get down.
Then I sneak off through the dog run. It’s quiet behind the house. The woods tall and still are spooky. Shuletta following close behind is holding a finger to her lips pointing to the tree line. There’s a rider . . . Gray jacket . . . Johnny Reb perched on a swayback mule coming from the forest. He’s a young man. But he looks old with tired eyes and long beard.
Lifting his head, he spits a wad of tobacco to the ground. Then the mule stops, refuses to budge, and turns our direction. I’ve seen him before. Seen him time and again in a picture on Granny’s nightstand.
The Pride of Grand Ecore
Lanny Fiel
A big brass band was playing
When the train rolled into town
Outside the station
A crowd had gathered round
High above the angels
Counted up the score
To welcome back
The Pride of Grand Ecore
Through the howling wilderness
Twenty thousand strong
Crossed at Double Bridges
Come to right a wrong
Mansfield give ‘em Waterloo
Turned tail burned those bridges down
Johnny log jammed Red River
Run ‘em aground
Damned that ol’ Red River
Run the Yanks around
Charlotte, Robert Alan and Jake
“And this the first . . . the first entry here is 1846. Thomas Jefferson Byrd, Vowells Mill, Natchitoches, Louisiana, 1846
“Well, he must have fought at Antietam, then.”
“He probably did.”
“Yeah, he did . . . right age.”
Audrey Ellen
“But he’d always ride a mule when he came to see us.
“Brown mule.
“And he’d have to chase us down to get to kiss us. And we didn’t like that. He had all that beard and that long white beard. And it smelled like coffee and tobacco. The coffee of course was in his beard. You couldn’t wash it all out.
“He was an old man. He was always an old man.”
“That’s Great Grandad,” Shuletta says.
Me, I see a familiar twinkle in his eye as Thomas Jefferson Byrd . . . a ghost gives the mule a kick.
Skyway
Lanny Fiel
You might say it’s wasted time
Tryin’ to catch up with what’s left behind
How can you tell though
From the outside lookin’ in?
Less you know where you been?
Desert City’s far as I could go
Said my goodbyes to the desert floor below
Board a prop jetliner
Hidin’ in the clouds
Lost not to be found out
Shuletta taps my shoulder to point again and follow. This time in the direction where the ghosts of Thomas Jefferson Byrd and his mule clip-clop back through the dog run.
Everything is different now. House is fixed up, chinaberry well-trimmed, picket fence straight and sturdy . . . garden well kept . . . there’s a wall of honeysuckle at the end of the porch. Here, all my Louisiana kin now young in their prime are perfectly still. Frozen in place. They’re gettin’ their picture made.
Hear My Doorbell Ring
(Instrumental)
The Photograph
Wherever I turn the scenery has faded from color to shades of yellow and brown. Same old timey look as the family picture on Granny’s dresser. They’re all gathered round Grandad and Granny. My aunts and uncles oldest to youngest lined in a row. Cousins scrunched in front. Camera clicks. Now they come to life loosening their Sunday clothes..
Audrey Ellen
“On Sunday we went to Church and Sunday School. And everybody would want to come home with us.
“So, uh . . . we’d bring all this mob of people home and we’d have fried chicken and beans and potatoes cooked in a big iron pot. And uh . . . corn cut off the cob where it’s creamy. And oh, butter and milk and uh . . . cornbread and biscuits and just everything.
“I usually . . . if I were lucky, I got to eat at the third table. Otherwise, it was the fourth and that’s the reason I like the chicken wing.
“That’s all that was left.”
Ann
“We saw Uncle George and Gracie. And she had cooked lunch for us. And I kid you not that woman had cooked creamed corn, peas, cornbread, steak . . . I mean I have never in my life seen so much food. And it was good.”
“I’m sure the steak was fried.”
“Yeah. Everything was fried.”
I hear ‘em talkin’ but their lips don’t move. Just familiar voices floatin’ in the air pokin’ fun like they always do.
Kimber
“They weren’t entirely appropriate for a little girl. And a lot of times my Mom would try to send me out of the room. And your Mom would bring me back in. For ‘Lady Talk’ . . . I . . . I just wanted to hear ‘Lady Talk’ ‘cause they would tell the stories about growin’ up in Vowells Mil . . . and . . .
“All the . . . all the crazy things they did as . . . as kids. Cotton pickin’ days . . .
“About Aunt Eula being a . . . a ‘Belle of the Hoers.’ She was the ‘Belle of the Hoers.’ Cause they were hoeing the cotton field. Not for anything uh . . . other reason.
“But . . . I’m sure Aunt Florence gave her that name ‘cause she gave everybody a name.”
Charlotte
“And she called Jake a Cracklin’ because he was from West Texas . . . can’t think but . . . but there were just a lot of nicknames.
“But Aunt Florence was the one in the family who just liked to needle people. But she did it playfully and . . . you know . . . she was a joy.”
Diggin’
That’s Aunt Florence. Just a young thing squabblin’ with Eulah Dell in the garden. Twin cousins Jan and Jannie . . . they’re just scrappy kids both talking, saying the same thing at the same time.
And there. There’s Grandad in his prime. Felt hat . . . spark in his eye . . . totin’ a shovel. Young man with him is Paw Paw. Got rifle in hand . . . suspenders snapped tight. Jo Jo the hound is sniffin’ the trail.
And close behind there’s cousins Tood and Kenny Ray ‘bout same age as me now. Just little whips taggin’ along. They all headin’ for the woods.
Jannie and Jan
“They always called it diggin.’ They’d . . . they’d.”
“We’re gonna go diggin.’
“That’s exactly what they said.”
“They’d load up in the car on a Sunday afternoon after you know . . . hmm . . . after we’d eaten lunch and everything. And they’d say, ‘OK.’ And everybody would get there and . . . we’d you know . . . watch me all march by with shovels and everything and we’d say, ‘Where they goin?’”
“They’re gonna to go diggin.’”
“They gonna to go diggin.’ That’s all we ever knew.”
Flop-Eared Mule Schottische
(Instrumental)
Something Shiny
We’re deep in the forest. Looking for where they went Shuletta and me come upon a pile of railroad ties arranged in a neat stack. Close by, two young men. One is Paw Paw . . . hat sloped to one side. They’re driving a mule team plowing through the woods.
Kenny Ray
“My Dad was working with a construction crew building a railroad in . . . a railroad spur . . . into an old turpentine mill down in that ‘Kisatchie Natural Forest.’
“And of course they were building up the grade for the railway using teams and slips . . . slips that would dig under that dirt and then that dirt was dumped there at the . . . building up the grade for that railway.
“Well, my Dad was waiting and he said there was something real shiny laying there on top of a rock when the man in front of him made his . . . his run . . .”
Western Town
Lanny Fiel
Halcyon skies
Fade to dim
From the heights of canyon rim
Watchmen quietly turn their gaze
Cross the plain
Flags unfurl
Call forth forgotten world
To field where promise broken reigns
Down below the underground
Lockstep with newly crowned
Dare walk the streets of Western Town
Kenny Ray
“It turned out to be a little metal plate. It looked like it was made of brass and . . . and lead. And it had ancient Hebrew writing all over it, and of course inside the Hebrew writing it had uh . . . quite a bit of hieroglyphics . . . a story in pictures really.”
Western Town
Lanny Fiel
Within the dark
Of underbrush
To ‘No Man’s Land’ entrust
Cryptic stones wait to reveal
Down below the underground
Lockstep with newly crowned
Dare walk the streets of Western Town
Locust Hill
Humidity is alive. Steam from the ground cookin’ the air. Paw Paw and that other fellow are wrestling over that shiny plate. Both are covered in sweat. Even that mule team got their tongues hanging to ground.
Not too far off though up the hill the long shadow of autumn slants through the woods. Gentle breeze cools the air . . . yellow leaves fallin.’ Once again Shuletta gives me a nudge. There, by a creek another young man . . . it’s Grandad . . . got them big ears. He’s counting footsteps. Got a rock and a crumpled paper in his hand. Looks like a map.
Jan
“Uh . . . one of ‘em . . . he had . . . he had found. He was goin’ along what he said was the old creek bed . . . you know the creek bed had moved. And here’s where the creek was.
“But he found what he said was the old creek bed. And he was just walkin’ along kickin’ rocks. And he just accidently just kicked over a rock that had something under it that . . . arrow or something I’d forgotten what it was.”
Devil’s Backbone
Lanny Fiel
Now, there’s seven wonders
Seven seas
Seven continents
That makes three
Tell you something
‘Tween you and me
Where there’s seven treasures
Buried six feet deep
On the backbone
The Devil’s Backbone
Gonna need a map
And some good luck
Find that hand-carved lady
On a cypress stump
(Tree trunk)
Kenny Ray
“My Grandfather had obtained quite a few copies of the old maps regarding this buried treasure. And he became interested in the old tales about a fabulous treasure.
“And uh . . . this just kinda spurred the interest of my Grandfather and . . . and my Dad both when this plate was found. And as they worked in this same area, my Dad began to find other clues to the treasure.”
Phantoms
Air is cool and crisp where a young Grandad paces the ground. I hear footsteps crunch dry leaves as he walks off into a gather of fireflies. Fading between shadows he disappears where now there is a rustle from the underbrush.
I squeeze Shuletta’s hand. Two figures . . . shimmering figments of two men crawl from a cave then cover the entrance with pine straw. They have the look of characters from a western movie. One is a grisly frontiersman wearing buckskin and a beaver hat. And the other, looking out of place in the forest he’s all dressed up for Sunday Church.
I want to shrink away. Then Shuletta points toward the one all dressed up. He’s wearing the frock of a clergyman. Got a pistol in his belt scribblin’ something onto a parchment counting footsteps as they vanish into the fade.
Bill
“The Waybills said, ‘When you . . . when you find the entrance to my cave . . . No, when you find the uh . . . the Seventh Room . . . pull The Ring.’”
“Where have you been?
“Shuletta!”
Hand Spanked
Back at the Old Place . . . everything in Vowells Mill is as it was where the chinaberry tree is overgrown . . . garden run down . . . and where my aunts, uncles and cousins are fit to be tied. Mom’s got her fingernails dug into my wrist . . . makin’ little red, crescent moons. She always does that whenever I misbehave. Everyone is frantic, looking for me.
INTERLUDE
Cross the Rubicon
Lanny Fiel
Cross the Rubicon
Take the unexpected path
Where done is done
Die is cast
No turnin’ back
Change of direction
Must go where that river flows
Through the great abyss
Beyond distance
Far from the shore
Passage on the fly
Supernatural apparition
Prophecy advised
Not so fast
Hazard all or none
Brink of confusion
Countdown to final days
Behind the mist
No one left
Nothing here to explain
Time to dry your eyes
Back to mile zero
Cut you down to size
Catch you by surprise
Cross the Rubicon
Take the unexpected path
Where done is done
Die is cast
No turnin’ back
Curtis
“I’ve never seen another horizon like I witnessed in Lubbock as a kid. It just . . . it went on forever . . . you know. Unbroken just ‘Woo’ . . . there it was.
“And at night uh . . . you could lay . . . when I was a kid you could lay on the ground, and you could see the Milky Way just as clear as the bell. And you could see the . . . the uh . . . there was enough light from the stars that you could . . . it would cast shadows
“And that was with no moon.”
Tall City
Lanny Fiel
Run down black top
Click the headlights off
Watchin’ Tall City rise
Too fast chickens
Up against the law
Some crazy kids out for a drive
Come from the Sandhills
Weeknight cruise
Burnin’ up a tank of gas
Flipped out wasters
Ridin’ bulletproof
Think they gonna make it last
Sho ’nough make it last
Ready set let’s go
Revin’ up my engine, yeah
Hey, Tall City
New blood
Come to rock your soul
PART III
DOWNHILL ON THE FLATS
1966
It’s my first time. First time to ride in a VW Bus with a sunroof. Overhead western sky is filled with stars. Every direction they throw sparkle across the sand. And every mileJack . . . Jackrabbit and The Hoodlums take another swig. That’s my new band, you know. I’m hangin’ with the ‘Big Boys.’ Playing in a Rock-and-Roll band.
Tall City
Lanny Fiel
Roll up the sidewalk
Sleepy town in by seven
Sneak out of the house
Things get goin’ ‘round eleven
Great big empty gonna fill you up
Stretch out cross the flats
Tall City just a sittin’ duck
Take you down where it’s at
Shake you down where it’s at
It’s also my first time on the road without Mom or Shuletta at the wheel. Out here ‘tween sandhills and Tall City, Texas, scenery is akin to that stretch along Jacksboro Highway where we used to go.
Two-lane blacktop across High Plains. Could be a drag. Except tonight, I’m running with Jackrabbit and the Hoodlums. Almost grown . . . sixteen . . . electrified. Got me a rocket guitar, strumming on the back bench after my first paying gig.
Jack and the Beanstalk
Lanny Fiel
One morning Jack got up
And left the house around nine
He found a beanstalk
And he started to climb
Up, up, up to the top of the sky
He saw a giant out to tan his hide
And he said, “Fee (Fee)-Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be Ye live or be Ye dead
I’ll grind his bones
To make my bread”
Kimber
“Doggone you had that guitar in your hand all the time. And all we wanted to do was watch Batman. And you’d sit there and play that guitar. And we’d yell, ‘Shut up!’
“And . . . and you’d say, ‘Okay, Okay . . . just during commercials.’
Curtis
“I started on drums and uh . . . I had a kit and the band I was in was really weird. Uh . . . it was a couple of eighteen-year-old guys and me. And I was like twelve.”
Jack and the Beanstalk
Lanny Fiel
“I’ll grind his bones
To make my bread”
Headwinds
Jackrabbit and the Hoodlums. Can’t do better than that. Me, a sophomore playing lead guitar with the seniors . . . all shaggy hair, smokin’ and drinkin’ beer.
Good thing Mom and Shuletta stayed home. Guys in the band all revved up. Talkin’ how we knocked ‘em dead. Last song Jackrabbit come rollin’ a wheelchair into the crowd doin’ wheelies across the gym floor. Kids goin’ crazy. Principal pulls the plug.
Now, burning rubber. Buckin’ a headwind of dust. Jackrabbit hollers, “Kamakazi!”
Crazy fools. Hoodlums got two cars . . . Station Wagon and VW Bus. Ninety to nothing they pull side by side. Roaring down two-lane blacktop Jackrabbit and the Hoodlums click the headlights off.
Welcome to Rock-and-Roll.
Jack and the Beanstalk
Lanny Fiel
“Fee -Fi-Fi
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman”
Rick
“So, I started messin’ round with kids that were kinda cuttin’ up and actin’ up you know. Go smoke of something and . . .
“Then start . . . really quit . . . wouldn’t go to school sometimes. I’d just leave. Go to a movie. But mostly I’d go up to the pool hall . . . ‘Pete’s.’ And uh . . . go up there and . . . So, we just started a thing of rebellion.
“And I almost didn’t graduate . . . you know in time . . .”
Kimber
“And you came down with your . . . by yourself. No, later with your Mom . . .
“You came and lived with us for a bit because your hair was too long to go to High School up in Lubbock. But I guess were we a little more liberal in Midland. And they’d let you go with your hair touching your ears.”
Not a high school in Hub City that’ll have me. I’ve been expelled. Authorities don’t agree with electric guitar and what comes with long hair. So, find myself in Tall City. All that keeps me going is when I pick guitar my fingers know exactly where to go.
Gonna Start Rockin’ and Rollin’
Lanny Fiel
Back in nineteen sixty-five
All that I wanted was to drive
My brother’s Super Sport Chevrolet
Then one day in school assembly
I had something new get in me
When I heard a rock and roll band play
I come home wantin’ a guitar
Papa all you said was, “What for?”
And I tried to make you understand
Now I’m writing you this letter
Thinking that it’s time you’d better
Listen up for once and hear my plan
‘Cause I’m gonna start rockin’ and rollin’
Papa now you’ve had your say
Yes, I’m gonna start rockin’ and rollin’
Just tell Mom to look the other way
Lewis
“You were the first Wonder Boy.
“And uh . . . everywhere I go there was a guy that was uh . . . uh young and a real good guitar player and you had sin.
“And so, you were like that little guy.”
Starlight
For miles either side of the road sand dunes drift in waves under their glow. Me, I’m watchin’ the dash of white lines. They rise and fall . . . roll under our wheels. Brings back memories of watchin’ Uncle Sib fix TVs back in Shreveport. He works on TVs and radios . . . you know. But more than that Uncle Sib is the family musician. And I’m thinkin’ right now, some of it must have rubbed off.
Ann and Jan
“Umm . . . big ears . . .”
“Have you ever noticed as men grow . . . grow older the bigger their ears get.
“Yeah. Yeah. And Grandad . . .”
“I had never noticed that until I . . . “
“And Grandad started off with big ones and everything. The word Dumbo sprang to mind.
“I mean they were big . . . “
Bill Cheatham
(Instrumental)
Country Folk
Big Ears
The ‘50s
Uncle Sib looks like a southern gentleman, Sherlock Holmes. Wears a bow tie and smokes a Calabash pipe. And this visit, like every visit he’s draggin’ a violin bow ‘cross a handsaw.
Kimber
“Ooo . . . my grandfather . . . Paw Paw . . . Sib. He was quite a musician and just you know . . . kind of like you he could just play just about anything. And he played the mandolin and played the violin but I . . . the favorite . . . our favorite thing he played was the saw.”
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
(Instrumental)
Me, I keep lookin’ at his ears. They’re not all that big even if Aunt Florence says so. Shuletta tells me it’s not size that counts anyway. Having big ears means he knows how to listen. Got to have ‘em if you want to play good.
Robert Alan and Charlotte
“That saw musta had a lot of tunes in it.”
“It had a lot of tunes and he’d . . . he’d you know . . . he and I would go play programs at the Lions Club and stuff and . . .
“There’s no sound. Have you ever . . . have you played the saw?
“He would play all those tunes.”
“Oh, I remember him . . .”
Kimber
“And it was just an old saw . . . just an old carpenter’s saw. And then he had a violin bow. And he would put that thing across his knee. And bend it back. And make the sweetest sounds with that saw.
“And he would bring that out and . . . all wrapped up in a sheet. And he would . . . he would uh . . . come bring that saw, unwrap it and we’d all gather around. And my Paw Paw would play hymns on that uh . . . on that old saw.
“That’s pretty sweet. He was a very sweet man.”
Tri-State Wrestling
The Workshop
We have a time.
Every trip to Shreveport we always go see Uncle Sib. Oscar Sibley is a TV repairman with a workshop in his garage full of TVs, radios, and record players. Takes ‘em apart where you can see the wires and tubes flicker when he tests them out.
Saturday afternoon . . . like always he’s reading The Enquirer and watching, Tri-State Wrestlin.’ But today I’d rather watch a cowboy show so I sneak into the garage.
Little Joe the Wrangler
Ray Reed
Now Little Joe the Wrangler
Will wrangle nevermore
His days with the remuda now are o’er
Was a year ago last April
When he rode up to our herd
A little Texas stray and all alone
Roy
“I think everybody wants their children knowing right from wrong. And that’s what we tried to do. And you don’t see that today sometimes the . . . the Bad Guy is the hero in some of these pictures you know.
“And I think uh . . . it’s uh . . . a portion of entertainment that kids don’t get today. Uh . . . knowing that there is a good side of life and there’s a bad side.
“And being smart enough to pick the right one is uh . . . uh.”
Huck and Tom
I turn the dial to black and white. Got Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn on the tube. They’re playing on an island . . . a sandbar between two rivers. Both fightin’ make believe with wooden swords. Pants legs rolled up, barefoot . . . Tom’s wearin’ a bandana on his head . . . got a patch on one eye.
Chasin’ Huck into the woods, they run past a tree with the letter “M” carved on the trunk. And a sign stuck in the sand that spells out, ‘M-U-R-E-L-S . . . P-I-R-A-T-E-S . . . Murel’s Pirates.’
Marked Tree
Lanny Fiel
There’s a signpost
Called Marked Tree
Between twin sister rivers
One flowin’ up
The other downstream
Where after dark you get the shivers
There, beside a hallow trail
Notched oak casts a Heka Spell
Nearby a demon devil dwells
Sword and pistol at his side
Headless he does ride
Where the Marked Tree
And twin sisters collide
TV’s actin’ up . . . goes haywire.
Horizontal lines are rolling. Screen crackles white noise . . . goes black then comes back on with tubes glowing orange. Different channel now . . . two men . . . same ones Shuletta and I saw in Kisatchie woods are creeping into a haunted house.
Geoff
“Well, I mean if uh . . . Mark Twain was very active in the uh . . . uh the . . . you know as a riverboat pilot uh . . . and writin’ about his experiences on the Mississippi River.
“And then writin’ ‘Huck Finn’ and ‘Tom Sawyer’ and if . . . as you just said . . . you know if he’s makin’ references to Murrell being on the Mississippi River at that time it was because he was there at that time as well. And uh . . .”
TV flips again. Goin’ crazy.
Tom and Huck are upstairs. They’re readin’ a treasure map. And have found Injun Joe diggin’ up a metal box of gold coins. Candlelight flickers. Then from shadows two phantoms . . . the frontiersman and that preacher . . . they jump the Injun, stab ‘im in the back and drag Murel’s pirate gold down into a cave.
Marked Tree
Lanny Fiel
Now, there’s a secret
‘Bout Marked Tree
And Twin Sister Rivers
Be a story ever told
With a twist
Bound to make your timbers shiver
Thereafter the event
Waters flowin’ discontent
Twin Sisters had their way
Dust Devil
Twist in Time
Dread is the feeling taking hold. I know better than to think it’s a dream. Cold, bony fingers reaching from a whirlpool of river mud. They’d drag me down with Murrel’s pirate gold if I let ‘em. It’s the first time . . . first time a visitation . . . you know . . . first time a phantom seems to notice me at all.
Got me in a choke hold. Can’t breathe. I wake up. Blast of sandy wind. Jackrabbit is crawling over me in a big hurry to roll up the window.
Jack and the Beanstalk
Lanny Fiel
He saw the hen
That laid the golden egg
Said come with me man
Yeah, there’s money to be made
He stole the harp
That played a little too loud
And he said,
“Hey (Hey)-You (You)
Get off of my cloud
Sayin,“Fee (Fee)-Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be he live or be he dead
I’ll grind his bones
To make my bread”
Swirling cloud of brown dust covers the windshield. Can hardly see the road. Crosswinds got our VW tipped on two wheels.
Storms in West Texas come out of nowhere all the time. But that’s no thunderbolt clapping heavy thud and splatter. There’s a pickup full of cowboys alongside heaving full cans of beer at Jackrabbit and the Hoodlums.
Curtis
“We had some bad scenes though in those early bands . . . of uh . . . you know we played some rough gigs. No kiddin.’
“Yeah uh . . . I remember one night we . . . Well actually, I . . . I remember goin’ on uh . . . a job in one of those small towns in West Texas. And we got . . . we were gettin’ something to eat.
“And uh . . . two cowboys came in there . . .”
Me, just sixteen, almost grown . . . I’m a jumble of second thoughts. Got a book report due Monday. Hadn’t even read Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn. Now I’m stuck. Stuck on a two-lane blacktop . . . me, Jackrabbit, and them cowboys casting shadows with no moon.
It’s my first paying gig.
Jack and the Beanstalk
Lanny Fiel
Well now run Jack run Jack
He’s hot on your trail
He’s got a 45
Pointin’ at your tail
Now hurry Jack hurry Jack
Come down to the ground
And chop your axe
And start to swing
And chop that beanstalk down
And he said, “Fee (Fee)-Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be Ye live or be Ye dead
I’ll grind his bones
To make my bread”
“Fee (Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be Ye live or be Ye dead
I’ll grind his bones
To make my bread”
“Fee (Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be Ye live or be Ye dead
“Fee (Fi (Fi)
Fo-Fo-Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Now be Ye live or be Ye dead”
INTERLUDE
Marked Tree
Lanny Fiel
There’s a signpost
Called Marked Tree
Between Twin Sister Rivers
One flows up
The other downstream
Where after dark you get the shivers
There beside a hollow trail
Notched oak casts a Heka Spell
Nearby a demon devil dwells
Sword and pistol at his side
Headless he does ride
Where the Marked Tree
And Twin Sisters collide
Long before the Gilded Age
The New Madrid Earthquake
Swallowed to shape the Sunken Land
In the midst of the event
The raging tempest overspent
To lose the upper hand
There above sunken hills
With all bravery and skill
Did the Marked Tree
Command Twin Sisters be stilled
Now, where the Marked Tree survived
Demon devil did abide
In a labyrinth of lies
He told the River Twins
Go flood the sunken land again
Take the oak leaves for a prize
They plotted and schemed
How best to proceed
Stealth and deceit they entertained
They’d dry their riverbeds
Playing for dead
Convince the heavens to rain
One hundred years ago
Twin Rivers overflowed
Felled the Marked Tree
Set the mighty oak afloat
Now there’s a secret
‘Bout Marked Tree
And Twin Sister Rivers
Be a story ever told
With a twist
Bound to make your timbers shiver
While thereafter the event
Every year and ever since
Twin Sisters had their way
Until early one spring
With the devil’s head slung in a sling
Came the Marked Tree
In the wind to bend and sway
