1979 & 1988

Another travel entry from 30 years ago today. We'd left the Greek island and sailed on an overnight ship to the boot heel of Italy. From there we traveled to Sorrento, which is near Naples. Our AESU groups were named by date—either of departure from the States or arrival in London. My group was 616, so, obviously the 617 group was a day behind us. We met them sometimes, here and there, but not as often as I might have expected. The Pasquale referenced in the entry was our Italian bus driver through the first half of the trip. He got a couple of speeding tickets in our Mercedes us and, eventually, burned up the motor. We saw him again—in Rome, I think—but he was eventually taken off our trip and possibly fired.

17 July (Tuesday): Day 31

Vico Equense, Italy

Left this morning for Capri, a very beautiful island. We rode on a small boat with another group: ISE [?]. Met a girl named Kate who travels with them—nice girl. We sailed straight to the cave entrance of the Blue Grotto. It's so eerie because light comes up from the extended cave opening which is under water and the whole place is blue. Then we went to beach for about 3 hrs., where I bought some wooden sandals. We had lunch on the top of the mountain at a beautiful outdoor restaurant under palm trees and grape vines. Later back for shopping then on boat back to Sorrento. Back but still no Pasquale. 617 picked us up. Back to hotel. Played Edith's flute and met girls from 617 until supper. Went shopping and partying until bed. Went to bed while everyone partied. Jack came in 1 hr later and bummed out again by blond girl from 617 (Janet). Saw young Italian getting his first haircut.

The following is from my regular diary. In the summer of 1988, when I was working as a songwriter for Gary Morris's publishing company, I decided to join Gary's western tour as a truck driver. Mostly I traveled alone, which was just what I was after in such an adventure. Sorry, but the second paragraph is severely edited.

Captain's Log . . . Sunday, July 17, 1988

It is morning here at the Parkway Motel in Pincher Creek, Alberta, Canada. I am here en route to Vancouver, British Columbia. Pincher Creek lies right on the plains at the foot of a set of the Canadian Rockies and directly north of the Butte section of Montana. I pulled in here last night around 10:30 pm with the afterglow of sunset still in the western skies. My room here, #121, is actually a little apartment. The main door leads into a small kitchen and through a double-sized doorway is the living room with couch, TV, and desk. There is a closet in here and a back door leading outside. In one corner is the doorway to the bathroom and in the other, to the bedroom. There is some smell in here which reminds me of Mama Reeves though it must be an unpleasant memory as I refuse to think about it. Maybe it is just the smell of being too old in general or more specifically it may remind me of the morning she found out she had to leave her house and go to live with Ernie. She had been crying and sweating and breathing hard, snuffy breaths. It was a painful morning for all of us.

On the upside, I went to sleep last night and woke up this morning thinking about. . . . I thought of two women, not at one time, mind you, and was surprised at which two they were. It was K**** S**** and S**** G****. No A*****. No J**. No H*****. No L****. K**** and S****. The two who at one time would have held the least attraction for me are the ones I woke up thinking about.

Well, I best get a shower and hit the road. I still have a good distance to travel and it may be slow through the mountains.

1978 & 1979

Here are a couple of entries from the diary I kept—sporadically—for years. The first is from 1978 and sums up the time between 7 June and 14 July. I was 19. The second is my entry from 30 years ago today, when I was 20 and spending the summer in Europe with AESU tours.

 

Captain's Log: Stardates 060.778 – 071.478

Ain't life grand? Most of the time I think so, though sometimes the devil throws some pretty mean stuff at you. Thanks to my Lord I can still get by.

There are strong possibilities of the Youth Group recording an album in January; I have sung at Terry D's and Jim's weddings; I finished one summer session and started another.

I just can't find a girl. As far as that category goes, life's pretty dry. I love Leesa and I think she loves me but between her work and Lane, and my school and music, we simply never have time for each other, ya know? I wrote her a book about how I feel and she really liked it.

I finally met that girl at the Family Record and Tape Center. Her name is Pam Club and she is really nice.

I was a hero the other night when I stopped a rolling car on a hill near the Plaza Theatre. Three cheers for me. . . . Live Long and Prosper

 

14 July (Saturday): Day 28

Athens, Greece – Island of Poros, Greece

JOURNAL: This morning we departed Athens early for the Greek island, Poros. The ship was really crowded but I found a really nice place on the edge behind the life boats. We arrived at the dock and were assigned to our rooms. We are staying in more or less private homes (almost a hostel) and I'm with Joe, Jack, Mike, Eddie: #8. After an hour for lunch we sailed in our private 65-foot boat to an inlet where we spent 1½ hrs. swimming. The water here is beautiful blue and clear as the springs at home. When depths get 30 feet or below, you can see almost every stone on the bottom, and the Greek worker on board caught 2 octopi (strange). Nearly everyone got at least a small sunburn. Mine is not too bad because I didn't swim much. The water was about 20 feet deep so Cary gave me lessons in treading water. I slept on the trip back to harbor. . . . We had a beautiful evening. Only problem not enough food for party on boat and everyone bitching. Later though thousands of stars out. Took on nude Londoners, and came back to sit under trees with Joe, Tina, Vallory, Cary.

NOTES: The heat here is incredible. The air is dry, but temps this afternoon have been 100+ and now at 7:00, the sun is still well up and at least 95. (We learned that yesterday when we were playing basketball in Athens the temp was 111!)

Water and mountainous islands are very beautiful

Another WWB Reunion

Yesterday the White Water Band gathered again in Spruce Pine for our third meeting in a little over a year. We spent the afternoon making music, laughing, sharing some pizza and hot wings. Thinking that we would like to do a gig together again, we had picked a group of five songs to work on—"Thunder & Lightning," "Jamboree," "The Jaws of Modern Romance," "She's a Wild One" and "Best I've Ever Seen." We started around 2:00 and worked pretty hard for the next four hours, and by the time we had to stop, the songs sounded darn good. I was so pleased that I celebrated by pouring water all over myself (like a Gatorade shower at the end of a football game).

We're thinking that a gig or two in the fall might be possible. Before then, we'll have at least a couple more of these gatherings. The plan is to have, by the time we're done, a set list that includes the songs above plus "Genesis Road," "Homecoming," "Fresh Horses," "Dizzy from the Distance," "None but the Lonely Heart" and "Landscapes."

Pictured above (l-r): me, Jobie (light & sound); Terry (guitar & vocals); Kirk (drums & vocals); Ben (sound); Jim (guitar); Harlon (bass & vocals).

MJ (The Musical One)

The first LP I ever bought, probably at the age of 11 or 12, was ABC by the Jackson 5. Released in May 1970, the album featured two #1 hits: "ABC" and "The Love You Save." I was in the 6th grade, and I remember having this running playful argument with the girls in my class that Michael Jackson was better than Donny Osmond. The course of their careers--to some extent--seems to have proven me right. Even though I grew out of that ABC phase pretty quickly (Thriller and "We Are the World" were the only other related items that I bought), I maintained a nostalgic connection with Michael Jackson: we're both named Michael, we were born just three months apart in 1958 and so on.

His death is a sad affair in several ways and on several different levels.

I woke up this morning feeling a sense of unease. Not that I was thinking about Jackson's death, really, but a certain grayness to the dawn seemed to hold back the light more than usual.

For Mark and Tom and Sam and Skyler

From the Writer's Almanac for 22 June 2009

Baseball (by John Updike)

It looks easy from a distance,
easy and lazy, even,
until you stand up to the plate
and see the fastball sailing inside,
an inch from your chin,
or circle in the outfield
straining to get a bead
on a small black dot
a city block or more high,
a dark star that could fall
on your head like a leaden meteor.

The grass, the dirt, the deadly hops
between your feet and overeager glove:
football can be learned,
and basketball finessed, but
there is no hiding from baseball
the fact that some are chosen
and some are not—those whose mitts
feel too left-handed,
who are scared at third base
of the pulled line drive,
and at first base are scared
of the shortstop's wild throw
that stretches you out like a gutted deer.

There is nowhere to hide when the ball's
spotlight swivels your way,
and the chatter around you falls still,
and the mothers on the sidelines,
your own among them, hold their breaths,
and you whiff on a terrible pitch
or in the infield achieve
something with the ball so
ridiculous you blush for years.
It's easy to do. Baseball was
invented in America, where beneath
the good cheer and sly jazz the chance
of failure is everybody's right,
beginning with baseball.

"Baseball" by John Updike, from Endpoint and Other Poems. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2009. Reprinted with permission.

Zuma

I'm writing from Zuma, a coffeehouse in downtown Marshall, NC. Zuma is a cool place that occupies the space of the old Home Electric, which was here when I was growing up in this area. Mom and Dad bought their appliances from Home Electric--washer, dryer, refrigerator and so on. My uncle Harold traded instruments--mandolins and fiddles with a guy who worked here for years. Leonard Baker was the owner of Home Electric, and my brother Jerry rented a garage apartment from his wife Lib and him for many years--late '80s, I think, until a couple of years ago--for $150 a month. Probably not many deals like that around any more.

I traveled to Nashville recently and spent a couple of days with my good friends Mark and jb there (along with Mark's wife Becky and son Tom). We had a fine time eating, remembering the old days, watching baseball, driving around. I was a little sorry to have to leave.

While I was there, a wild hair sent me to the telephone book on the off chance that I might learn the whereabouts of a man I knew as Earl Richards but whose real name was Earl Sinks. We worked together for a lot of years, and it wasn't until after we'd been finished with each other for several more years that I found out he was crooked, using me and my music for his own personal gain. I guess I should've brought along a dozen eggs when I found his house, but I didn't.

More on that later.

Anyway, it was during this trip that I remembered that once upon a time on this blog I was in the process of telling my Nashville story. I think that I got through all of my "Prelude to Nashville" but no further. I'll try to pick that up again soon.

Thanks again to Mark and jb for a great little trip. And, Earl, I'm thinking about forgiveness, but I have a story to tell first.

Homecoming

A little video I made some years ago for "Homecoming."