by Jessi Colter
PRAISE FOR AN OUTLAW AND A LADY
“Jessi’s words offer a tale of hope, faith, persistence, and strength. . . . No matter the storm or travail, Jessi has remained true to her heart and on course.”
—JOHN CARTER CASH
“Jessi Colter Jennings—the tiniest, most compact version of real spiritual power on earth that I’ve ever known—has told a story so true to the bone that I am more in awe of her now than ever. She has guided me with invincible conviction when I could have thrown her over my shoulder in a heartbeat. Her love never fails. Her faith puts you on your heels. You just don’t mess with Jessi. Her autobiography tells you the how and why of one of life’s greatest love stories, and I can imagine Waylon’s twinkling eyes throughout.”
—LISA KRISTOFFERSON
“Jessi’s autobiography describes the best years of our lives with the Highwaymen and makes me sad that the road didn’t go on forever and the party did end. Jessi’s narrative of her life with Waylon through good times and bad is an example of a life well-led. Loving and letting go and without regret. Waylon was a very lucky man. Jessi continues to love and inspire humanity, and I count myself blessed to be her friend.”
—KRIS KRISTOFFERSON
“Waylon Jennings was a great talent, a good friend of mine, and one of the greatest pickers and singers ever. Jessi Colter is one of my favorite singers—always has been. I love her for being a great friend and partner to Waylon, one who stayed with him through thick and thin.”
—WILLIE NELSON
“Jessi Colter was a seminal figure in one of twentieth-century America’s most profound cultural shifts: the Outlaw Country Movement. Her vivid account brings the era back to life with a unique perspective. It’s a compelling tale told by one of the most soulful women on Earth.”
—DON WAS, RECORD PRODUCER, MUSICIAN, AND PRESIDENT OF BLUE NOTE RECORDS
“As the only female on the now infamous Wanted: The Outlaws album, Jessi Colter was and is still the First Lady of Outlaw Music and her memoir reflects the many trials and tribulations that came along with that role. Her book is packed with stories of family, friends, and faith (and the lack thereof). Clearly it wasn’t easy, and it was never dull.”
—JAMEY JOHNSON, SINGER-SONGWRITER
“Jessi Colter sings, and now writes, with a light that illuminates this beautiful and moving inspirational tale of love, faith, and belief in the healing power of song.”
—LENNY KAYE, GUITARIST, COAUTHOR OF WAYLON
“If the art of living is the ability to use faith, courage, loyalty, and sacrifice, Jessie Colter, in this beautiful book—a love story and a joy to read—has provided a wonderful example of how each of these traits is to be accomplished. It transcends storytelling and becomes an inspiration. It is a book we treasure, as you will too, from a woman every bit as beautiful as the prose she writes. Her life’s devotion to Waylon stands as a monument to her character.”
—JAY AND REMA GOLDBERG
“Jessi’s words jump off the pages like the lyrics of a great song jump into your heart. She’s not Lisa; she will always be Waylon’s Angel.”
—CARL P. MAYFIELD, NASHVILLE-BASED, NATIONALLY SYNDICATED RADIO PERSONALITY AND MEMBER OF THE RADIO HALL OF FAME
© 2017 by Mirriam Jennings
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Nelson Books, an imprint of Thomas Nelson. Nelson Books and Thomas Nelson are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Any Internet addresses, phone numbers, or company or product information printed in this book are offered as a resource and are not intended in any way to be or to imply an endorsement by Thomas Nelson, nor does Thomas Nelson vouch for the existence, content, or services of these sites, phone numbers, companies, or products beyond the life of this book.
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version®. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version. Public domain.
Epub Edition March 2017 ISBN 9780718082987
ISBN 978–0718082987 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Colter, Jessi. | Ritz, David.
Title: An outlaw and a lady : a memoir of music, life with Waylon, and the faith that brought me home / Jessi Colter with David Ritz.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Nelson Books, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016035030 | ISBN 9780718082970
Subjects: LCSH: Colter, Jessi. | Country musicians--United States--Biography. | Christian biography--United States. | Jennings, Waylon.
Classification: LCC ML420.C654 A3 2017 | DDC 782.421642092 [B] --dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016035030
Printed in the United States of America
17 18 19 20 21 LSC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Waylon
CONTENTS
Introduction
PART ONE: THE CLOUD 1. Arizona at Night
2. When Time and Eternity Meet
3. Beyond the Mountains of the Moon
4. Young and Innocent
5. The End of Innocence
6. Meet Mirriam Eddy
7. The Canyons
8. Cry Softly
PART TWO: THE LIGHTNING 9. Waylon at JD’s
10. Love of the Common People
11. Rhythms
12. “You Wanna Get Married, Don’t You?”
13. The Birth of Jessi Colter
PART THREE: THE RETURN 14. Oh Well, There’s Always God
15. Storms Never Last
16. Outlaw
17. Of Man and God
18. Joy and Grief
19. Mirriam
20. What Goes Around Comes Around
21. A Cowboy Rocks and Rolls
PART FOUR: THE RECONCILIATION 22. Flying High, Falling Low
23. Patience
24. Time to Party
25. Unexpected Birth
26. Hoss
PART FIVE: THE ROAD BACK HOME 27. Nourishment
28. Will the Circle Be Unbroken?
29. This Mortal Coil
30. Out of the Ashes
Acknowledgments
Notes
About the Authors
INTRODUCTION
I NEVER IMAGINED WRITING A BOOK ABOUT MYSELF. IT WASN’T that I was unaware of leading an adventurous and exciting life. Adventure and excitement have been there since childhood. I’ve been privileged to be part of a cast of amazing characters—everyone from Johnny Cash to George Jones to Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson—larger-than-life individuals of wondrous charm, humor, intelligence, and spirit. But, until now, I lacked that certain something that allowed me to say, “I’ve got a story I need to tell.”
Maybe that’s because for thirty-three years I was married to Waylon Jennings, whose story overwhelmed nearly everyone around him. I don’t say that begrudgingly. I say it lovingly. Those were the best thirty-three years of my life, a time when I was more than happy to allow Waylon to take the lead as chief storyteller. When it came to telling stories, Waylon was a master. In 1996, six years before crossing over to the other side of time, Waylon wrote his autobiography (with our
dear friend Lenny Kaye), a fully realized portrait that captures all his energy and honesty. I was convinced that book, dedicated to me, relayed everything that needed to be said about Waylon and our loving relationship. My ego—such as it is—required no more attention.
But then things began shifting when I received a call from David Ritz, who, having recently completed working on Willie Nelson’s autobiography, It’s a Long Story, called to interview me for a television tribute he was writing about Waylon. As a Jewish convert to Christianity, David expressed interest in the story of my faith.
My faith.
Those two words touched me. The more pointed the questions David posed, the more I saw the possibility—even the joy—of tracing the evolution of my relationship with God. Rather than use the occasion to trumpet my accomplishments, what about a narrative that traced God’s accomplishments in my life? Since I owe it all to God—my breath, my soul, my every last experience on earth—why not view the writing process as a way to give God the glory?
Part of what drew David to my story was something I said early in our conversation: that for many years—critical years when I was young and especially impressionable—I had lost my faith. And I lost it in spite of being raised by the most faithful mother imaginable: a woman who served God as a charismatic evangelist.
“You found faith early,” said David, “then lost it, only to regain it under the most unlikely circumstances. That’s heavy drama.”
When he put it that way, I began to see the shape of a story that is as spiritual as it is musical. I began to feel the need to tell it. I began to understand that my faith journey need not be an exercise in ego, but more a prayer.
I pray simply that my experiences—especially those long, exciting, and challenging times with Waylon—come alive and touch the hearts of everyone reading this book.
Part One
THE CLOUD
Chapter 1
ARIZONA AT NIGHT
SARA TEASDALE, AN AMERICAN POET, WROTE SOME LINES OF haunting verse in 1915, a generation before my parents left Indiana at the beginning of the Great Depression and headed west, thus marking the start of the bold adventure that has led to this history of my heart.
The moon is a charring ember
Dying into the dark;
Off in the crouching mountains
Coyotes bark.
The stars are heavy in heaven,
Too great for the sky to hold—
What if they fell and shattered
The earth with gold?
No lights are over the mesa,
The wind is hard and wild,
I stand at the darkened window
And cry like a child.1
I invoke the poet’s heart because she sets the stage so beautifully. The stark and breathtaking landscape of Arizona is the essential backdrop to this story. It is where I was born Mirriam Rebecca Joan Johnson on May 25, 1943. It is where I reside today. It is where all the essential discoveries of my life have taken place—the discovery of my faith, the discovery of my ability to make music, and the discovery of both my husbands.
For me, Arizona is a magical land whose mysteries are as ancient as they are beautiful. The deserts. The mountains. The rocks. The sky. The myths. The stories of the Native Americans, the cowboys, the explorers, the miners, the pioneers. The spirit driving these stories is the same spirit that drove my father, Arnold Hobson Johnson, and my mother, Helen D. Perkins Johnson, to this untamed and primitive land.
Drive is the right word because Daddy, a man of many mechanical talents, was a professional race-car driver. Born in 1898 and raised in Linton, Indiana, just outside Indianapolis, as a young man he competed against Louis Chevrolet and the Dodge Brothers, winning prize money all over the Midwest. More than a driver, he was also a designer who could build cars by himself from the ground up. He possessed scientific genius and an active mind that sought to solve geological and metallurgical puzzles of the highest order. His lifelong passion was mining.
Before marrying Arnold Johnson and heading west, Helen Perkins had established a boardinghouse and worked as a cosmetologist in Indiana. She had been born in Green County, Kentucky, where her father, a coal miner, had raised his six daughters as a single dad. His wife—my maternal grandmother—died when Mother was three years old. Four years younger than Arnold, Helen was a professional woman at a time when, especially in the Midwest, that was a rarity. She married Arnold and willingly went with him to Arizona, not only because she had fallen in love with his romantic spirit, but because two of her sisters were already living there.
They first came to Tempe where Dad opened a garage. Car repair was as good a Depression-proof job as any—and Dad was a whiz at it. He and Mother fell in love with the land. There were outdoor parties down by the river in a brush arbor on Saturday evenings where Mother loved to dance the night away. The world was simple and pleasant. The future held promise. But then tragedy stuck. My mother contracted tuberculosis. And then, without warning, my father, who loved his cigars, was diagnosed with throat cancer.
Panic set in. Doctors were consulted, but doctors in that rural community were in short supply. Remedies were prescribed, yet the predictions were dire. The family was told that both diseases would eventually prove fatal. Even at its very beginning, their new life seemed over.
Then came a knock on the door. It was late at night. I imagine a night like the one described in Sara Teasdale’s poem. “No lights are over the mesa, the wind is hard and wild, I stand at the darkened window and cry like a child.”
I imagine my mother crying, questioning the cruelty of fate that would allow her to embark on this great western adventure, only to see it turn deadly.
I imagine her wiping away her tears and answering the door. Two men appeared.
“We have been sent,” they said simply.
“By whom?” she asked.
“By God,” they answered.
“For what reason?”
“To pray. We have come to pray for healing.”
Until this moment, my parents had never been overtly religious. Dad was an engineer, designer, and scientist. Mother was a business-woman. But something prompted them to invite these strangers into their home. They allowed these two men to lay hands on them. They held hands and prayed. They prayed out loud and they prayed in silence. I can’t tell you what went on in the minds of my mother and father as the two men covered them in prayer. I don’t know the degree of their skepticism or doubt. All I know is that they were willing. They submitted. They allowed. They were slain in the Spirit. And then they saw the results.
Over a period of weeks, Mother saw that all the signs of tuberculosis had dissipated. When my father returned to the hospital in Phoenix, his doctor was in disbelief.
“The cancer is gone,” he said. “It is in total remission. I can’t explain it.”
“I can,” said Mother, who was by Daddy’s side. “I can explain it in a word.”
“Please do,” urged the physician.
“God. The wonders and miracles of God.”
From that day forward, Mother was a changed woman. She devoted her life not only to the study of God’s Word but to its application in the lives of others. She became an apostle, a pentecostal preacher whose passion for Christ and his healing ministry never waned. She didn’t simply read the New Testament; she lived it. Her fervor for God was matched only by her compassion. And her energy, fueled by her faith, was inexhaustible.
Father’s energy matched Mother’s. While he never tried to subdue her spiritual exuberance—that would have been impossible—his own passion moved in an entirely different direction. He arrived in the Wild West at precisely that moment when mining fever was sweeping the land. Dad caught that fever. He met an old-time prospector by the name of Lloyd Serick, who took him to a spot in the Arizona wilderness that Dad purchased: the Rare Metals Mine. The mine’s primary metal was molybdenum. And in 1942, as part of the war effort, my father obtained a loan from the US government to min
e molybdenum, an alloy in the hardening of steel. Dad never got rich mining, but mining was never about money for him. It was about the indefatigable pursuit of discovery. As a committed miner, he couldn’t be stopped.
Born during World War II, I was my parent’s sixth child after Mary Delores, Helen Lucille, David, Paul, and Sharon, who was only two years my senior. John, the baby, was born two years after me. Because Mary, Helen, and David were much older and had moved out of the house, my closest siblings were Paul, Sharon, and John.
The central setting of my childhood was Mesa, a Mormon city some twenty miles east of Phoenix. And within that setting the central image was a large, white neon sign in the shape of a lighthouse that towered over our residence, a converted army barracks. The sign, lit day and night, said “Lighthouse Mission.” The official name of Mother’s church was First Lighthouse Evangelical Center.
Mesa was a small city where real estate was inexpensive. As industrious as they were practical, my parents were able to buy this abandoned barracks for very little. A sanctuary accommodating some sixty worshippers stood on one side; our living quarters were on the other. The result was an organic feeling of natural unity: we lived where we worshipped and worshipped where we lived.
Two seminal passions informed my upbringing: my mother’s passion for Jesus and my dad’s passion for mining. The two were never in conflict. In fact, they complemented each other. My mother encouraged my father’s mining efforts just as my father supported my mother’s ministry. These two adults, whose influence on me is incalculable, were all about adventure—Mother adventurously sought God’s eternal truths; Daddy adventurously sought minerals hidden deep beneath the soil.
My folks were unique individuals preoccupied with what some might consider esoteric matters, yet they were down-to-earth, here-and-now parents constitutionally incapable of ignoring their children. I never wanted for attention. I saw Daddy as a quiet man, a studious soul who, after spending hours absorbing a complex chemistry text, could get up, go out and build fences, repair tractors, and then put on a coat and tie to sell bankers shares in his Century Molybdenum Copper Corporation—all in a day’s work.