I still remember it like it was yesterday. She told us to qualify for any assistance, we couldn’t own anything, including a car or other valuable personal property regardless of the circumstances. It was a pre-requisite. To qualify for Aid for Dependent Children, (or “welfare” as it’s known today) you had to be totally destitute. We had to sell our car and anything else standing in the way. Even then, the public assistance lady only brought us a few bags of canned food and a little money. We were grateful, but I was completely humbled. That was good for me. My pride was beginning to subside. It hurt not being able to provide for our family. It was good for me, though, to learn some things that everyday people have to face. I’ve been a supporter of a safety net for folks ever since. We needed one so desperately. Without it, I’m not sure what we would have done.
After the ninety days of bed rest I went back to visit the neurosurgeon and other specialists. There was no improvement so they ordered the prescribed surgery—the only alternative to correct the problem. I had every test possible to determine the location of the ruptured discs. Turned out there were two in the lower lumbar section of my back. It was late January of 1976 when they decided to take the last resort and operate on me. The doctors met with us and told us the risk of paralysis was great, and the recovery period would be a year or more. It would be a long time until I could work. When I could re-enter the work force, construction or heavy labor were out. I would have to figure out something else to do. We knew we couldn’t survive that long on our own, so the decision was made, after the urging of my parents, to move into their home with them.
Oh my gosh! What happened? Not only could I be paralyzed in my legs, but we were going to be living with my parents in the house I grew up in. I felt completely out of control in all aspects of my life.
Fortunately for us, we had maintained a modest health insurance policy for our small family. It was a blessing, but it was the bare bones economy model. Because of the length of stay required in the hospital for my surgery and recovery, the policy only paid for a bed for me in a ward. That turned out to be okay because I made friends with the other guys in the room, and it helped me not to be alone so much. That was quite a life experience.
I was admitted to the hospital a couple of days before my surgery for additional tests. When they rolled me into the ward there were two other men in the room. One was a very old, feeble looking black man. He didn’t say much but he waved at me. He was probably too weak to do much else.
The second day I was there Susan noticed he hadn’t moved all morning, so she called out to him. He didn’t respond.
Susan whispered to me, “Eddie, I think he may have died.”
Okay, that freaked us both out! Susan went and fetched a nurse and sure enough the old gentleman left this world that morning, right there, one bed over from mine. That was the first time I was ever close to another human being while he died. Oh, the thoughts crashing through my mind!
The night before my ten-hour surgery was to begin, long after Susan and my family left to go home, our pastor and the college minister from our church dropped by to pray with me. It was like being trapped in a bizarre dream. A movie called Jeremiah Johnson was playing in the background on the TV in the room. Impassioned and highly upset Indians were chasing Robert Redford for his character’s violation of their tribe’s spiritual resting place, and it was all happening while these two men prayed with me. Somehow I felt connected that night with Jeremiah Johnson and his quest for normalcy. It’s funny how you remember strange things that shape you. It was all pretty weird; “surreal” definitely summed it up.
The next morning, as they rolled me to surgery, I told the guys in my room I’d be back before they knew it. The old man who died and met eternity was removed, and another fellow moved in to his bed by the end of the same day. He was also an old black man who talked about as slow as any man could and still be breathing. They put a pacemaker in him about a week later, and Susan and I remarked at how much it sped him up. He was really funny and very genuine in his concern for me.
The other fellow in the room was a Jehovah’s Witness pastor. We talked theology for a couple of days, each trying to convince the other of his particular corner of the truth. He knew how to quote the Bible much better than I, and that bothered me a great deal. I liked him even though I knew in my heart what he was saying about several basic and important elements of the faith just weren’t true. It sent me on a quest to learn why I really believed certain things, a quest that has lasted my entire life.
Hours later, when they returned me to the room after surgery, it was dark outside. I was gone all day—sun-up to sundown. Susan and my mom were there to greet me, thankfully, but I was in a great deal of pain and could hardly talk above a whisper. They rolled me into the room and some nurses came by to set up an apparatus above my bed, kind of like a trapeze I could reach up to, grab ahold of, and adjust my body in bed ever so slightly.
As the pain medicine began to wear off, I couldn’t breathe. It felt exactly like someone drove a truck over my back and stopped with its tires setting squarely on me. I had an incision up the center of my back about six inches long. My mom called for the doctor to quickly come and step up my pain medicine. Before long I was completely in la la land from the narcotics. I remember it so vividly because all the while the other two men in the room were telling me to hang in there and it would be all right.
After Susan and my folks left to go home, I felt lower than I ever felt in my life. It was that night I experienced my fifth, and thus far final, epiphany to this very day. I was lying there, completely doped up on morphine, staring at a trapeze above my bed, not knowing whether I would ever actually walk again. A man died in my room one bed over from me the day before. The Jehovah’s Witness pastor in the bed next to me wouldn’t stop proselytizing me. It was like some bizarre three-ring circus set up all around me and I was performing in the center ring with a top hat and cane.
It was in the wee hours of that night, shrouded in the darkness of that hospital room, when God spoke to my soul in perhaps the clearest way I have ever heard him in my life.
He said directly to my heart, “Eddie, all of those things that stood in your way, and you thought blocked you from doing my will with your music are not there anymore. You have nothing left. Now you can do what I asked you to do.”
That was the most freeing experience I have ever had. I had nothing more to lose. There was no fear anymore. I was on rock bottom. Finally, I was free to do what God asked of me.
When Susan came to the hospital later that day I told her all about my experience with God. She was as excited as she could be looking at me bandaged head to toe. It would be a long road ahead for us.
Shortly after that we did what any warm-blooded, unemployed, American couple would do after moving in with their parents and experiencing a life-altering injury. Susan got pregnant.
TEN
One Step Closer
* * *
The DeGarmo and Key Years
Jim Dickinson was a legend in Memphis. He was a genuine, homegrown icon. Jim grew up loving the blues, playing the blues, and eating the blues for breakfast. He did a lot to preserve the legacy of the blues and rock ‘n’ roll in our city. His credits include playing with The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Ry Cooter, Arlo Guthrie, and many others. Jim actually played the piano on Guthrie’s massive hit “City of New Orleans.” He was also an excellent record producer. He was behind some truly groundbreaking albums, including a couple by the pioneering alternative power-pop/alternative band Big Star. They took their name from a local grocery store chain and went on to help create an entire genre of music.
Jim’s sons started a band called North Mississippi All Stars. They tour the globe continually with notables such as Robert Plant and others. They are definitely carrying on their father’s work and legacy.
Jim Dickinson was also Susan’s uncle.
I vividly remember the first time I met him. It was back when we were first marrie
d and went to Susan’s grandmother’s annual Christmas party. Katherine Hicks Andrews was from old Memphis family stock and was firmly rooted in social prestige. She lived in East Memphis where the magnolias grew strong and mighty. She drove a red Cadillac with fins on the rear end as high as the heels on her shoes. She meant business and carried that air about her. I confess I was a bit intimidated by the sight of her at first, but I liked her. My family was just pure old middle class. Everyone had a pickup truck, or a muscle car up on blocks in their yard—two if you were showing off. Susan’s grandmother was high spirited, spunky, and classy.
When Susan and I drove up to her house for the Christmas party I remember thinking the front yard was about the size of a football field. It would have held a lot of cars on blocks if my family lived there.
Grandma Andrews greeted us at the front door, framed by a blue billowing cloud of cigarette smoke. It was as if she aimed a chimney directly at us, as we stood on the front step in the crisp December air. Again, it seemed like everybody smoked in those days—even Santa Claus and the kids.
When we entered the room I was taken aback by the elegance of the furnishings—all fine antiques upholstered in rich crimson and dark green velvet. At the far end of the room sat an ivory white baby grand piano. I never saw a baby grand piano in anyone’s home before. Susan informed me her grandmother was a fine piano player who specialized in the big-band songs of the thirties and forties. She also let me know not to be too surprised if I was asked to play and sing a Christmas carol or two. It seemed like the family was chock-full of piano players. Susan’s Uncle Al, who was also there, went to high school with Elvis. He played music out with him a few times back in the day. They had the same sideburns.
Al survived the disease of music and went on to become a successful businessman. He sold Coppertone and other concoctions made by Schering-Plough in Memphis. He was smart.
Over in the corner stood Jim Dickinson. He reminded me of The Muppets’ drummer, Animal, in the best way. He was all rock ‘n’ roll style. He even sported a gold tooth. He was completely out of place in the social surroundings of the Christmas party. Jim caused quite a stir in the family when he married Susan’s aunt, Mary Lindsey, a few years earlier. She was a lovely East Memphis prep school socialite, and Jim was known as the down and dirty rock ‘n’ roll and blues musician. When the family all got together many would whisper about Jim and Mary Lindsey and their escapades as a couple.
As soon as we walked through the door Susan marched me right over to introduce me to Jim. We hit it off. We both looked like animals. We talked some pretty good Memphis music lingo that night. I told him about my recording days with Lewis Willis and Willie Mitchell. He told me about his band “The Dixie Flyers.”
“So what are you doing now?” he asked.
“Well, all that has changed for me,” I replied. “I got saved, so now I’m writing and playing Jesus rock music.”
Jim’s eyes widened, and he became totally animated.
“That is so out!” he exclaimed. “I want to record you guys.”
That was Christmas of 1973.
A few months later Jim took Dana and me into Ardent Studios on Madison Avenue and recorded four demos on our band in early 1974. Ardent was known as “The rock ‘n’ roll studio in Memphis.” ZZ Top recorded all of their albums there. Even Led Zeppelin made a record there. It seemed everyone in rock ‘n’ roll knew about Ardent.
Dana and I were in hog heaven, but totally scared to death. When we entered the enormous recording room of Studio A, I felt like Bugs Bunny seeing the giant carrot patch for the first time. We were completely in awe. The ceilings were over twenty feet high and the studio walls were hardwood with alternating sound baffles. Little could I know DeGarmo and Key would record several albums in that very studio over the next years.
We recorded four demos over the course of four days. We began around 6:00 p.m., after Dana and I got off work or school, and recorded into the wee hours of the morning.
I learned much from Jim over those four late night sessions. His philosophy about rock ‘n’ roll was the best I’ve ever come by. “Eddie,” he said to me late one night, “Always remember rock ‘n’ roll is built on the tension between good and evil. When it leans too far in either direction, it loses its right to exist.”
I was so glad to have the chance to work with Jim, though we were still a couple of years away from finding our musical path, and I had a lot more growing to do. The four demos he recorded for us became an important musical introduction for us years later. His philosophy was important, too, especially to a young man thinking about using rock ‘n’ roll to talk about Jesus.
It was fun recording with Jim, but that was before my back injury happened and life came to a halt. The “Christian Band” Dana and I were building went fairly dormant as I struggled to make ends meet, but with the surgery and recovery it was as good as over. After the surgery, while living at my parents’ house with Susan and our one-and-a-half-year-old little girl, it was time to figure out what I was going to do next.
In the meantime, I was able to re-enroll and was going to Memphis State University full-time to try to get a plan for our future. However, I felt deeply I needed to contribute something financially to our family. Whatever job I got would have to be in the evenings because of school, so I did what came natural to me and formed a dance “cover band.” We named ourselves “Slingshot” and started booking gigs at dances, bars, and clubs around town and the surrounding area. That was easy for me in some ways, and very difficult in others. I hadn’t been around that lifestyle in a long while and it made me uncomfortable. However, those days were part of the journey. I still had some growing up to do.
Those were difficult times. Susan was holding down a day job, I was going to college during the day and off playing in clubs at night and various venues on the weekends. All of this was combined with the drama of living with my parents. Yuck!
For me, playing music back in the club scene was a vivid wakeup call. I’m not at all making a judgment about people who feel compelled to make their livings there, for that’s certainly respectable. For me, however, I felt this divine tug on my heart to use my music as a calling card to share the Gospel and my story of faith. I tried playing “Jesus Music” in clubs before and found it was challenging at best to share one’s faith publically from the platform in that setting. People can throw stuff. As I have said, I actually think one could be far more effective sitting at the bar speaking and sharing with folks in one on one conversations.
A few months after I started gigging with Slingshot, Dana Key called and asked if he could come by and see me. I know it was spring because the flowers were blooming, and as we sat outside in my parents’ backyard, I could hear a lawnmower off in the distance. It was strange for Dana to visit me at my parents’ house. It was like being back in high school. I felt awkward, like I was trapped in some sort of time warp. I was married and had a little girl, but I was still in my old room.
As we sat in a couple of worn out lawn chairs, Dana told me why he came. “I’ve been thinking, Eddie,” he said. “I just can’t believe God would lead you on this journey for no reason. When you came to high school that day and told me you found Jesus, I knew something radical happened to you. I sensed a real difference in your eyes, and I wanted to have it too. Now, four years later, and after the ‘Christian Band’ days, you are back playing in the same old clubs. I’m here to ask you to get our band back together. God has bigger plans for us. I know it.”
I was stunned and elated at the same time. I looked in Dana’s eyes and said, “What you have shared with me today is like a breath of fresh air.” I knew deep down in my soul I needed to take a step of faith and trust God to show me the way. I give Dana the credit for getting us back together to heed God’s calling on our lives.
I then said, “Dana, I’m on welfare, food stamps, and am going to college on the state’s dime. I’m still living with my parents with a wife and baby. Let’s do what G
od called us to do. Why not? I’m all in!”
When Susan got home from the mortgage company, she wasn’t necessarily in the best of moods. She was six months pregnant with our second child and had been standing on her feet all day collecting sweaty money from people who would sometimes take it out of their shoes, shorts, or brassiere. No joke. That is the truth. I said, “Honey, (I always start out with that when I want to get my way) Dana came by today and asked me if I would be willing to get our Christian band back together. He went on to say God wasn’t through with us yet.”
Susan looked at me with tired eyes and said, “Well, we live with your parents, are on welfare, and I’m pregnant. We’ve got nothing to lose. Do it. I agree with Dana. We are not through this journey yet. Do it and do it quick.”
I just smiled.
Later that evening I shared with Slingshot that I would be leaving, and Dana and I were getting back together to write music about God and our faith. I think they were actually relieved to get rid of me. I just didn’t fit anymore. They knew it too.
Dana and I started to do shows as a duo. It was just the two of us. We performed that way publically for a few months. We simply called ourselves “DeGarmo and Key.”
ELEVEN
Wayfaring Stranger
At that point Dana was working part-time for Youth for Christ while attending Bible College. I worked for Youth for Christ before I had my accident and Dana was able to help me get back with them leading a high school Campus Life club. I earned fifty dollars a week. Susan and I were grateful.
We lived with my parents for ten months with our two-year-old daughter during 1976. During that seemingly endless period of time, Mom and Dad decided to retire and move back to Arkansas to my mother’s family farm where she grew up. My grandmother was in her eighties and needed someone with her. I think my dad had a vision of the Green Acres sitcom in his mind. I spent many of my summers at their farm growing up. Even though my grandfather passed away when I was five, my Uncle Gene took over. We kids called him Uncle Beaner-stalker. My brothers and I loved going there and spending time in the country. It was idyllic to me.
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