The Man Called CASH

by Steve Turner

  During a seven-night run in Las Vegas during 1972, a report surfaced that Cash was using his commercial concerts to evangelize. A religious news service quoted an Episcopal clergyman as saying that fifteen hundred people had responded to altar calls at the Hilton shows and that Cash had received a "wave of the Holy Spirit" during these times. Cash was forced to issue a disclaimer in which he said that he had undergone no spiritual experience and that there had been no altar calls, though he often closed the evenings with a gospel song during which members of the audience tended to rush to the stage.

  His statement only made matters worse. Once published, he realized that it could have been interpreted as a denial of the presence of the Holy Spirit in his life. He wrote to his local newspaper, the Tennessean, in order to correct this impression:

  The headline stating "Johnny Cash Denies Baptism" is pretty strong language." You asked me if I had received the baptism of the Holy Spirit on stage in Las Vegas and if I gave an altar call. The answer was no—but I didn't mean that the Holy Spirit wasn't alive in me and guiding me.

  Months before that in Jimmy Snow's church I had received the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and that was the most beautiful feeling in my life—to feel that the Spirit of God had come to live in me. Several months following that I felt a strong indwelling of the Holy Spirit, like the time last November when I was baptized in the Jordan River. For a Christian to say that the Holy Spirit does not dwell in him is to deny he is a child of God, and I do not deny that I am a child of God. I am very eager to tell it.

  I feel the Holy Spirit dwells in me at all times. Sometimes it's like a grain of mustard seed, but it's there and at times, like when we sing those gospel songs, I think it does shine through me. That's what happened at Las Vegas and at most of our concerts recently. The people feel that special something, and they come down to the front to shake my hand. That's what happened in Las Vegas.4

  Cash's marriage, the birth of John Carter Cash, the success of the TV series, and Cash's reignited Christian faith combined to make him a calmer, more respectable person. He was turning into that classical mythological figure, the hero who, through his own weakness, is dragged to the depths but who is rescued and comes back wiser and more powerful bearing a message for the world. Even though he was only in his early forties, Cash had the rugged features and the gravitas of a much older man, and his slow, swaggering walk had the imprint of the gunslinger arriving to sort out the troublemakers. His past brushes with the law and his battle with addiction only added to his authority. They gave him a slightly dangerous edge.

  He now found himself invited into the most prestigious circles in American society. President Nixon asked him to perform at the White House in front of an audi ence of two hundred and fifty congressmen and other dignitaries. An aide asked him to include "Welfare Cadillac" in his set, not realizing that it wasn't a Cash song. When he introduced Cash, Nixon said, "I don't know how to describe Johnny Cash's music. I'm no expert on music. I found that out when I told him to sing 'Welfare Cadillac' He owns a Cadillac, but I understand that Johnny isn't on welfare."

  Cash played for an hour at the White House. At the end of his show he made some personal comments about the war in Vietnam. He didn't believe in war, he said, but he didn't think that anyone was going to get America out of Vietnam quicker than President Nixon. "We elected our man as president, and if you don't stand behind him, get . . . out of the way so that I can stand behind him. We pray that he can end this war in Vietnam sooner than he hopes, and all our boys will come back home, and there will be peace in the mountains and all of the valleys." Then, joined by the Carter Family and the Statler Brothers, he sang "Peace in the Valley." After a standing ovation, he came back and performed "Coming Home." According to reporters in attendance, he reduced some in the audience to tears.

  The invitation to one of only four such events organized so far by the Nixon White House illustrated Cash's growing stature, and his comments on the war displayed a newly acquired gift for diplomacy. He simultaneously presented himself as thoroughly American, an outspoken supporter of the president, and a campaigner for peace. His refusal to sing "Welfare Cadillac"—not just because he hadn't written it, but because the song appeared to mock the poor—was widely reported and drew attention to his integrity. Here was a man who wouldn't compromise his art even for the holder of the highest office in the land.

  Cash's friendship with Billy and Ruth Graham grew stronger, and this too helped to establish him in the pantheon of great living Americans in the eyes of the watching public. Graham, after all, had been meeting major world dignitaries since the 1950s, and though living a life of modesty and humility, had enjoyed unparalleled access to those in power. When Ruth, Billy, and their son Ned spent Christmas with the Cashes in 1974 in the aftermath of the Watergate crisis, Graham put a call through to the then-disgraced former president. After wishing him the best for Christmas, he handed the phone to Cash and forced him into a conversation.

  Cash and Graham became close friends over the years, primarily maintaining their relationship through written correspondence. Their families would visit one another at the Cashes' home in Hendersonville, the Grahams' home in Montreat, or at the Cashes' vacation home in Jamaica. These times were important to both families in keeping their personal and spiritual lives refreshed.

  Montreat, NC 28757

  January 7, 1975

  My dear Johnny and June,

  Words are inadequate to express our appreciation for one of the most marvelous weeks of our lives. When we left, Ruth and I had tears in our eyes—not only of appreciation, but affection for the two of you and your wonderful family. We have come to love you all as few people we have ever known. The fun we had, the delicious food we ate, the stimulating conversations, lying in the moonlight at night, the prayer meetings, the music we heard, etc. There has been running over and over in my mind "Matthew 24 is knocking at the door." I have a feeling this could be a big hit.

  Please give our love to the staff and all those who made our stay so memorable, especially John Carter—who is one of the most remarkable little boys we have ever known.

  With warmest affection,

  Billy

  GARDNER-WEBB COLLEGE, a small Baptist college in North Carolina, awarded Johnny an honorary doctorate in humanities. The citation, read by the chairman of the college's board of trustees, referred to him as "one of the princes of American country music" and conferred the doctorate for "his humanitarian activities on behalf of the humble and the poor, those who are the victims of drugs and alcohol, and the thousands locked behind prison walls." Accepting the award Cash said, "Anything legislative bodies of the world may do, with all their speeches, is not worth two cents unless you care for people."

  Although he had performed for prisoners since 1957, the concept of Johnny Cash "the humanitarian" didn't develop until the 1970s when, in addition to his vocal concern for the welfare of prisoners, he committed random acts of generosity for the deserving poor and willingly spoke out about the dangers of addiction. Stories of his big-hearted gestures toward ordinary people found their way into the press, like the time he gave ten thousand dollars to a Nashville man in desperate need of a kidney machine, or the phone call he made to a twelve-year-old boy in Texas who had lost both his arms in a farming accident, or the five-thousand-dollar check he sent to the correction commissioner of Arkansas to "do something special for the prisoners."

  With just a few steps, "Cash the humanitarian" became "Cash the great American." As early as 1972, committees set up to organize various celebrations for the bicentennial in 1976 recruited Cash. His statesmanlike qualities represented the best qualities of American life—not only was he a family man, a patriot, and a military veteran, but he'd overcome physical and spiritual hardship, rooted for the underdog, supported the president, and was a practicing Christian. The Spirit of America Festival gave him the Audie Murphy Patriotism award. In a 1969 review of a Madison Square Garden concert, the New York Post pop crit
ic Al Aronowitz, made the prescient observation that Cash "was bringing the country to the city with an authority that nobody else possesses in this fragmented nation. Johnny Cash knew how to talk to prisoners and to presidents. He knew, as a matter of fact, how to talk to all America."

  A naturally self-analytical man, Cash had long been interested in his identity as an American. His albums True West, Bitter Tears and Blood, Sweat and Tears examined the nature of America and her people. As a traveling musician he'd seen more of the American landscape than most and he loved it all: the woodlands of Tennessee, the mountains of Virginia, the arid desert of California and Nevada, the cotton fields of Mississippi. He pored over books of American history, collected presidential autographs, and loved to dig up the spent bullets of Civil War soldiers and the arrowheads of Indian hunters. "This is my country," he once said, "and I'm proud of every inch of its soil."

  In 1974 he'd made the TV Special "Ridin' The Rails," which writer-producer Dyann Rivkin describes as being, "the story of the building of America as seen through the building of the railroad from 1880 up to the 1970s." The filming involved recreating many of the seminal moments in railroad history, allowing Cash to imaginatively enter his country's past.

  Johnny Cash made a great American icon, especially since, as Stan Jacobson observed when producing the Johnny Cash Show, he had the ability to unite the generations. Older people appreciated his military service, his gospel songs, and the success story of the boy from the cotton fields of Depression-era Arkansas who rose to sing to the president. Young people identified with the way he challenged authority, his protest songs, his inner questing, and his plea for peace at the White House.

  Cash never unconditionally approved of his country. When asked what made him the most proud of America, he said,

  Our freedoms were won at a very high cost and I think there's a lot to be said for a little flag waving in my country. You know, "God bless America." I think God has blessed America and I don't know how much longer he's gonna go on blessing it the way we're screwing it up by getting involved in everybody's little battle. But the family unit, the home, our freedoms, that's what's precious. Then the pioneer spirit of America that still prevails in a lot of the country is precious to me. The spaciousness of the country, I love the West, the American West.

  In December 1970 he started work on a collection of songs about the most important events in American history. Originally, he planned to send a tape of them to the moon with astronaut Stu Roosa on the Apollo 14 mission. He thought the songs would keep the astronauts' thoughts "down to earth" while they were in space. The tape never made it on the mission, and Cash didn't pick up the project until June 1972 when, after recording three additional songs, he released America: A 200-Year Salute in Story and Song.

  The conventional and uncontroversial approach to American history highlighted Paul Revere, the Battle of New Orleans, the Alamo, the Gettysburg Address, the assassination of President Garfield, World War I, the advent of flight, and the Moon landing. Cash's narration filled in the historical gaps. The one note of rebellion was the inclusion of "Big Foot," the song that he'd written about Wounded Knee.

  Shortly after its release, Saul Holiff retired as Cash's manager and Lou Robin replaced him. "Nobody could believe that anyone would voluntarily leave Johnny," says Holiff, "but I have the documentation to prove it. He had just come through being a superstar and he was still a star. He was in good shape. He'd quit smoking and had straightened himself up. He had a good marriage and he adored his son. However, I truly believed that it was going to be anticlimactic from then onward, and it was. For the next ten or twelve years he went into a tailspin until Columbia even reached the point where it dropped him."

  There was another side to Holiff's departure. He'd made no secret of the fact that his ambition in life was to travel the world at someone else's expense, make a clear million dollars, and then retire at a relatively young age to raise a family and pursue his own interests. He was able to do all these things by 1973, and naturally his appetite for business waned. After leaving Cash, he returned to Canada and earned a degree in English literature.

  However, Lou Robin, an economics graduate from Chicago, still had the hunger for deal-making and a vision for Cash's career. Robin worked for an aerospace company before becoming a concert promoter. He'd started with jazz concerts as a student, and during the 1960s went on to work with the biggest acts in the business, including the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. He first became involved with Cash in 1969 when, as part of the Agency for Performing Artists with Marty Klein, he organized some of the California shows, including the concert at San Quentin State Prison. And although he never signed a formal contract, Robin would remain Cash's manager to the end.

  In some ways it was a difficult time for Robin to take the reins. As Holiff indicated, 1969 through 1972 were Cash's superstar years—where could his career go but down? The nature of Cash's new projects only compounded the sentiment. Though a worthy film, Gospel Road was unlikely to boost him into the Hollywood stratosphere. Now drug free, he was far easier to deal with and he was as diligent as ever on the road, but his music lacked its experimental edge. His songs all started to sound the same and sales were slumping. Not one single or album released between August 1972 and April 1976 made the pop charts.

  Distressed with the sales slump, Columbia decided that he needed a firmer hand. Cash wanted to do another gospel album, but the company refused, unless he accepted their choice of material ("Amazing Grace," "Rock of Ages," "The Old Rugged Cross"). In return for permission to record a gospel album (Johnny Cash Sings Precious Memories), Cash had to record a commercial album with Columbia's choice of producer, Gary Klein. Cash went along with the deal, although he later admitted that he had no feeling at all for the project (the album John R. Cash). To add to the indignity, both albums bombed.

  The Bicentennial couldn't have come at a better time for Cash. In 1976 he was ubiquitous. He started the year off by hosting an NBC special celebrating two hundred years of the American circus, receiving a coveted star on Hollywood Boulevard, being honored with a Homecoming Day in his birthplace of Kingsland, Arkansas, and performing a benefit for the Bicentennial Freedom Train. Finally, on July 4, as grand marshall in the Washington, D.C. parade, he held a concert in front of the Washington Monument, after which he rang a replica of the Liberty Bell two hundred times to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd and was taken through the streets in a horse-drawn carriage.

  Cash's single, "Sold out of Flagpoles" playfully celebrated the Bicentennial, but kept an eye on the forthcoming presidential election. The Vietnam War, followed by the Watergate scandal, had left people feeling cynical about politicians, and Cash caught the mood:

  "What this country needs," I said

  "Is someone everyone can trust,

  Someone everybody knows

  Will always keep his word or bust."

  "How about me and you," said Loney

  "Or the Lone Ranger, or Tonto, or Mickey Mouse, huh?

  And I'm sold out of flagpoles."

  The album that produced this single, One Piece at a Time, produced by Charlie Bragg and Don Davis, was heralded as a return to form, and the title track was Cash's biggest hit in years. Written by Wayne Kemp, the comedic song describes an auto factory worker who systematically steals parts until he is finally able to create a new car. The downside is that the parts are all from different cars. One fan was so enamored of the song that he built a car based on the description in the lyrics and had it delivered to Cash in Hendersonville.

  Despite languishing record sales, 1976 found Cash, in every other respect, a satisfied man. His marriage, family, and faith had provided a tranquil center to his life. He started spending more time in Montego Bay, Jamaica, where he'd come across an eighteenth-century plantation house. The mansion, 280 feet above sea level, captivated his imagination in the same way the house on Old Hickory Lake had just a few years before. Built in 1747 for Richard Barrett, great-grandfa
ther of the British poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, it had fallen into disrepair; but the owner, American businessman John Rollins, planned to refurbish it for his retirement. Cash eventually persuaded Rollins to part with it, and the Cinnamon Hill Great House became his second home.

  "Johnny and June met my husband in Jamaica on their first trip, which was around 1972," says Michele Rollins. "When they came back they stayed in our guest house and then Johnny was thinking what he could do for John, who was going through one of his down cycles, and he concluded that the best thing he could do would be to buy something from him. They asked him if he would be willing to part with the house and John said, 'Absolutely.' They said, 'Are you sure? It's so old and so historic' And my husband, who had been brought up as poor as Johnny on a farm in Georgia, said, 'I've been in old houses all my life. I'll never live in one again. I'm happy for you to buy it.' That was how Johnny and June came to have Cinnamon Hill Great House."

  Nestled against the hills, surrounded by cinnamon and allspice trees and with a view over the ocean, the house became the Cash family's favored winter retreat and John and Michele Rollins two of their most trusted friends.

  In September 1975, Cash and June had enrolled in an intensive Bible-study course with the Christian International School of Theology, earning sixty-eight semester hours of college credit. Sixteen units covered a survey of the Bible, the Gospels, the tabernacle, and the life and teachings of the apostle Paul. The college president, Dr. Bill Hamon, remembers Cash as a straight-A student who read well beyond the requirements. "I personally graded several of his courses," says Hamon. "I was amazed at his grasp of spiritual truth. I couldn't tell the difference between his work and that of some of the outstanding ministers we had. He had a good biblical knowledge."