Johnny Cash: The Life

by Robert Hilburn

  Phillips’s early recordings with white artists tended toward straight country, and he may have had the same thing in mind for Presley. He had been impressed when the teenager stopped by Sun Studios in 1953 to make a record for his mother, a sideline business that helped Phillips pay the bills. Phillips wasn’t knocked out by Presley’s tentative vocal on an old pop tune called “My Happiness,” but there was something about the singer’s tone that stuck with him.

  When he went into the studio with Elvis on July 5, Sam put him together with two musicians who had worked on some of Phillips’s earlier recordings, guitarist Scotty Moore and bassist Bill Black. To help the youngster relax, Phillips suggested he just sing some of his favorite tunes. When Elvis responded with lots of pop stuff, including a slow, hesitant version of “Harbor Lights,” a Top 10 hit for Bing Crosby four years before, Phillips’s heart sank. The night looked like a lost cause. Eventually, he turned off the tape recorder and told the guys to take a break.

  He was startled moments later when Presley began strumming playfully on his acoustic guitar and singing “That’s All Right,” a blues tune by Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup. Phillips quickly turned the tape machine back on and encouraged the musicians to play the tune a few times.

  The moment was as close to a “big bang” as can be found in pop music. There’s a raw sex appeal and authority in Presley’s vocal, and Moore’s memorable guitar break, influenced by the thumb and finger style of country guitarists Chet Atkins and Merle Travis, adds energy and color. With the release of that record, the guitar took its place as the essential rock ’n’ roll instrument. Legions of players, including Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, and John Lennon, have spoken with awe about the impact of hearing Elvis’s voice and Scotty’s guitar on those early Sun singles.

  The record caused such a stir in the South that young singers from all around the region, including Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi, began lining up outside Phillips’s door, each wanting to be the next Elvis.

  John R. Cash would eventually take his place in that line. But, from a career perspective, the choice of Memphis as his new home was pure luck.

  As Cash’s plane began its descent over Memphis, he didn’t know anything about Sam Phillips, Elvis Presley, or Sun Records. He had decided to move to Memphis because his older brother, Roy, lived there and had promised to help him find a job. The Air Force—and years of his father’s taunts—had taught Cash to be a practical man.

  II

  Even though most of his family would also be waiting at the Memphis airport to greet him, Johnny only had eyes for one person. He and Vivian were too excited for words as he took her in his arms and gave her a kiss that went on long enough that his family broke into nervous laughter. Even the normally taciturn Ray chipped in. “Vivian,” he joked, “you’re going to eat him up.”

  The joviality finally caused the pair to break their embrace and John to turn his attention to the rest of his family. With Vivian at his side, he shook hands with or hugged Carrie and Ray, his brothers Roy and Tommy, his sisters Reba, Louise, and Joanne, plus some nieces and nephews. Even though they could see how much the now six-foot-two, 165-pound Cash had grown, they were surprised by his added muscles when he held them close.

  The whole group headed for Dyess, where Carrie and Ray had sold the farmhouse and bought a new place near the town center, but John still felt at home, and he couldn’t wait to give Vivian a tour of the school, the fishing hole, and other favorite haunts of his youth.

  He was disappointed during the visit home that he couldn’t introduce Vivian to all of his high school friends, but most had already joined the exodus out of town. He left photos of her with the parents of some of them to make sure they could see how lovely she was. There was another major disappointment, too: Vivian had promised her father that she wouldn’t have sex with John before their marriage, and she didn’t relent.

  After a few days, John was restless. He wanted to head to San Antonio to ask Vivian’s father formally for her hand in marriage. Vivian was touched by the sweet, old-fashioned gesture; she knew it would mean a lot to her parents. Borrowing Ray and Carrie’s car, he and Vivian drove to San Antonio, where, for old times’ sake, they returned the first evening to the River Walk and found the bench where John had carved their initials.

  Despite his original skepticism, Tom Liberto was charmed by his future son-in-law. It still troubled him that the couple had spent less than thirty days in each other’s company. But Vivian was twenty-one, and he was impressed by John’s willingness to be married in the Catholic Church and his pledge to raise the children in the faith. This, he felt, was indeed a model young man, and he finally gave his consent.

  While Vivian worked on the wedding plans, John returned to Dyess to drop off his folks’ car and then caught the bus to Memphis. Roy picked him up at the station and took him to the large DeSoto-Plymouth dealership where he worked as a mechanic. Roy wanted him to meet Marshall Grant and Luther Perkins, a couple of fellow mechanics who often played old country and gospel songs on their guitars during lunch breaks. Maybe, Roy figured, they could start a band together.

  Marshall, who had moved to Memphis from his native North Carolina, was immediately struck by Cash’s charisma. “He didn’t even have his Air Force suit on,” Grant said. “He was in regular clothes, but something drew you to him. By the time Roy introduced us, it felt like the hair on the back of my head was sticking straight out. It startled me a little bit. But it also gave me the sense that I wanted to get to know this guy. He looked like a star.

  “When Roy introduced us, John said, ‘I hear you pick a little bit,’ and I said, ‘Very little,’ and he chuckled, ‘Well, that’s me, too.’” Grant took Cash over to meet Perkins, a poker-faced Mississippi native who was working on a broken car radio, and John said the same thing to Luther, “I hear you pick a little.” They agreed to get together to play some music after John returned from San Antonio.

  Next, Roy took his brother to the Memphis Police Department, where Roy had a friend on the force. There was no position open, but the friend recommended that he talk to George Bates at the Home Equipment Company. It was a popular appliance store in town, and Bates was known to go out of his way to help out ex-servicemen.

  Roy drove Cash to Home Equipment at 2529 Summer Avenue, where they introduced themselves to George Bates. When Bates asked John if he thought he could be a good salesman, John told him the truth. He said he really wanted to be a singer, but he had just returned from Germany and was going to be married in a few weeks, so he needed a job. Undaunted, Bates replied, “Well, we’ll give you a job and see if you can [sell]. I really like your self-confidence. That’s one thing a salesman has to have.”

  Relieved, John shook Bates’s hand and set out with Roy to find an apartment. The best he could afford was a small second-floor place at 1624 Eastmoreland Avenue. John wasn’t happy with it, later calling the apartment “hot and horrible.” The newlyweds wouldn’t even have their own kitchen; they had to share one on the third floor with other tenants. But it was cheap at $55 a month, and it was a start. The next thing Cash needed was a car, and Roy helped him get a good deal on a new green Plymouth, using money John had saved from Germany for a down payment.

  With all the practical things taken care of, John decided to explore a job at a radio station—a way, he figured, to help him eventually get a chance to sing on the air. One of the guys in Germany had been an announcer on station WMCA in Corinth, Mississippi, about a hundred miles from Memphis, and he told John to look up the station’s manager, John Bell; maybe he could get hired as an announcer.

  Bell wasn’t impressed by Cash. He told him to enroll in a radio school, where he could get some training. John heeded Bell’s advice and enrolled in Keegan’s School of Broadcasting on Madison Avenue, using his GI Bill benefits to cover costs. He took announcing classes, which he’d attend two mornings a week before work.

  On the drive back to San Antonio, John listened to the radio, searching for
something by his heroes, and sure enough, there was a huge new Hank Snow hit, “I Don’t Hurt Anymore,” that was just starting a twenty-week reign at number one on the country charts. He sang along with the radio, and he thought about school and how it was going to lead to his own radio show someday. He couldn’t wait to tell Vivian.

  After their long-distance courtship, John and Vivian were finally able to say “I do” before Vivian’s uncle, Father Vincent Liberto, in a ceremony held at St. Ann’s Catholic Church on Sunday, August 7, 1954. After a reception at the St. Anthony Hotel, the Cashes headed for Palestine, Texas, where they spent their wedding night. It was at just about the halfway point of the 440 miles to Memphis. They had five days before John started work.

  It was during their first week in Memphis that John first heard Elvis Presley’s “That’s All Right” on the radio. Like many, he didn’t know at first if it was a country record or a blues record. But he liked it a lot, and he took notice when the DJ kept saying it was the hottest record in town. One other thing caught John’s ear on that first hearing: this exciting new record wasn’t on RCA or Decca or one of the other big Nashville labels. As the DJ put it, “That’s All Right” was on Memphis’s own Sun Records.

  Sun Records?

  The country boy in Cash instinctively liked the name. It took him back to the start of the day in the cotton fields—which was the exact same image Sam Phillips had in mind when he thought of the name in the first place. Cash would have bought the record, but his budget was too tight. He had to settle for listening to it on the radio. He thought about going to Sun Records, but he didn’t kid himself; he wasn’t good enough yet to make a record. He didn’t even have a band. That reminded him of the two guys Roy had introduced him to a couple of weeks before. He headed back to Automobile Sales at 309 Union Avenue, a major commercial street in midtown Memphis.

  Marshall Grant was delighted to see Cash again, and they made arrangements to get together at Marshall’s house at 4199 Nakomis the following weekend; John and Vivian needed their first weekend in town to get things in shape at their apartment. Marshall said he’d invite Luther Perkins, Roy, and another employee, a steel guitar player named A. W. “Red” Kernodle. John then got into his car, turned right on Union Avenue, and headed home. Four blocks later, he passed a nondescript single-story building. Little did he suspect that it was the home of Sun Records.

  III

  John felt he was on a roll as he drove his new Plymouth to the Home Equipment Company headquarters on Thursday morning to begin the store’s version of basic training. Owner George Bates wanted new employees to spend time in each department so they would know how to respond to any customer question. Whether it was roofing, new flooring, aluminum siding, air conditioning, fiberglass, wrought iron rails, or appliances, Home Equipment was ready to help—complete with easy-payment plans.

  Bates also wanted his new employee to get some experience working the store floor before sending him out to solicit customers door-to-door. John tried to pitch refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, and other household appliances, but after two days, he still had no sales. Bates told him not to worry; he’d eventually get the knack. John liked Bates and tried to believe him.

  Meanwhile, John was looking forward to getting together with the guys to play some music. Marshall and Luther were both born in 1928, which made them closer to Roy Cash’s age than John’s, but they formed an immediate rapport with the young man. While they gathered at Marshall’s house, the wives played cards in the kitchen.

  Marshall described Vivian as “one of the most beautiful women I had seen in my life…lovely skin and gorgeous eyes. She and my wife fell in love in a matter of minutes, and that helped her start to get over some of her homesickness because she didn’t know anybody around here except John and Roy.”

  For their first get-together, John brought along his cheap German guitar. He quickly emerged as the group’s unofficial leader. As they strummed their guitars, John sang lead and Marshall took over harmony, trying to sound as much as they could like the Louvin Brothers. Marshall admitted they were pretty rough. None of them was even good enough on the guitar to play lead, so they all had to play rhythm. Every so often, John would venture off and start singing a Hank Snow or Hank Williams song, but it was mostly gospel.

  Roy never joined in the playing, despite an early interest in music when he and little J.R. would devote themselves to learning all the singers on the family radio. He just sat on the sofa, encouraging everyone. He saved his greatest praise, of course, for his brother.

  Each time the guys got together on a Friday or Saturday night (sometimes both), the music sounded a touch better. Marshall and Luther just saw it as recreation; John was the only one who was serious about a music career. But something happened during one of their early get-togethers that started Marshall believing that all this fooling around might actually lead to something. Just before the end of the night, John, somewhat timidly, said he wanted to play a gospel song he had written in Germany. Titled “Belshazzar,” the song was drawn from the Old Testament and told the story of a king with false values.

  Marshall was impressed that John could actually write a song. Roy, too, hearing about his brother’s writing, was even more certain that John was going to be a star.

  As Grant recalled, John was excited a few days later to learn that Elvis Presley was going to do a free show at the opening of a new Katz Drug Store. John and Vivian went to the opening and watched Elvis, Scotty Moore, and Bill Black perform on the back of a flatbed truck parked outside the store. Because Elvis had only the one record out, they kept playing “That’s All Right” and “Blue Moon of Kentucky” over and over.

  John was mesmerized by what he saw and heard, from the sensual energy of the music to the enthusiasm of the group of young, mostly female fans. He also was struck by how young Elvis looked. He was just a kid, he told Marshall later. In fact, John, Marshall, and Luther all began calling Elvis “the Kid.” Though only three years Elvis’s senior, at twenty-two, John suddenly felt old. He told himself he’d better get started if he was ever going to make it in the music business.

  After Elvis stepped down from the truck, John went over and told him how much he liked his music. Elvis was flattered and invited John and Vivian to come see him again the next night at the Eagle’s Nest, a 350-capacity nightclub/dance hall located at the edge of the city limits at Highway 78 and Winchester Road.

  Once again, Cash marveled at Elvis’s smooth delivery and the trio’s tightness. Afterward he said hello again, but he didn’t mention what was really on his mind: how to get in to Sun Records. John did bring up Sun when talking to Scotty Moore, and Scotty advised him just to call Sam Phillips and make an appointment. He told John, “He’s lookin’ for new talent.”

  During a break at work the following week, John looked up Sun Records in the phone directory and dialed the number. When a woman answered, he asked to speak to Sam Phillips, but was told he was out of town. Oddly, John felt relieved. Always a realist, he knew he wasn’t anywhere near good enough to make a record yet. He wrote the Sun number on a piece of paper, though, and stuck it in his pocket.

  When John showed up at Marshall’s house the following Friday, Marshall sensed something different about him. Instead of joking around between and even during songs, he was serious. He kept going over the same two or three numbers rather than shifting from one to the next as he had done on previous nights. One of the songs, “I Was There When It Happened,” was a gospel tune popularized by Jimmie Davis, the former Louisiana governor. Another was his own “Belshazzar.” John wanted their group to play as confidently as Elvis and his guys played.

  That attitude turned their meetings from relaxed free-for-alls into real rehearsals—and the other guys picked up on it. Marshall was starting to see a future for the group, and he made a key suggestion: to be really good onstage, they needed a much fuller sound. It wasn’t enough for them all just to play acoustic guitars—and steel guitar on the occasional nights
when Red Kernodle stopped by. Luther said he knew where he could borrow an electric guitar, and Marshall agreed to get a standup bass, even though he didn’t know how to play one. Because John was the singer, it was agreed that he would continue playing rhythm guitar. And sure enough, Luther showed up the following weekend with a Fender Telecaster and Marshall had a bass he’d bought for $25. Both instruments were pretty worn out. The Telecaster didn’t even have a volume control, so Luther had to place his hands across the strings to muffle them when he wanted to soften the tone. Trying to learn to play the bass, Marshall had written the names of the notes on adhesive and placed the tape by the respective strings. But their sound was already more commanding.

  In his struggle to find and hold notes, Luther played a very slow, steady rhythm on his guitar. Marshall tried to follow along, playing the same notes as best he could, in the same deliberate manner. They were literally going from one note to the next like someone typing in a halting hunt-and-peck style.

  They kept it up the next weekend, but they just couldn’t get beyond that simple, primitive sound—the humble beginnings of what they began to refer to as the tick-tack-tick-tack sound, the style others would someday label boom-chicka-boom. It wasn’t that they thought they had discovered something; it was just about the only way they could play. Oh, well, they told themselves, it’s a start. They’d get better.

  When John went into the kitchen to tell Vivian about the progress they were making, he got some news of his own.

  She was pregnant.

  The other wives cheered as he took Vivian in his arms and gave her a hug. He had been home only three months, but his dreams were starting to come true. About that time Cash would later say, “I was full of joy every morning.”