Wynton Marsalis told me a story about a jazz musician who asked the bandleader who had just hired him, “When do we rehearse?” The bandleader said, “Can you play?” The musician said, “Well, yes.” The bandleader said, “Well then, what the fuck do you want to rehearse for?” It makes sense that either you can play or you can’t play. It’s too late to learn once you get out there. You turn everything over to your inner self and go for it. You have to trust yourself, and that requires confidence and talent.
THE SOUND DEPARTMENT IS BOBBY LEMONS AND AARON FOYE. THE lighting department is Budrock Pruitt. They do a great job of making us look and sound good. John Selman is the stage manager. He makes sure everything is perfect for the shows each and every night. Kenny Keopke works with John to keep the show going. Tom Hawkins has been wrangling Trigger for me for many years now. I know that at showtime Trigger will be tuned and ready to bark. Larry “L.G.” Gorham has been watching my back for over thirty years. Gates “Gator” Moore and Tony Sizemore have been driving the bus for me for millions of miles. We have worn out several buses, and when we all lie down to sleep, we know that our lives are as safe as they can be. Thank you, Gator and Tony; we are here because you got us here. David Anderson is maybe the smartest guy I have out there, besides Paul. He does everything he has to do very well—public relations, road manager, computer wizard, and sparring partner. I practiced all my tae kwon do forms on the bus, going down the road at sixty miles an hour, using David as my opponent. He was a good sport. Thank you all very much!
DAVID ANDERSON
It was New Year’s Eve 1973, after my senior high school party; I was high on mushrooms and riding up and down on the Dallas Hyatt Regency elevator for fun. It was there I experienced my first encounter with the man I would spend the rest of my adult life with. A man who would change—had already changed—my life forever.
Shortly after midnight, the elevator door opened and through the hallucinogenic glaze of my eyes stood before me one of the largest superstars in history, and next to him was Willie Nelson. I offered Leon Russell and Willie a ride, asked them what floor they wanted, and delivered them safe and sound with great relief. My journalism and sociology teachers had recently introduced me to Willie’s music while trying to explain why Leon Russell had just cut his first country record, Hank Wilson’s Back.
That next year, our paths would cross yet again. It was during a very new growth period for Texas music and music festivals in general. Tom Lett, owner of the Best Parking Lot at Dallas’s Love Field, had the pioneering idea of bringing festivals to the heart of Dallas during the pre-amphitheater era. I was an eighteen-year-old kid right out of film school and enjoyed music, though I was far from an expert. But when the chance came along for me to advise Tom on the artists who should perform, I jumped at the chance.
Willie was my first choice, and Willie’s daughter Lana was my first call. She worked in her dad’s office, booking and helping Paul English, Willie’s drummer. She’s now my big sister and best friend.
Tickets were $7 each and included all the beer and soda you could consume. They sold out instantly. We built the stage on top of the parking lot entrance, and that night two topless girls climbed onto two other cowboys’ shoulders to see Willie up close and personal. Willie enjoyed the view until the blonde fell and grabbed on to Willie’s strap. It was an eighteen-foot fall and no titties were worth the drop.
Fate continued to guide me as I opted out of a consulting fee and salary, and I asked Tom to rent me a suite at the Ramada Inn next door with a banquet room for the artists to come to and relax and party instead. Much better, I thought, than a hundred-dollar bill. Willie, Paul, and the rest of the band came up for food and to smoke a quick joint, and of course to get paid, before hitting the road. We did, they did, and it was done.
Later on, while Paul was producing the 1975 picnic in Liberty Hill, he stayed in Dallas to promote and buy ads, although it turned out to be a retreat from exhaustion more than anything. We met each night after my job at Bill Stokes’s studio and talked about the picnic, exchanging ideas on how to make it work easier than in the past.
It was their fourth year and most motor-home rental agencies had seen the wrath of a picnic taken out on their equipment, and they had all refused to rent to them, a conundrum Paul placed on my shoulders. With the arrogance of naïveté, I jumped at the chance. I didn’t even know what a dressing room was, much less where to rent one.
The next Sunday I was driving by a construction site and fifty blueprint office trailers were scattered around a field. I called the number on the billboard and ordered them all delivered to Austin for $50 each. Before I knew it, I was in Austin at another picnic, only this time not as a spectator, but as a worker helping “the Devil” himself.
It rained that year, as it seems to at most picnics, and the roof began filling with water and had nowhere to go, so Paul pulled out his forty-five and unloaded his pistol into it to drain the weight of the water. Like the rest of the audience I cheered on in happy disbelief. I’d never seen a gun before.
I guess he was enthused over my eagerness, because Paul hired me as his assistant. Willie’s enthusiasm, however, was short-lived. I was getting on his nerves, trying to treat him like the star I thought he was.
Soon Willie called me into his office. Paul was there too, and in true Willie fashion, rather than hurt my feelings, he said he couldn’t afford to pay me. I knew that wasn’t the case, as I had worked the last nine months for only $100.
He did say, however, that I could continue to promote shows for him, so I did just that. Wichita Falls was my first true dive into the world of concert promotion, and with Willie as the headliner it was an easy sell. The show sold out with massive profits for the time, $12,500; I had about $6,500 in cash sales, with the other $6,000 at the box office.
Fate decided to take me on a drive out west to deliver the money. Paul and Willie were at a show promoted by a longtime scoundrel, Geno McCoslin. Geno had not paid them, yet again, and to their surprise and my good fortune, I showed up with a brown paper bag with $6,500 cash. Willie told Paul, “Hire him back.”
It’s been the best and worst times of my life. I couldn’t imagine a better person with whom to have experienced almost four decades of the most fascinating life anyone could ever imagine. He taught me all about love and how to love others. Just as Joe Jamail wrote on Trigger years ago, he’s “a gentle man.” I will always love him.
THE FRANKS BROTHERS HANDLE THE MERCHANDISE ON THE ROAD. Scooter, Ruthie, and crew travel every mile we do. They are the only merchandise company I have ever used.
OH WELL, HERE TODAY AND OUT THE OTHER . . . OR IN ONE EAR AND gone tomorrow. We live and learn, then die and forget it all. Maybe not, and maybe Earth is a school where we come to learn lessons. I believe in the law of karma, where every action has an equal and opposite reaction. You get what you give. Fred Foster said, “The only thing you get to keep in this life is what you gave away.” You can’t out-give God. The Bible says whatever you give away you get back ten times over. Do the math; it’s a no-brainer, and I believe you keep coming back until you get it right. As you learn, you can also teach others what you have learned along the way. Or you can keep doing it wrong until you like it that way. So get to giving, and let me know how it works out. I have received more than ten times what I gave, and I’m still way ahead.
I GUESS I’VE COME TO LIVE HERE
IN YOUR EYES
I guess I’ve come to live here in your eyes
This must be the place called paradise
You are so special to me
And what a precious time within our lives
And I guess I’ve come to live here in your eyes
A thousand times I see you and a thousand times you take my breath away
Then fears and doubts consume me
I’m afraid someone will take it all away
I hope I’m here forever, but I think it’s time that we both realize
That I guess
I’ve come to live here in your eyes
ANNIE AND I HAVE BEEN TOGETHER ALMOST TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS and have been married for nearly twenty-two of those. Do the math yourself if you like, or I can just tell you that both of our boys were in our wedding.
Micah and Lukas
We seem to still find ways and time to be together. We have two great sons, Lukas and Micah, who are fantastic musicians, singers, and artists. They always make me so proud. When I’m really lucky, we all get together onstage and play music. Playing music with Paula, Amy, Lukas, Micah, and Sister Bobbie is as good as it gets!
MICAH NELSON
For those who still believe Santa Claus isn’t real, clearly they have never met my father. The invaluable things I have learned from him over the years simply through observation are more than I can describe in any language. It is a blessing to have been raised by someone so wise and humble. He is an elder of the human tribe and young beyond his years. I love him more every day, because every day it seems we grow closer.
It isn’t easy to describe exactly what it’s like to be “Willie’s kid.” One might reasonably assume that it comes with a great pressure to live up to a certain expectation or to be caught in a heavy shadow. Being an artist/musician inherently comes with many pressures and struggles. However, I have never felt as though I am standing in his shadow—it is instead as if he has blazed a trail of lights for me with which to cast my own shadows. There has never been any pressure from him to be anything but a decent person, and he has supported me in every creative endeavor I’ve ever embarked upon, regardless of how different it may be. Seriously, even if I played in some screamo/breakcore/noise/glitch pop/polka band (fill in the blank), he would still want to come sit in with the band or have me come open for him or something, just so we could hang out and play music together. That is how much he cares about family above all else. When he came to see my band Insects vs. Robots a couple years ago, our bassist broke a string halfway through the set, and while he was changing it, my dad jumped onstage and kicked off “On the Road Again.” Maybe half the band knew the song, but it kept the show moving and was a great and hilarious moment. I’ll never forget that.
I started playing harmonica in his band next to Mickey when I was three years old and later moved on to playing drums/percussion with Paul and Billy, while Lukas played guitar, and these days I’ve been singing in the band as well. I literally grew up with music. When I was about seven years old, Dad asked me to make the album artwork for his album Milk Cow Blues. I ended up giving the “boy cows” udders (because I was seven years old), but he didn’t care. In fact, he thought it was great. For us, it was just a fun project to do together.
When he asked me to do illustrations for this book, it was just another great excuse to create together. Still, I feel incredibly honored to be the one to illustrate moments and characters in my dad’s life. It has certainly been a special one. Needless to say, we laughed a lot rummaging through all his life stories. Getting to re-create them visually has made us closer than ever. When I originally asked what he had in mind visually for the book he said, “Just do what you do, whatever you’re feeling. We’ll go from there.” My dad has never tried to hinder my creative potential or change who I am, and for that I thank him so much. He’s had his fair share of experience being himself in the face of creative suppression and trusting his intuition regardless of what was expected or accepted. Seems to have worked out pretty well so far.
Lukas, Micah, and Willie
THEY SAY THERE ARE NO EX-WIVES, ONLY ADDITIONAL WIVES, AND that’s not such a bad thing, especially if you had kids together. It’s good to stay on good terms with everyone.
My first wife, Martha, was a great lady. We were just teenagers when we met. She was a carhop in Waco, and I was a guitar player. We had three great kids, Lana, Susie, and Billy. We lost Billy, and that’s still hard to think about. You never get over losing a child, you only get through it. Lana travels with me on the road now. Susie lives in Austin. She is doing a radio show on SiriusXM playing gospel music.
Susie, Billy, Martha, and Lana
RAELYN NELSON
So, Annie told me she needs this yesterday; that gives me until tomorrow afternoon to ponder and write about Papa Willie memories and such. The earliest memory I have of Papa Willie (I’ve always called him Papa Willie until I shortened it to PW, then eventually to P-dub) is with my daddy. I remember just a flash, as early memories are for most of us, of my daddy, P-dub, and me singing a song. I know it was “Jingle Bells,” but only because I was told that was the song that they taught me. The other early memory I have is being in a crowded venue in my daddy’s arms and watching P-dub try to make his way through hundreds of screaming fans. I wanted to talk to Papa Willie and my daddy told me we’d see him after he was done working.
My daddy was wild, hence the nickname Wild Bill. Auntie says, “Papa Willie must’ve never tamed him.” That makes me smile. I remember my daddy always coming and going. When he was home with my mama and me, we’d play and have the best time. He left every few days, but he’d always come back ready to sing and play guitar to me and draw smiley faces. When he was gone, I always thought he was with P-dub, on the road. My daddy loved P-dub; I think he wanted to be just like him . . . but who doesn’t? It was hard being Willie Nelson Jr., I’m sure, and I’ll never have the opportunity to talk to my dad about his struggles and tribulations of that time, but I know he was proud of his daddy. We’d go to every Papa Willie show we could make.
Billy
I was seven years old and it was Christmas Day when my mama got a call from Aunt Lana; my daddy had been found dead in his cabin in Ridgetop. My mama told me and I saw her cry. She cried hard, wept while my stepdad tried to console her. She took me to his memorial viewing in Tennessee, because she wanted me to see that he was dead and didn’t just take off and hadn’t come back yet.
My mama took me to all of P-dub’s shows when he came through town, made sure I had all of his albums, had me call and write regularly, and did anything else she could to keep me connected with my daddy’s family. I remember he came to Grandparents’ Day at my elementary school in fifth grade and signed autographs for everybody’s grandparents for hours. I asked P-dub for a guitar when I was fourteen, and he bought me a brand-new Martin acoustic that I still play today. I learned some tunes, and the next time I saw him, I played and sang the best song I could play. He smiled and gave me a guitar lesson that I still hold as one of my most precious moments of life.
Whenever I see Papa Willie, there’s a sadness in his eyes that I recognize, and I’m sure he sees it in mine, too, because just like I remind him of my daddy, he reminds me of my daddy, and the pain of losing him from this life never goes away. There’s not a day that goes by that we don’t think about him. He’s still alive in our hearts and minds and I believe that he’s watching over us as a family angel . . . so don’t fuck with us.
Raelyn and Papa Willie
MARTHA AND I STAYED TOGETHER TEN YEARS BEFORE MY SHENANIGANS on the road blew the deal. She is no longer with us, but we had some great years. Our marriage got a little rocky when I met Shirley Collie. Shirley was a great singer and songwriter. We stayed together ten years before I met this real pretty blonde in Texas one night, and there I went again.
Connie and I stayed together ten years, and we had two great kids, Amy and Paula. I began to see a pattern.
AND SO WILL YOU MY LOVE
The music stopped the crowd is thinning now
One phase of night has reached an ending now
But nothing, nothing lasts forever
Except forever
And you my love
And so will you my love, my love
The streets are dark here as I walk alone
And since you’re gone I always walk alone
But nothing, nothing lasts forever
Except forever and you my love
And so will you my love, my love
And so will you my love
Your memory is always near
Wherever I am found your memory’s still around
The dawn and I arrive at home at last
Night turns its lonely face toward the past
For nothing lasts forever
Except forever
And you my love
And so will you my love
My
Love
THEN I DID A MOVIE IN TUCSON AND MET ANNIE. SHE WAS THE makeup artist on the movie Stagecoach. We have been together almost twenty-seven years, so we seem to have figured it out . . . as much as anyone can. I still travel a lot, but we still find our time. They say the only normal family is the one you don’t really know, so I guess we are as normal as the next. I think somebody said we get too soon old and too late smart, and why is youth wasted on the young?
ANNIE NELSON
When I’m out on the road, most people ask how Willie and I met. I met Willie on a “movie of the week” filming in Tucson, Arizona. The film was a remake of John Ford’s classic Stagecoach. I actually met the rest of the highwaymen and their families before I met the guy who turned out to be my favorite—oh wait, my only—husband.
I was the head of the hair and makeup department for the film and had spent an inordinate amount of time going back and forth with the director and producer, who felt that Willie should cut his hair to play the part of John Henry “Doc” Holliday. I know what you’re thinking. Why? Because I was thinking the same thing myself. I agreed finally that I would go ahead and do it. So the first day he showed up, my job was to ask Willie Nelson if he would be willing to cut his lovely hair off to play the part of a character who, in truth, didn’t really have long hair. In any case, I introduced myself to him and said, “Mr. Nelson, the producers would like to know if you are willing to cut your hair off for this part.” He was sitting, so he looked up at me with an impish grin and said, “What do you think?” Now, honestly, I was willing to leave the show at that point because I had already spent a few days listening to the producer and director fighting via bullhorns across the desert Southwest over who had worked on the most John Wayne films. I was pretty done. So it was easy to say to him, “I think it is spectacularly unnecessary and ridiculous.” That’s when his impish grin grew to a fantastic smile and a twinkle in his eye, and he said, “Then let’s say no!” That’s the moment I saw my home in his eyes. Maybe it was just a shared moment of smart-assedness, but it’s been going strong for nearly twenty-seven years, so I guess there was something there after all.
Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die: Musings From the Road Page 6