AmeriKa the Beautiful
Let's hear it for Linda Ronstadt. Totally absent from the publicity pages for nearly a decade and in one fell swoop a Las Vegas casino has elevated her to heroine status. Free speech, you nitwits. It's in the Constitution, except in certain Sin City gambling establishments.
When the Dixie Chicks came forth to out Bush as an idiot, I went out and bought their new CD in support of them, even though I had never heard them actually play and sing. I'm glad that my political statements sometimes do produce good results. I found I liked their style and sound, again broadening my music awareness.
I don't think I will do the same with Ronstadt. Frankly, I already have too many of her albums. I will just relate a story about her.
I had this, uh, thing for Linda Ronstadt ever since she first appeared with Buffalo Springfield. In 1969, while editor of Panorama, the monthly magazine of The Daily Texas (the University of Texas' student newspaper which is BETTER than the Austin American Statesman), I appointed myself and a couple of others to do a "culture" issue which focused on the Lewisville Pop Festival (first major music festival following Woodstock). Using my "journalist" credentials, I engineered a spot in the hay bales directly in front of the main stage. I still have some great negatives of all the acts that I shot with my Nikon, and No. 1 in my heart was Ronstadt, backlit and beautiful. I tried to work my way backstage to meet her, but even "journalist" credentials have their limits.
So the meeting didn't happen.
Until later.
Six years later I am a reporter with United Press International based in Dallas and writing feature stories about death row inmates (all of them are innocent, but the way), Kennedy Conspiracy advocates (they came to Dallas by the hundreds) and rural muleshoers (the New York desk loved stories about "real" people living in the country doing rural things!). I also engineered an interview with John Henry Faulk, a great Texas humorist, a one-time national radio actor, and a major blacklisted writer. In the 1950s, he was labeled a fellow traveler by the Commie hunters because he WOULD NOT NAME NAMES! He was blacklisted, and for almost a dozen years, was not allowed to earn a living by writing or acting. Remember the Constitution? The Republicans had a tough time seeing him as a patriot. Sound familar to today? The only difference Tailgunner Joe McCarthy and John Ashcroft have is that JM has a nickname.
But I digress. This story really is about Linda Ronstadt.
Anyway, John Henry didn't take it lying down. He took it to court, and eventually worked his case all the way to the Supreme Court. The Earl Warren Court did not quite see things the same way as Joe McCarthy and his GOP fellow travelers did. He won, and it cost CBS Radio big time for firing him. His story is wonderfully told in a book called Fear on Trial. Go to Amazon this very moment and buy it. http://www.amazon.com
There is a point to this story. Keep reading. Believe me, Linda will soon make an appearance. But you need some context, because text without context is pretext.
So, I was interviewing John Henry, and we were having such a good time, that we decided to adjourn to a local bar - the Knox Street Pub - where so many of my interviews often adjourned to. It was, to be exact, a kind of hang out that I and many of my writing compadres frequented, as did my famous softball team, Doctor Darkness and the Night Writers (but that's another story).
John Henry and I were having the first of many beers to come, laughing and telling stories, when up steps this slinky, doe-eyed, dark-haired young lady with bangs that barely covered the top edge of her brows. It was Linda alive and in the flesh.
"Hey John Henry, it's good to see you again," she said, and sat down beside him. Turns out that Faulk had often been the lead-in country comic for some of her tours. His folksy humor fit well with the style of music she was using in those days (Silver threads and golden needles cannot fix this heart of mine, etc.)
John Henry, the good gentleman that he was, properly introduced me as a UPI reporter who "thanks to many beers actually finds my life worth writing about." I actually SHOOK hands with Linda Ronstadt. My life had been fulfilled (or at least to that moment). But before I could say anything - probably dumb - she excused herself saying she did not want to interrupt the interview and disappeared with her entourage out the door.
That's as close as I ever got to Linda Ronstadt. I love her still. And now after this Las Vegas incident, I see that my undying love has not been misplaced.
When the Dixie Chicks came forth to out Bush as an idiot, I went out and bought their new CD in support of them, even though I had never heard them actually play and sing. I'm glad that my political statements sometimes do produce good results. I found I liked their style and sound, again broadening my music awareness.
I don't think I will do the same with Ronstadt. Frankly, I already have too many of her albums. I will just relate a story about her.
I had this, uh, thing for Linda Ronstadt ever since she first appeared with Buffalo Springfield. In 1969, while editor of Panorama, the monthly magazine of The Daily Texas (the University of Texas' student newspaper which is BETTER than the Austin American Statesman), I appointed myself and a couple of others to do a "culture" issue which focused on the Lewisville Pop Festival (first major music festival following Woodstock). Using my "journalist" credentials, I engineered a spot in the hay bales directly in front of the main stage. I still have some great negatives of all the acts that I shot with my Nikon, and No. 1 in my heart was Ronstadt, backlit and beautiful. I tried to work my way backstage to meet her, but even "journalist" credentials have their limits.
So the meeting didn't happen.
Until later.
Six years later I am a reporter with United Press International based in Dallas and writing feature stories about death row inmates (all of them are innocent, but the way), Kennedy Conspiracy advocates (they came to Dallas by the hundreds) and rural muleshoers (the New York desk loved stories about "real" people living in the country doing rural things!). I also engineered an interview with John Henry Faulk, a great Texas humorist, a one-time national radio actor, and a major blacklisted writer. In the 1950s, he was labeled a fellow traveler by the Commie hunters because he WOULD NOT NAME NAMES! He was blacklisted, and for almost a dozen years, was not allowed to earn a living by writing or acting. Remember the Constitution? The Republicans had a tough time seeing him as a patriot. Sound familar to today? The only difference Tailgunner Joe McCarthy and John Ashcroft have is that JM has a nickname.
But I digress. This story really is about Linda Ronstadt.
Anyway, John Henry didn't take it lying down. He took it to court, and eventually worked his case all the way to the Supreme Court. The Earl Warren Court did not quite see things the same way as Joe McCarthy and his GOP fellow travelers did. He won, and it cost CBS Radio big time for firing him. His story is wonderfully told in a book called Fear on Trial. Go to Amazon this very moment and buy it. http://www.amazon.com
There is a point to this story. Keep reading. Believe me, Linda will soon make an appearance. But you need some context, because text without context is pretext.
So, I was interviewing John Henry, and we were having such a good time, that we decided to adjourn to a local bar - the Knox Street Pub - where so many of my interviews often adjourned to. It was, to be exact, a kind of hang out that I and many of my writing compadres frequented, as did my famous softball team, Doctor Darkness and the Night Writers (but that's another story).
John Henry and I were having the first of many beers to come, laughing and telling stories, when up steps this slinky, doe-eyed, dark-haired young lady with bangs that barely covered the top edge of her brows. It was Linda alive and in the flesh.
"Hey John Henry, it's good to see you again," she said, and sat down beside him. Turns out that Faulk had often been the lead-in country comic for some of her tours. His folksy humor fit well with the style of music she was using in those days (Silver threads and golden needles cannot fix this heart of mine, etc.)
John Henry, the good gentleman that he was, properly introduced me as a UPI reporter who "thanks to many beers actually finds my life worth writing about." I actually SHOOK hands with Linda Ronstadt. My life had been fulfilled (or at least to that moment). But before I could say anything - probably dumb - she excused herself saying she did not want to interrupt the interview and disappeared with her entourage out the door.
That's as close as I ever got to Linda Ronstadt. I love her still. And now after this Las Vegas incident, I see that my undying love has not been misplaced.
posted by Robert | 10:43 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home