My Beautiful Wickedness

(yeah, I know, that’s Johnny Cash…)

I have been sad all damn day about Porter Wagoner dying. It wasn’t because I was a big fan of his music or knew him personally. I had seen him live maybe four or five times as a child during the Dolly days (he toured a lot in 1968 and 1969), as he paid his visit to all those Kentucky and West Virginia and Tennessee folks who moved up to Akron and Cleveland and who would pack the Akron Civic Center to see some guy with dyed hair show the lining of his suit and think that was real entertainment. Now although the version of “Green Green Grass of Home” that I remember was covered by Bobby Bare, I was still excited to see Porter. The same people who were going to become Rex Humbard’s church of the airwaves, the same people who would wear out I-77 and I-71 every weekend trying to get back home for slawdogs and an accent that didn’t sound like flocks of geese — we’d dress up like it was church and go see Porter and he’d put on a good show. That meant a lot to all of us, that he’d travel all that way to perform and not come out higher than a kite talking dirty and keel half over the microphone. (I’m talking to you, Carl Smith.) And if it was snowing and you couldn’t travel to Kentucky for Christmas, he would come see you on your TV too. His show was one of the only ones on TV at the time that a hillbilly could watch with any pride. He appeared to have a good life and he wrote a number of good songs and I’m in hope that he died feeling like he was right with the Lord who made him.

So, why was I bummed? I was sad because I knew it would just devastate my godfather. He adored Porter Wagoner, can’t imagine a bigger fan. My Uncle Dave doesn’t have a lot of passions in life. He’s a quiet, simple man. He likes to drive. He likes to fish. He likes to hunt. He collected foreign stamps for over 80 years. And he’s nuts about Porter Wagoner. As you guys might remember, my godmother just died about a month ago and they had been married over 60 years. I just don’t know how much more that little old man can take without just curling up and dying himself.