"THREE CHORDS AND THE TRUTH"

Ken Burns deserves our thanks for his incredible documentary on Country music. And there's someone else I need to thank for introducing me to it in the first place. I was a Folk music "groupie" in college and knew little about true Country music until I arrived at Southern Living magazine in 1971. It was a good old boy and a hard-core Texan (is there any other kind?) who led me the musical altar of "Three Chords and the Truth".  Caleb Pirtle, Travel Editor of Southern Living, (second from right in this photo) was my mentor. Riding the wings of Delta, he mentored me right into the heart of Texas and his Country music. We left DFW airport, turned off the Interstate and bumped along dirt roads, past tumbleweeds, Longhorn steers, oil fields and armadillos. All the while the car radio was tuned to honest-to-God, old fashion Country. Merle was breaking my heart. Hank broke it again. Then Patsy had me whimpering like a school girl. It was heartbreak and truth with a twang. I could either listen or walk. I wasn't going to get anywhere near those armadillos, so I listened. And I got myself an education. A roadside cafe's jukebox introduced me to Bob Wills and "Texas Swing" over a fine, Blue Plate Special. It was sensory overload. The music in my ears matched the scenes in my eyes. I learned to love the music and the state. Still do.

Many years later I found myself sitting next to Caleb in Ernest Tubb's dressing room at the Grand Old Opry. Caleb was conducting an interview while I photographed the legendary, "Texas Troubadour". Usually, when I'm shooting, I'm pretty intense. Nothing distracts me. Yet something odd happened that's never happened before, or since. In the middle of the photo session, from out of nowhere, thoughts of my father flooded my emotions. I was momentarily disabled, dropped the camera from my eye, stared into blank space and got teary. I was befuddled. Mystified. Catatonic. I didn't know what was happening. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. The dots connected. I was sitting within arms reach of my father's favorite Country singer. He would have given anything to have been there too. I'll never be able to explain what happened in that dressing room, but if it's possible for a long-deceased father to step through that mystical circle and take a seat beside his eight-year old son, I believe he did it that night. Talk about sensory overload. I was a basket case. There I sat, realizing how proud my daddy would have been that his music was now my music. For that, and while we're both still on this side of the circle, I want to thank my old mentor, Caleb Pirtle. And, Caleb, if he could, I believe my daddy would thank you too.