Dac Crossley's Western Blog

Betwixt Vernon and Dalhart

At Kitchen Music the other night we delved into some nostalgia with some good old tunes. And Pat S. sang “Amelia Earhart, the Lady of the Air.”

Tragedies such as the disappearance of Amelia Earhart were the specialty of Vernon Dalhart, a talented song writer/singer who took his stage name from the cities of Vernon and Dalhart in Texas. Evidently he really did cowboy in Texas for a brief period, “somewhere between Vernon and Dalhart.”

There’s a lot of space between Vernon and Dalhart in Texas. But it’s a good story.

Vernon went to New York City and actually sang light opera for a time. But he found his niche in writing songs about the tragedy of the day. Floyd Collins stuck in that cave, for example. If it was in the news, people would buy the record. His recording of “Wreck of the Old Ninety-Seven” went viral. So did “The Prisoner’s Song;” both huge sellers. He recorded under a number of different pseudonyms. He might even be the most recorded singer of all time. He kept his southern accent for his recordings; said he could turn it off and on.

So we saluted Vernon Dalhart at Kitchen Music. But he didn’t write the Amelia Earhart song. Red River Dave McEnery did. Go figure.

I get a lot of pleasure from the old songs, strumming along, three chords on the guitar. Takes me to a younger, simpler place. Something we could all use.

Dac Crossley
October 29, 2013

“No woman ever shot her husband while he was doing the dishes.” – motto pasted on the window over Doc Crossley’s kitchen sink.

Seeking the Stars

For me, The Georgia Natural History Museum’s annual gala brings kicks off the holiday season. So today, I admit that summer is over.

I would keep summer if I could. I try to appreciate all the seasons but summer is the best. It’s the time of ease, when the mind relaxes to a carefree state. Whatever ills summer throws at me, I can laugh off because tomorrow they’ll be over.

In South Texas this would be my last trip to the bay, camping all night on the beach by the Laguna, a little fishing, just unwinding from responsibilities. Skipping out on my college studies.

The beach was calm at night, but if you stepped back into the brush a horde of salt-marsh mosquitoes descended and followed you back. Quick, into the surf, where the mosquitoes can’t follow!

I liked to lie there with a friend, the warm waves lapping over us, watching the stars. Scorpio ready to dive to the west. The Big Dipper wheeling around. I wondered about Cabeza de Vaca, the old Spanish explorer. Did he lie here, in the same warm waters of the Laguna, watching those same stars? What would he have called the Big Dipper? Oso major, maybe? In England of that time it would be ‘Charles Wain.’ Remember your high school Shakespeare?

I’ve tried to write about Cabeza de Vaca but he eludes me. His remarkable narrative details his story – cast naked into a strange land, alternately enslaved and revered by unknown natives, striving always to reach Spanish colonies in Mexico. What inner steel enabled him to endure so much, in a land so completely foreign to him?

He wrote of this enormous voyage as if in the third person. I cannot get into his head. Did he often despair? Did he find a true friend among the natives? Did he recognize, at last, their shared humanity?

Perhaps Cabeza de Vaca found solace in the stars. Were the familiar heavens a touchstone he shared with his native Spain? In that strange land, with unfamiliar plants and animals, people with puzzling customs – was the Big Dipper an anchor to the familiar?

Here in Georgia, those stars anchor me to my childhood in a South Texas now mostly gone.

Dac Crossley
October 20, 2013
Happy birthday, W. P.!

“Worse than not realizing the dreams of your youth, would be to have been young and never dreamed at all.” – Jean Genet

Two Ants

So it’s come to this. Our government paralyzed by two intransigent leaders. The wheels grind to a halt. Friends and family punished by exaggerated differences, posturing, betrayals.

It’s our fault. We elected them. Here in Athens, Georgia, we elected a Representative who now says that everything he learned in medical school “is lies, straight from the pit of hell.” Rep. Broun serves on the Science and Technology Committee!

Laws can be repealed. And failed legislators can be defeated at the polls. Let’s do it. Let’s overcome the enormous amounts of money (aka bribes) deluging us in their campaigns and put some responsible people in office.

For Mr. Obama and Mr. Boehner – here’s a verse penned years ago by Pauli Murray. I think it’s appropriate.

The Quarrel

Two ants at bay
On curved stem of an apple
Are insufficient cause
To fell the tree.

Thanks, Pat B.

Dac Crossley
October 12, 2013
Columbus Day

“It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.” – Muhammad Ali

Write Your Memoirs!

I can’t say it any plainer than that! Put seat of pants in seat of chair, turn on Microsoft Word, write your memoirs.

Do it for your family, for your grandchildren. You grew up in a different world, one they can best appreciate from the perspective of a familiar presence in their lives. And do it for yourself.

Pick an age. Ten. Where, when, how; there you go! Fill in the details, the more the better. As you write, you’ll find that you remember more than you thought you would. The words fly. Insert photos. Details, details!

Our writing group, the White Car Gang, met last Friday and Jim M. read a portion of his memoir – the summer of his tenth year. His first bicycle, the swimming pool. It just sparked memories in the rest of us – we had to share and compare, right there.

Consider reading aloud to your friends. They have memories, too, they’ll want to share. And your family; don’t leave them out.

Don’t forget, it’s a memoir. It’s how you remember it, regardless of what actually happened. You are the hero of your own story.

Dac Crossley
October 7, 2013

“All the world’s a stage, and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.” – Sean O’Casey