A Partially Disassembled Wooden Car in My Garage - November 5th, 2005
"If you want a really low-priced car, reasons James V. Martin, inventor of the Martin Stationette,
you have to eliminate a lot of the things that make a car expensive to produce, and still not sacrifice
large-car roominess and high performance. Here are some of the parts of a conventional car that are
not found in this little vehicle: chassis frame, axles, steel springs, propeller shaft, universal joints,
differential gears, shock absorbers." Sound like a slightly unreasonable pile of so-called cowflop?
I thought so, too, until I saw the Martin Stationette, circa 1950, sitting in the Lane Motor Museum in Nashville.
Jeff Lane, a good friend of mine and a fellow Great Racer, called to ask if I was interested in helping him out
with a little "carpentry project." Never one to shirk a task, I said, "Sure," and headed over to see the project
in question. Several pieces of wood held together by little more than hope and barn dust would describe the
car most accurately. Jeff wondered if I'd be interested in helping him restore it..hence the title of this entry.
Let's just say that it's gonna be a long winter. I've started taking the car apart with some success, but repairing,
replacing, and reassembling will be quite a bit more complicated and time-consuming. The car is almost entirely
made of wood, from the ground up. The exceptions are tires and wheels, engine and steering wheel, glass windshield, and...
floor mats. I'm really not kidding. This guy James Martin was really into fuel economy, and he thought that the best way
to improve a car's mileage was to lighten it. How better to lighten a car than to remove the heaviest parts, right?
Innovative thinking for 1950, and since carbon and fiberglass were apparently not the news items of the day, the "natural"
choice was wood. The car was advertised as being capable of 80 m.p.h. with fuel economy of 40 m.p.g - not neccesarily
at the same time, I say. Still, I have to hand it to the guy. In my almost-asleep moments, after long days of running
a saw and hammer, I have thought of stranger things to build with wood. How about wrist-braces for those suffering from
carpal-tunnel syndrome? Hmmm...
Jeff Lane found the car on ebay, and since its resurrection, it's appeared in several car magazines. Seems that there's quite
a buzz surrounding its being restored. I just hope we're able to do it justice. The car is really impressive, actually. You can see
how much we've advanced technologically, but you can also see how much we've come to depend on things that were once considered unnecessary.
Wanna see a picture of the Martin Stationette? Just click here.
Incidentally, I'm also working on a new song, sort of a love song about whiskey. Imagine that.
My wife, Annie Mosher's down in the Gulf of Mexico again this weekend. She's performing at the Frank Brown International Songwriter's Festival
in Gulf Shores, Alabama. I made it down there with her two weeks ago, but decided to hang around Nashville this time. She and the "Wayward Angels,"
(Lisa Carver, Cheley Tackett, and Annie) are set to do three shows between now and Monday. I wish the girls safe travels and a speedy return.
Well, I guess it's back to the barn for a little R & R (removal and repair). Until next time,
JW
Man's Best Friend - June 15th, 2005
Been a while. I guess I've been in a bit of a funk for the last few weeks...I'll just get right to it. My old friend, Bud
passed away on May 9th. He'd been sick for a little while, and had been making frequent trips to the vet. After ten years, he
went to the vet's office more in his last month than he had his whole life. In the end he was comfortable, and we buried him
in Nashville. Funny story: I was sitting by a campfire somewhere, and I don't really remember who it was that said it, but it went
kinda like this: Fella says, "I see your dog there. Looks like a good'un." "He is," I replied. "Don't look like much of a hunter,"
he offered. Now, I don't know what kind of etiquette they teach where y'all come from, but in South Georgia those are fighting words.
Well, I wondered what to do. I wasn't really in the mood for a fight; I didn't even know the fella. So I said to him, "You ever seen
the Pacific Ocean?" "Can't say as I have," was his puzzled return. I gave it a couple of seconds to let his curiosity build even further
before I let him have it. "That dog has," I said as I stifled a smile. He moved on without so much as another word.
Bud had seen the Pacific, oh yeah, and then some. In fact, in a box somewhere I've got a picture of him with his paws in the surf.
I've got more photos of him in different places. He was usually the only other living thing around to take a picture of. We stayed out
in the woods together for quite a while, and we bounced around the country doing first one thing, and then another. I guess he was the most
well-traveled hound in the U.S. In fact, he loved to ride and was always willing to go, even disappointed to be left behind. A lady
asked me once what kind of dog he was. "Just a mixed up old hound," I said. She chuckled, "Kinda like you, huh?" She was right, more
than she knew. Bud and I were a lot alike. I guess that happens when you spend so much time together. He wasn't lazy, but was quiet and
reflective, and could sit and look at the timberline all day. He enjoyed walking in the woods, and swimming. He sort of shied away
from traffic and people, and he liked to eat good groceries...like me.
I'm gonna miss Bud, in fact I already do. I never knew how much I thought about him until he was gone. I have a lot of conscious thoughts about him now,
that were once unconscious thoughts. Now he's on my mind in a different way. When I'm on the way home I think of him running up to meet me.
When I hear a dog bark in the night, I'm instantly awake wondering if he's okay. Thing is, I know he's okay. He's with a lot of my other family
members that have passed on. They're all having a grand old time, and one day I guess I'll join them. When I leave this world and they all come
out to welcome me home, I've got a feeling Bud'll be the first one I see.
JW
Meeting with a Legend - May 5th, 2005
Well, I thought winter was over. In Nashville, folks have been cutting the grass - and stirring up allergens - for well over a month.
The daffodils have come and gone, most of the leaves are on the trees, and the pollen count is well into the trillions. Granted, there
was frost on the ground yesterday, but it was actually a cold snap after a strong showing for spring. So when Annie and I went up to Vermont,
let's just say I was a bit on the surprised side. Nary a flower to be seen. The Common in her little village still bore a stiff resemblance
to ice hockey season rather than baseball. And it was cold, wet...and cold. Of course I took not so much as a heavy shirt with me. Luckily,
since I generally wear long sleeves even in the hottest part of summer, I had several thin layers and didn't fare too badly after I put 'em all on.
I just kept having to change the order around so that a new one was on the outside to keep the Northeast Kingdom from thinking I was homeless.
It wasn't cold inside Fuller Hall on the campus of St. Johnsbury Academy. An old auditorium with great acoustics and a really warm feel was made
even warmer by the sold-out crowd of 800 fans. What a reception - a good case for changing the popular term, "Southern hospitality" to include the
land on the other side of that now famous line. The crowd made plenty of noise for hometown-girl Annie Mosher. I did my best
to back her up on vocals and guitar, but mostly just tried to stay out of the way. Annie did what she does so well, turning them on and leaving them
wanting more. When I thanked the sound man for doing such a great job, he responded by saying, "Yeah, I wish you guys were still on stage!"
That made us both feel good and as we made our way out to our seats for the second part of the show, we bumped into a lot of old friends we were sure
happy to see. The whole event was a benefit show for the movie "Disapearances," an independent film adapted from the novel of the same name written by
Vermont novelist Howard Frank Mosher. Name ring a bell?
By the time we went on stage, one highlight of the evening had already taken place. Meeting Kris Kristofferson, who we'd shown up to open for, was a
special treat. He's such a genuinely nice guy, about as normal as you can imagine, that I almost forgot I was talking with someone I'd idolized for most
of my life. To millions of people including myself, he's a legend of stage and screen and a songwriting icon. But in person he's just Kris, a real cool guy.
Of course he showed the crowd his songwriting icon side, performing his new and old hits with flair and style. Kristofferson. Wow.
Also on the bill were the Whateverly Brothers from Burlington, VT. Their namesakes would be proud of the tight vocal harmonies and musicianship these guys
are known for. A couple of songs stuck with me: one called "The Least that I Can Do," in which a fellow asks his girl how far she'd go to prove her love,
and another called, "Saturday Night," a story of a drug-laden ride through a most American institution. Saturday night never shined with truth like this.
The brothers turned up the volume tastefully, and the upright bass and cool Bakersfield guitar sounds melded with their vocals like sunshine and springtime.
Which brings things full circle.
Back in Nashville, things are heating up. The wheels of fate continue to turn, slowly and surely. The Idle Hour is back open in its new location - about a block
away from its old location - and the music is flowing. As it should be.
See y'all soon,
John
Bluebonnets, old cars, and a whole other country - April 13th, 2005
Texas in the spring is a true work of magic. I've spent a few days there during the months of March and April for the last seven years,
riding the backroads where one-lane bridges and low-water crossings give you a tempting view of the clear, cold water the Hill Country
is known for. More than once I've pulled over to dip my toes in it, but most of the time I can't. Most of the time when I'm in Texas,
I'm on the clock. I don't mean any old normal time clock like you might punch at Chili's if you're an aspiring songwriter in Nashville
or an aspiring actor in New York or L.A. I'm talking about the kind that keeps perfect time, the kind that all other clocks around the
world are set by. I'm talking about the WWV Coordinated Universal Time clock that is used by the staff of the Great Race.
San Marcos, Texas is the home of Great Race Texas, formerly of Granbury in the Fort Worth area. Personally I like San Marcos
a little more. Could it be the proximity to the live music capitol of the world? Maybe.
Great Race is an antique car rally based on time, speed and distance. Basically, driver and navigator teams follow a pre-arranged
course and try to match the perfect time of a computer car. The challenges are the lack of so much as a calculator, keeping a 50 to 100 year old
car running at top performance, and in our case, weathering the elements without a roof or windows, heat or air-conditioning. At least this car
does have doors.
About seventy-five teams showed up this past weekend to enjoy the fine spring weather. Cars ranged from a 1974 Ford XLT pickup
(any year car is game for the regional events, but cars must be 45 years old to compete in the cross-country race) to a 1910 Selden Raceabout.
Actually there were several more modern rental cars as well, although it's hard for them to compete with a handicap factor of 100%. Well, we
did alright, but not great. We finished sixth overall, but the highlight of the weekend was when My driver, Billy Cothern, was awarded
the "Spirit of the Event" prize. Billy has helped a huge number of race teams through the years, from encouragement and advice to engines
and rear end parts at 3:00 AM. Lots of racers deserve this award, but no one more than Billy.
We saw a bunch of old friends, rode through some beautiful country, and everybody got home safely. All in all, it was a real good time.
Of course as soon as I got back, Annie hit the road for three days in North Carolina to play a gig with her buds Cheley Tackett and Lisa
Carver...ah, the lives of vagabonds.
Annie has about ten days until her big opening gig for Kris Kristofferson in her home state of Vermont. We're both gonna be there for that one,
and as honored as I'll be to meet a songwriting hero like Kris, I'll be just as honored to get on stage and play guitar with my incredible wife.
Nashville's bloomin' with spring flowers and possibilities. We'll see y'all soon,
John
It ain't easy bein' me - April 2nd, 2005
After about eight months of sad, sad times, I've finally got it back where it belongs...and it feels good.
Cheley Tackett borrowed my copy of Chris Knight's "Pretty Good Guy" album some time back, and I reckon I looked for it
over about every square inch of Middle Tennessee before I remembered where it was. On Wednesday of last week she handed it back to me
with a sheepish look. Now, y'all gotta understand that I'm one of these weird people that likes to keep a handle on my stuff.
I ain't got a lot to show but a couple of guitars, some tools, and my CD collection (a note to any would-be thieves). But let's just
say that what I do have, I generally keep up with pretty well. Well, if any of y'all have ever listened to that album, you know why I missed it,
and you also know why I didn't mind her keeping it so long. Who wouldn't, once they got their hands on something so great, covet it like a diamond mine?
And if I wasn't so doggone cheap, I reckon I woulda just taken and bought me another copy for myself - just let her keep it.
Man! I'd forgotten just how good that thing was. Knowing that every artist is his own worst critic, and it's safe to say that I'm no exception,
I've gotta say that I've never quite made music like I wish I could. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, and I'm glad a lot of other people do, too.
But when I hear Chris Knight, I hear what I've always known is deep inside me. Down there underneath my childhood, and behind my past transgressions,
is a song like "Down the River" just waiting to come out.
I listened to that record all the way through...twice. It's torture to be a songwriter sometimes. In fact, I don't know a single good songwriter
who doesn't have his or her share of angst, depression and darkness. That's where the best songs come from. But it's even more painful to hear something
so perfect, so new and old at the same time, so fresh and well-worn as a CD like this one. Painful and wonderful because it's just that good.
Thank you, Chris, for sharing it with us. And thank you, Cheley for being kind enough to take such good care of it for me.
Adios,
JW
Nashville...it ain't all glitz, but mostly it is - March 26th, 2005
It's about 6:00 AM in Nashville, TN. "Why is he awake?" you might ask yourself.
"Certainly songwriters should sleep all day after staying up into the wee hours crafting
major radio hits with the aid of substance and late-night visits by the ghosts of Townes Van Zandt,
Jim Croce, Waylon Jennings and Harlan Howard." And right you'd be, for I've had way too little sleep
once again. But a songwriter's life, like most things, is not always what it seems.
In about an hour and a half, I'll be switching on a compressor, buckling a tool belt around my waist,
and firing up a saw to frame a new and improved ceiling in the basement of Joe Galante's ex-mansion.
No, the former home of an RCA label head ain't petite, nor is it very glamorous when it's empty. Sad to say
I've never met the man who makes and breaks new country acts with the wave of his hand. I'm simply
one of the many carpenters on countless hundreds of construction sites in Nashville who get up at dawn,
rub their eyes and roll out of bed to greet the truth, which is that so far, songwriting ain't quite paying the bills.
Someday, though, someday...
I spent a goodly portion of last evening at the Sutler in South Nashville, where every second Monday Davis Raines
puts on a fine display of talent at his "All Points South" show. Davis is from Alabama, but he may as well be from Vidalia, Georgia with the way
he puts words together. I never met anybody who talked more like me than I do. He had his band, the Faders with him, and when I
walked throught the door, they were ripping through Marshall Tucker's "This Old Cowboy" in grand style. It took me back to high school
and a 1975 Bronco with a broken windshield rolling down a dirt road, about five half-lit buddies of mine singin'
along with the Caldwell brothers and blindly forging ahead into the space between youth and adulthood - that place where
luck is probably the only thing that gets you past all your foolish mistakes without seriously injuring yourself.
Ain't it funny, the power of a song? Anyway, Davis and the boys finished up and were followed by Greta Lee, Rachel Owen, and the lovely
Annie Mosher, who I'm lucky enough to call my better half. It was a real good night for all involved, and there were quite a
few of us. I must say I was partial to the closer, but they all did their part at putting on a stellar show. After All Points South ended,
Davis Raines and Walt Wilkins climbed up on stage and rendered a few cover tunes to end the evening. A little Johnny Cash,
some Merle Haggard, and Will the Circle be Unbroken sent us home with smiles.
Nashville's quite a town. I have a general aversion to anything except the wide open spaces, but if you
gotta pick a city, this is it. Talent, inspiration, good friends, and all for five bucks.
Well, off to work, and to the possibilities that hide in every dark crevice of Music City. Until next time,
JW
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