Estoy Nueces

Thursday was the anniversary of 9/11 and that made for a hard day. Not as hard as last year, but, still, emotions were just under the surface. Then there was Friday. Who expected to wake up to the news that Johnny Cash was dead AND John Ritter. Johnny Cash's death was certainly not UNexpected. When June so unexpectedly died in May we all said, It won't be long for poor John. He continued to work and continued to record, and I think we all began to think he might be around for awhile. But he wasn't.

I became a Johnny Cash fan when I was 10 and we lived in Colorado. These days, where there is a sappy singer like Shania Twain or Rascal Flats, or even when Kid Rock records a "country" song, I try to hold my tongue about what country music should or shouldn't be. When I was 10, A Boy Named Sue became one of the biggest songs on the pop radio station I listened to. Nestled there among the Jackson 5, the Carpenters, Led Zeppelin, and the Beatles, was Johnny Cash. And I LOVED that song. I knew every word, I sang it in the bathtub, I thought that was the greatest song EVER.

I wasn't much of a record collector at the time. My sister had a pretty good collection going and I shared ownership in our Meet the Beatles and Elvis' Girls, Girls, Girls. But I wanted the album with A Boy Named Sue. We went to Target one night to do some shopping and I watched in amazement as Mom and Dad picked up Live at San Quentin AND Live at Folsom Prison! They had them in their hands and I assumed they were going to hold them to be Christmas presents. But they didn't! They let me have them. I practically wore those records through. It amazes me today to listen to those albums, that I knew by heart then and still do, and think about that little innocent blond 10-year-old singing "and I took a shot of cocaine and I shot that bad bitch down!" What were my parents thinking?

It was still several years before I made the switch to country music radio, but I was still an avid Johnny Cash fan. Tiger Beat or 16 Magazine even had one of their page-sized posters of Johnny and June and I had it on my bulletin board (and wished they hadn't included June, who I was incredibly jealous of). I believe it was January 29, 1971, that the Johnny Cash Show began on television. There is probably something online that could nail that down for me. I remember reading in the TV guide that there was going to be a Johnny Cash Show and I had the notice cut out and pinned by my lightswitch for weeks in anticipation. Of course, these were the days where you actually had to WATCH a show because there was no way to record it and no way to see it again until it reran, if it did. On that night I was set up in front of the black and white TV well in advance and I thrilled to the words "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash."

Over the years I continued to be a fan of Johnny Cash, but never really bought any more of his records and I don't think I ever even had the opportunity to see him perform (I never went to prison--ha). I don't recall ever passing by a chance, it just never came.

When he died on Friday, though, it was like losing a part of my childhood. Not as tragic or horrific as John Lennon's murder, but just as much of a loss. It made it especially hard to be on the air. I am not good about talking about my feelings without exhibiting them, so I was a little more than choked up on the air throughout the afternoon as we played his music and listeners called to recall their experiences with Johnny Cash.

I am glad he passed on so quickly after June's death and he is out of pain and doesn't suffer now. The faith he had in his future was unshakeable and I admire that. One of my listeners called to say he had never understood the reaction to Elvis's death until he heard about Johnny Cash's. It had struck him hard, too. Like I said about 9/11, we all grieve in different ways and we all have different things we care about, and sometimes you just don't know how you'll react to these moments of life and death.