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The Elderly American Songbook: From Curly Putman & Billy Sherrill

Carl Putman, Jr.

Claude “Curly” Putman, Jr.

By Jim Miller

Curly Putman, Jr. grew up on Putman Mountain in Alabama, did a stint in the Navy aboard the Valley Forge and moved from job to job until he sat down one day and wrote “Green, Green Grass of Home.” Some years later he would meet Paul and Linda, a young couple from Liverpool, who would write and record “Junior’s Farm” with their rock group Wings.

Billy Sherrill

Billy Sherrill

Billy Sherrill started life in Alabama as Phil Campbell, a jazz wannabe with a saxophone. Knowing next to nothing about country music, he landed at Epic Records in Nashville where his pop music production values would transform the Nashville Sound. One day a pretty, blonde hopeful named Wynette Byrd walked into his life. Billy signed her to a contract, tacked “Tammy” onto her name, and it was off to the Country Music Hall of Fame for both the producer and his artist.

October, 1967, David Houston and Tammy Wynette teamed up to take My Elusive Dreams to #1 on the country charts and #89 on the Billboard Hot 100. With a well-deserved nod to Billy and Curly, here is….

My Elusive Choppers

You followed me to Wal*Mart
You followed me to K-Mart
We didn’t find ’em there so we moved on

You followed me to Home Depot
Things looked good, alas, but no
We didn’t find ’em there so we moved on

I know you’re tired of lookin’ for
Traipsin’ ’round from store to store
Dinner time won’t be the same
Without my false teeth

We shared a Coke at Arby’s
Stopped in at that book store
We didn’t find ’em there so we moved on

Down the street to Walgreen’s
Lingered at the magazines
We didn’t find ’em there so we moved on

Now we’re parked at Starbuck’s
Thinkin’ I’m flat out of luck
Guess I’ll learn to gum it from now on

[spoken]
Now, all we got is me and you
Rememberin’ how I used to chew

And still, you won’t let me go on alone

I know you’re tired of lookin’ for
Traipsin’ ’round from store to store
Dinner time won’t be the same
Without my false teeth

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Posted by on January 13, 2013 in The Elderly American Songbook

 

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You know you’re old when….

Old couple over soup

Viejo y vieja comiendo sopa by Francisco de Goya

One of the ironies of aging–at least, in my own particular case–is that no matter how my chronological age cranks upward, my inner Peter Pan merrily cruises along at roughly 16, 17 years old.

If I can’t find my keys, it’s not because I forgot that I left them in my big boy britches; it’s because one of AnniePie’s damn cats played with them and failed to return them to the top nightstand drawer.

So it is one need become aware of a few outward signs of aging such as this smattering offered here for your consideration and contemplation. Heed, dear friends, the tell tale signs of cresting that proverbial hill. You know you are getting old when….

Illustration for story La Mère Bontemps" by Lorenz Frolich

Illustration for story La Mère Bontemps” by Lorenz Frølich (1820-1908)

Your posse wants to go for a night on the town, but you would rather stay home and curry comb the cat.

You go to Las Vegas for the buffets.

Your “Get Up and Go” is the name of your fiber supplement.

Your artsy fartsy apartment is just fartsy.

You plan a road trip to Canada for prescription meds.

Your mate starts softly singing “Light My Fire” so you go crank up the heating unit thermostat.

You still go fishing to get away from it all, but somehow you always forget to take any bait.

Photo by Kenneth Allen

Photo by Kenneth Allen

 

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2013 in The Elderly American Songbook

 

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Elderly American Songbook: As Years Run By

As Years Run By

You must remember this. A watch goes on a wrist. And always check your fly.

Arthur "Dooley" Wilson, aka, Sam the piano player.

Arthur “Dooley” Wilson, aka, Sam the piano player.

Thoughts are often prone to drift as years run by.

And no matter where you roam, remember which way’s home. And keep you britches dry.
Just go where no one will see as years roll by.

Busfare and cell phone, have with you at all times,
Notes in your pockets not too hard to find,
Little reminders, clues to find your way
Back where you belong.

So keep those laces tied. Mind your step and stride. A hanky for your nose.
Home is where you fall asleep as years flow by…
Oh, yes, home is where you lay your head as years run by.

© Jim Miller 2013

 
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Posted by on January 7, 2013 in The Elderly American Songbook

 

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From the bottom left drawer

Damn! Am I ever glad THAT(election)’s over! Hope your guy won ;0>

Some years (all right, decades) ago when I was a country newspaperman running two weekly newspapers out of Quanah, TX, I had the proverbial novel-in-progress tucked away in my bottom desk drawer. My protagonist–nearer an amateurtagonist, actually–was, of course, me thinly disguised as investigative reporter David Forest. Best I recall, David slipped into his drawer back about 1983 and has not been heard from since.

Until this morning. Yeppers, David returned from seclusion, considerably older and no wiser, in a dream. It was right about the crack of dawn, and I gotta tell y’all, the bed covers were feeling mighty comforting. So I tucked ’em tighter under my chin, closed down my eyes and suggested that David make an appointment to see me later today. He commenced to tell my this story about these two Oligarchrist brothers, Shuttle & Babs Cock, on a mission from the Antichrist Himself to take over the world. Their Top Gun Henchman and favorite lacky, turns out, is none other than Texas Gov. Dick Cherry, and that brings me to the point of this rather rambling post….

What do you call a dude who secretly wears women’s underwear ‘neath them high-dollar Crooks Brothers suits?

 
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Posted by on November 26, 2012 in Genesis

 

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