Da Goddess

One Degree To Country Dick

Mrs. Smash and I ended up playing x degrees of separation game today while we were talking on the phone. I was poolside, watching Little Dude play in the water. Remember when the thought of mobile phone at the pool seemed glamorous? Yeah, me, too.

So, anyhow, there we were, discussing different celebrities and such - I don't even remember how this came up. We're talking and I'm thinking and I realized that the one notable person I'd met who left a deep and truly resonating memory on me was Country Dick Montana.

Quit scratching your heads and wondering who he was. Country Dick was the drummer for and the occasionally deep voice of the Beat Farmers until his death in 1995.

Among his most popular songs was the classic, Lucille - with his own unique spin:

"You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille.

Four ugly children and a crop in the field.

I've had some bad times and I've had some sad times, but this time the hurting's for real.

You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille."*

Country Dick didn't sing it the right way - most of the time. He usually chose to elaborate a bit:

"You picked a fucking fine to leave me Lucille,

400 children and a crotch that won't heal"*

I know, it's not exactly poet laureate stuff, but it was the way he did it. And it was about the kind of man he was.

Back in 1988 and 1989, I frequented a little country western bar here in town called the Pomerado Club. It doesn't exist anymore. Not the way it once did, anyway. But, back then, it was a fun place to go for dancing and drinking, picking up cowboys and picking up the pieces of a broken heart. Friendships were made and lost there.

Early on in my time there, in walked the biggest man in a cowboy hat and duster that I'd ever seen. He was only 6'4" tall, but he had a commanding presence. Sure, the group of people he had with him didn't hurt any. Still...

I was sitting at a particularly long table that night. I'd been talking with Dallas, the drummer for the Savery Brothers. Country Dick walked up and said, "Dallas, I hope you don't mind, but I'm taking this little lady out on the dance floor."

I had no say in the matter. I didn't mind, though. Not in the least. His eyes were friendly, his smile genuine, and his big bear paw of a hand was warm and gentle.

We didn't so much dance as we were out on the floor. We glided. With a stomp. Hard to explain or duplicate.

Later, we sat at the table talking, he'd invited me and my friends to join him. He didn't want to talk about himself much, he kept asking me questions and buying me drinks. He wasn't putting the moves on me. Not in the least. He was just being friendly. This is how it would be each time he came in for a visit. Every time.

When he got up to sing, the bar came to a standstill. The bartenders stopped opening beer bottles, the waitresses stopped taking orders, and I think the guys in the bathroom even stopped peeing. His gravelly voice boomed out into the night, through the little, tiny windows, beckoning those outside closer.

As he sang, he told stories. Every little bit of his tale took on a little of the life of those he'd talked with. He'd change a name or two in a song. He'd look over at you and wink. And he would make you smile and laugh.

The song that brought down the house - every time, without fail - was "Lucille." That's the song that left people screaming for more. Every time. Except it wasn't really the song they wanted. They wanted more Dick. Country Dick, that is. He'd apologize and bow out, gracefully.

Back at the table, he'd order another two or three rounds of drinks and give us women bear hugs.

He never forgot my name. Ever. But he did prefer to call me Bubbles. It was our little joke. In the course of one of our many conversations, I'd told him about my days as a nanny and how one of the boys associated our time together with the time I'd sat and blown soap bubbles for them for three hours.

The last time I saw Country Dick, I'll never forget it. It was a rather balmy night and he was wearing his duster. I asked if he wasn't warm in that thing.

"Bubbles, around you, I'm always warm." And he winked at me.

That man sure knew how to make a gal smile. He still can, too.

And there you have it. My favorite "One Degree To" someone tale.

Thanks to Skillzy for reminding me.

* - links to some of CDM's alternate lyrics - he changed them up with every performance.

Posted by DaGoddess at August 10, 2004 06:32 PM