Kentucky Traveler (15 page)

It took someone else to see a potential in us, and the future that a couple of Kentucky boys could've never imagined in their wildest dreams.

One of the most intriguing events in bluegrass was the issue in the early seventies by two teenaged Kentucky musicians, Ricky Skaggs and Keith Whitley, of an album of early Stanley Brothers songs, imitated so perfectly as to be scarcely distinguishable from the originals. . . . This was attic bluegrass in the purest sense
.

—
Bluegrass Breakdown
, by Robert Cantwell

RALPH STANLEY FOR PRESIDENT

—Popular bumpersticker at bluegrass festivals.

T
here have been a lot of stepping stones along my path. Without these to guide me, I'd have surely stumbled. One of the most important was Ralph Stanley. He gave me my first professional job. He taught me so much about music, business, and life, too. He didn't say hardly a word to me about any of it. Ralph's way is doing instead of saying.

In the spring of 1970, Keith and I got some big news. Ralph and his Clinch Mountain Boys were coming to a club not too far away in West Virginia. I hadn't seen Ralph play since I was a kid. After Carter's death in 1966, Ralph went out on his own. We heard he had a new lead singer, a guy from eastern Kentucky named Roy Lee Centers who sounded just like Carter. We knew we had to go see him. Ralph was as big a hero to me as Bill Monroe, and he was for Keith, too.

Well, finally the day came. My dad drove me, Keith, and Dwight to the show. We made the thirty-minute drive about as excited as we could be.

The club was called Jim & Fay's. It was in Fort Gay, a town just across the state line. Lawrence County borders the Big Sandy River, and there's a huge bridge crossing over the two forks of the Big Sandy from Louisa, Kentucky, into Fort Gay. People from the Kentucky side used to drive to Fort Gay to buy beer. Lawrence was a dry county, and Fort Gay was in a wet county. You'd often hear people complain about how weak the beer was in West Virginia. They called it “stump water,” but that didn't stop them from buying and drinking it. There were a lot of clubs in Fort Gay that sold beer and featured country music shows, and Jim & Fay's was one. It was just over the bridge, so close you coulda thrown a rock from the parking lot into the Big Sandy.

Keith and I were actually too young to get into the club. We couldn't even drive yet! But the man working the door knew my dad, and he let us in. We came early and waited for a while. As it got near show time, there were still no Clinch Mountain Boys.

The club owner walked on stage and said he'd just heard from Ralph Stanley, who'd called from a pay phone down the road. His bus had a flat tire, so he and the band were going to be late. Ralph said he'd make it somehow or another; he just wasn't sure when. Now, if you're running a beer joint, the last thing you want is a situation where you've got a packed house and you can't give the customers what they paid to see. They were restless, and some were getting a little rowdy.

The club owner was in a jam. Then he spotted us back in the corner. He knew about me and Dad. He asked if we brought our instruments along with us, and if we could play for a while to calm down the crowd until Ralph made it.

Of course, we said yes. We never went anywhere without our instruments. We always kept 'em in the car in case someone asked us to play. I think American Express may have stolen Dad's motto: Never leave home without 'em!

Now, I'll tell you we had no idea we were going to play at a Ralph Stanley show that night. It was just like in Martha, all those years ago, when Mr. Monroe yanked me up on stage. I know some would say it was just a blown tire. But I believe some things are meant to be, and I believe everything that happened that night at Jim & Fay's was God's providence at work.

We grabbed our instruments out of the car, tuned up, and got on stage as fast as we could. The club owner tried to give us some build-up. “We've got some boys from over in Kentucky who sing pretty fine, and we'd like 'em to do a few numbers for you. Let's give 'em a hand!”

This was a tough crowd. They came to see Ralph Stanley and his Clinch Mountain Boys. They must have been thinking, “What are these teenage boys doing in our beer joint?” I guess having dad on stage gave us a little more credibility.

There was no booing or anything nasty. You could just tell the crowd didn't expect much. They were probably glad to see anybody get up on stage and give 'em some entertainment for a while until the real deal showed up. About all we knew were Stanley Brothers songs, so that's what we did. We opened with “Riding the Midnight Train.” It seemed like the thing to do, to kick off with a barn burner. I was as nervous as a cat. But when Keith and I leaned in shoulder-to-shoulder at the mic and started singing, the crowd started paying attention.

About thirty minutes into our set, we got a big surprise. The club door swung open and guess who walked in? Ralph Stanley, carrying his banjo case. He didn't make a scene or cause any disruption. He didn't say nothing, and nobody said a word to him. He didn't stay out there in the crowd, either. He just walked over to the bar in the back of the club and sat down with his banjo case on a bar stool next to him.

Normally, Ralph would have headed straight to the dressing room, especially since he was already running late. But he just sat there silent, taking in the show like any other customer. He didn't order a beer or call for the bartender. He just sat and watched the show.

I can tell you it was awfully strange for me and Keith on that stage, to have grown up listening to Ralph's music and to now have him listening to us play it back to him. It was one of those testing times, a stretching of the faith we had in our own abilities. Did we really have what it took to be on stage playing Stanley Brothers songs, with Ralph Stanley himself sitting in the audience?

We just did our best trying to stay focused on the music. Everybody had seen Ralph come into the club, but we didn't acknowledge him from the stage. We could tell he didn't want any attention. And the thing about it was, nobody in the audience was bothering him, either. I think the crowd wanted to let him soak up every bit of the moment, too.

Before, we'd been nervous. Now we were scared to death. All we could do was keep playing. Part of me was glad Ralph was in the club. I was singing every tenor line he ever sung, every little roll in his old style of harmony with Carter. Knowing Ralph like I do now, I think he'd probably forgotten some of those songs. I hoped he was thinking, “Lord, that sounds familiar.” Maybe he took it as a nice tribute, which, of course, it was.

At the time, though, I couldn't tell whether he liked it or not. He was listening, but he wasn't applauding or even nodding in appreciation. Not a twitch. He was paying attention, but he had a stern look on his face. By now, the rest of the Clinch Mountain Boys had come in, too, and they stood behind Ralph at the bar. We just kept on, playing every Stanley Brothers song we could think of. We sang “Sweethearts in Heaven” and “Little Glass of Wine,” one of the first big sellers the Stanleys had. It was from 1947, when they were starting out and not much older than me and Keith. We wrapped up our set, and I looked back to see where Ralph was, but he'd already disappeared.

We had left our instrument cases in the dressing room, and we hurried back to move our stuff out of Ralph's way. Ralph and the band were there getting ready to go on stage. The room was cramped and hotter than blazes, but we were sweating more out of nerves than anything. Ralph already had his banjo strapped on, and he could hardly move it was so crowded. “We're so sorry to be in your way,” I said.

“That's all right, boys,” said Ralph. “Thank you for holding the crowd for us. You boys done a fine job. You sound like me and Carter when we were young. You brought back a lot of old memories of when we was first gettin' started.”

We were thrilled. Ralph Stanley's thanking
us
? Band members Roy Lee Centers and George Shuffler came over, and they bragged on us, too, and soon Curly Ray Cline piped up, “You boys really do sound just like Ralph and Carter!” We were just glad to get a chance to help out.

Ralph Stanley is a man of few words, especially when it comes to bragging on somebody. After getting to know him through the years, I learned that even if Ralph liked something, a lot of times he wouldn't ever tell you. He'd just smile his tight little smile and acknowledge it, but he wouldn't verbalize it. So it was only years later that I realized what a huge compliment he'd paid us that night. Hearing us sing really touched him, and he wanted us to know it.

Looking back now, that night was one of those defining moments you have in your life. When Ralph walked into that beer joint and saw us for the first time, singing out of the Stanley Brothers songbook chapter and verse, he saw the younger generation keeping his music alive, and he saw the future. It was his history, all right, but it was our future.

Then we got a table and watched Ralph and the Clinch Mountain Boys, and my God, what a show. They were all about the music. They weren't wild or fancy. They got right down to business, as if they were compensating for making everybody wait.

It was just the four of 'em, not the full band, but it was solid. Roy Lee was playing and singing hungry; he was a real find. On some songs, you could close your eyes and swear he was Carter. And George Shuffler, he was known for his cross-picking guitar, but on this night he was playing bass, and he was unreal. Curly, being a West Virginia boy, was the crowd favorite. Ralph was Ralph, which is to say, about the best mountain singer ever. He was in his prime, and so was his band. They were tight as could be.

Near the end of the first set, Ralph gave us another surprise. “Those boys was awful good,” he said. “How 'bout if we get 'em back up to do another show during our break?” and the crowd gave us a big applause. Oh, what a night to remember!

We hadn't planned to play anymore, but we were glad to give it another go. “Do some more of them old ones from way back,” Ralph told us before we went on stage, and he even made some requests. It wasn't just a trip down memory lane he was interested in. I think he really enjoyed hearing the Stanley classics sung again, the way he and Carter used to do 'em.

Good thing I'd found the stash of records at that Columbus record store. Good thing Dad had that spare hundred bucks. We played every song he asked for. “Lonesome River” and “Angels Are Singing in Heaven Tonight,” the songs from those 78-rpm records Keith and I had learned. Ralph later admitted he was trying to see if there were any old Stanley Brothers songs we didn't know. As far as he could figure, there weren't. I think we'd passed the first exam.

After the second set, we were back in the dressing room again, packing up for the night. Ralph bragged on us some more, saying when he first walked in the club he thought there was a jukebox playing Stanley Brothers records, until he realized it was a couple of kids.

Dad reminded Ralph of the shows in Prestonsburg and Blaine when Carter invited me to play my little mandolin with the band. Dad couldn't help himself, and he laid it on a little thick: “After Ricky played, you know, Carter told him, ‘Son, one of these days Bill Monroe will have to take a backseat to you!'” We laughed, and Ralph did, too, because we knew it was just Carter being Carter, as nice and gracious to a kid like me as he'd be to the president.

Ralph said he remembered that night, and he asked how old I was back then. When I told him nine years old, he said, “Well, you sure have growed up.” He asked how old Keith and I were now, and we told him fifteen. He said he had another show the next month at the same club in Fort Gay. He invited us to come back and play again as his special guests. We'd be there.

On the ride home, me and Keith were going stir-crazy. We had trouble sitting still in the car seats. We wanted to jump for joy. We just couldn't hardly believe this was happening to us.

Keith and I had made a name locally with our family bands, and we'd won some talent contests and appeared on TV and radio shows. But this was different. This was me and him together. It wasn't just about me by myself or Keith by himself anymore. It was the two of us, and the possibility of careers in the music business. It wasn't just a crazy dream. It was real.

The only thing we knew for sure was that it was the greatest night of our lives. This was the first time somebody with any notoriety had recognized real potential in us. And not just anybody, but Ralph Stanley himself. He was more than just a bluegrass star; he was our hero. And he was more respected than anybody in bluegrass outside of Bill Monroe.

Nobody respected Ralph more than Dad did, and I knew how much this moment must have meant to him. I could see by the smile on his face the whole ride home how happy and proud he was to see his efforts with me validated. All those hours together practicing music—there was a sense of shared accomplishment that you can't put a price on.

When I think back on it, especially now that he's gone, I know I didn't tell my dad nearly enough how much I appreciated what he did for me, all the while putting up with so much from me, the childish crap and whining I gave him when I was tired from practicing. I wish I could say to him,
Dad, thank you for working so hard with me all those years. Thank you for your love and patience and for the gift of music
.

N
ext month, we were at Jim & Fay's again as Ralph's special opening act. It went over even better than the first time. Afterward, Ralph had a proposition for us. There was a bluegrass show coming up in Reidsville, North Carolina. It was the Camp Springs bluegrass Festival run by Carlton Haney, and one of the biggest festivals around. Haney was planning a salute to the Stanley Brothers. He had already done a Bill Monroe tribute, and this one was for Ralph and Carter. Ralph wanted to have us sing the old songs as part of the tribute, which was called “The Stanley Brothers Story” and would be narrated by Haney.