Paddy was sipping his coffee and reading a book when I joined him at our favourite table in our favourite coffee shop. Taking my seat, I saw it was Man In Black, an autobiography by Johnny Cash.
“I guess you’ve read this,” Paddy said as he held it up for me to see the cover.
“About forty-five years ago,” I told him.
“He was your favourite singer wasn’t he?” Paddy suggested.
“Yep.” I agreed.
“So you figure he was the best country singer,” Paddy averred.
“Not at all,” I contradicted him, “Marty Robbins was far and away the best country singer ever.”
“Then why was Cash your favourite?” he pushed.
“Mainly because he introduced a brand new sound to country music that I absolutely loved. All you have to hear is the musical introduction to a Cash song and you know it’s him. Also, his interpretation of songs was outstanding; for example I don’t think anyone else could have made such a big hit of Kris Kristofferson’s Sunday Morning Coming Down, or evoked such emotion with his version of Guy Clark’s Let Him Roll. And he had the best stage presence and audience rapport of any artist I’ve ever seen. Not only that, he was a great songwriter in his own right.”
“That’s quite a testament,” Paddy said and then asked, “did you ever meet him?”
“I was in his company a number of times, and I can tell you that when Johnny Cash walked into a room, even though he was always very low-key and humble, his presence was overwhelming.”
“How so,” Paddy prodded.
“To begin with,” I replied, “he was well over six feet tall and had the broadest shoulders I ever saw. And he just naturally oozed charisma.”
“Did you ever have a conversation with him?” was Paddy’s next question.
“I actually interviewed him for about fifteen minutes one time,” I replied.
“Do tell,” Paddy urged.
“In 1957 I was taking the radio & TV arts course at Ryerson in Toronto. Our instructor was a veteran radio announcer by the name of Wally Ford. He had us all seek out and interview a famous person with a view to playing the interviews on CJRT, the Ryerson radio station. Cash was doing a week-long engagement at the old Casino Theatre in Toronto. I lugged my Bell & Howell tape recorder down, approached him between shows, and he agreed to an interview.”
“How was he?” Paddy asked.
“He was very gracious and humble, which, as I said, is the only way I ever saw him deport himself, even after he became a mega star.” I answered.
“So he wasn’t a big star back then,” Paddy opined.
“He was a big country star,” I explained, “but he hadn’t yet cut across the musical landscape like he eventually did. Johnny Cash is in the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Rock and Roll hall of Fame, and the Gospel Music Hall of Fame.”
“Was it the interview that made him your favourite?” Paddy wanted to know.
“No,” I explained. “He became my favourite when I bought his first record back in 1955. In those days you could go into a music store and actually play singles in order to decide whether to buy them.”
“You probably even remember the time and place,” Paddy teased.
“Almost,” I chuckled. “It was a Saturday, probably in May or June, and it was at Wayne Radio, which was on Parliament St. between Wellesley and Carlton. I don’t remember the exact time though.”
“What was the record?” Paddy inquired.
“It was his first . Hey Porter on one side, and “Cry, Cry, Cry on the other. Both songs that he wrote. Both his voice and the music enthralled me. I already mentioned that he introduced a complete new sound to country music. At the time, I thought his band was two guitars (an electric and an acoustic), a bass, and a snare drum, which was unheard of in country music in 1955. Country music then rarely had drums and usually featured a fiddle and a steel guitar, neither of which Cash had. I found out during my interview that there was actually no snare drum. Cash got that sound by threading a piece of thin cardboard through the strings of his acoustic guitar.”
“Did you hear your interview on the radio?” he asked,
“No,” I told him, “Wally Ford didn’t think Johnny Cash was famous enough to put it on the air”
“Bet you still have the tape,” Paddy assumed, “I’d love to hear it.”
“Nope,” I had to disappoint him. “Back then I didn’t know anything about storing tape. It was in a box somewhere and disintegrated over time.”
“So you have no proof you interviewed him,” Paddy cynically poked.
“Ah, but I do,” was my rejoinder, “I have a signed picture of him thanking me for the interview; would you like to see it?”
A chagrined Paddy changed the subject.