Anybody Here Play Guitar??

[Sonofahoghead]

 Below is yet another entry from my life journal… written and entered postscript in 1998 from events transpiring in 1969.  Though the intent of the piece was more relevant to musical topics, none of it would have happened like it did without the involvement of a very special train… one which was ultimately spawned by a prominent piece of railroad history… so I thought y’all here might like to read it.

 

"Genesis To An Ovation”

 

 

  May 10, 1869..  the Trans Continental Railway had finally been completed.  The tracks were joined and the nation changed forever.  Amidst the fanfare there, I've always wondered what kind of rot-gut whiskey or champagne may have been in those bottles the guys hanging off the front of the locomotives were holding out in gesture at the moment the famous photo was taken.

 

 

   Now, fast-forward 100 years.  It was the big day.  The centennial celebration.  People came from all over the country to observe the occasion.  My old man had worked his way up the ranks with the Union Pacific Railroad, and our family lived in Ogden, Utah, an intermountain rail hub around 75-or-so miles south from where the historic 1869 Golden Spike had been driven at Promontory Point.

 

 

   On that day my father had only two months left to live.  Cancer was winning the war it had waged on his life.  And though our family had been outfitted with the full VIP treatment for his company’s big event, Dad was far too sick to make the trip out to the desolate reaches of Promontory for the re-enactment ceremony.  Mom, neither, was much in the mood for festivity, and both of my older brothers were away with the military; so upon my father’s insistence of participation for posterity, at age 14 I put on my best duds and went as our family’s sole representative.

 

 

   Individual railroads competed for the passenger dollar in those pre-Amtrak days; hence, the accommodations were much more nicely appointed and luxurious back then.  I had ridden many passenger liners during my relatively young life; though what I found upon boarding the Golden Spike Centennial Limited, the company’s private train which I would ride through northern Utah en-route to the ceremony that day, was beyond luxury.  It was plain decadent.  A unique consist forwarded by Union Pacific’s historic steam locomotive #8444, it featured an array passenger and club cars furnished for the event by various railroads from across the nation – some reflecting the golden years of traditional private varnish, with others boasting the newest passenger amenities of modern issue.  The entire assembly, freshly glossed in uniform blue with spirited bunting and polished excess, came packed with luscious foods and drinks befitting the scores of dignified guest attendees it carried amongst the proud, shoulder-rubbing glee of the industry’s leading executives.  I saw very few other youngsters onboard, so aside from a scattering of brief handshakes and well-wishes from a few of my father’s acquaintances whom I barely knew, I mostly rode quietly alone.

 

 

   The train’s glimmer and beauty stood in stark contrast to the windy, remote dirtscape of our final destination.  A barren environment that I'm sure had not changed one iota since the wild frontier days for which it is known.  I don't think even snakes or jack rabbits live out there; albeit after a bus hop from the train’s stopping point to the newly-built visitor’s center, we found that several thousand people had already gathered for the event.

 

 

   Three hours later the history show was over.  The boarding of our refreshed and restocked digs-on-rails for the ride back south was a welcome relief from the wind and dust; and this is when the after-party really began to take shape.  Many cocktails.  Many cigars.  One of the neatly-groomed porters handed me a sandwich and Coke, so I seated myself at a small table toward the end of one of the lounge cars and watched the grown-ups mingle about and play.

 

 

   It was a public relations potpourri.  The Governor of Utah was onboard along with various other politicians.  There were also lots of celebrities, including the guy from the cop show (Harry Morgan), and the lady who wouldn't sink (Debbie Reynolds), and the man with the lumpy nose (Karl Malden), and, of course, The Duke;  all of whom had appeared earlier in the film “How The West Was Won”, for which Union Pacific had been a major technical contributor.  Funny, though, none of them acted like they did in the movies – unless maybe it was a party scene.

 

 

   The car’s serving galley was just over my shoulder.  I heard a man come through the vestibule and stop at the galley to ask the porter in a politely-jovial manner, “Do you have any more of those fried shrimp in here?”  Just then, the man’s elbow bumped against the back of my head.  I turned around just in time to catch his, “Oh, I'm sorry”, and witnessed firsthand the shining white teeth and helmet-sprayed hair.  It was Glen Campbell.  I had already noticed his presence earlier during the ceremony; and as it were, he and John Wayne were dotting the country together to promote a new film that was about to be released, “True Grit”, and this event was one of the stops on their promotional agenda.

 

 

   The porter replied kindly with something like, “No-sir, Mr. Campbell, but I can have some here right away”, and commenced to pursue his mission.

 

 

   In a proper tone of, “Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”, Campbell sat down on the other side of my little table.  Wow.  I mean, I was just a small-town kid who owned a second-hand, six-string Aria with a fingerboard that was warped like a bow saw and rarely even got picked up, and now I had been thrust directly into the presence of musical greatness-- completely star-struck.  Furthermore, I had him all to myself.  Kind of an awkward surprise for an adolescent mind.

 

 

   Used to it, he worked to set my nerves at ease by making small talk about the day’s happenings and asking me about myself, and I immediately stumbled over my thoughts and answers, but it didn't take long before a nice, comfortable yacking session began in suiting the public purpose of which he was there to represent.

 

 

   The fried shrimp arrived-- about a dozen on the plate-- which, I will never forget, he held out to me before taking any for himself.  He truly is a gentleman.  Then we ate.

 

 

   This was nearly thirty years ago, and I don't have the memory as to exactly what was said verbatim that day; though I clearly remember asking him about those “crazy-shaped” guitars he played.  I believe it was the very first time I ever heard the name “Ovation”.  I went on to tell him about my old beater guitar and asked him if the Ovations were expensive.  “A little pricey for a young guy”, I think is what he said, but continued on with his informal coaching session about practice, discipline and patience, and that one day I would have a nicer guitar.  I think he actually enjoyed our visit.  We talked about a lot of things, though the whole interlude only lasted all of about fifteen minutes.  He finished his snack and went on his way.

 

 

   Upon our return to Salt Lake City I stepped off the train as most of the other passengers, including Campbell, continued on to further events in the celebration’s schedule.  I wondered about him for days-- where he might be and what other fun things he may be doing-- and for the next month I don't think anyone could shut me up about my “lunch with Glen Campbell”.. and my quest for a better guitar.. and how many times I pestered the local music store to let me play their Ovations.. and how many times I sat and watched my newfound hero in his big-screen movie during the somber days of losing my dad.  I could recite every line in the script.

 

 

   It eventually took nearly the years of the age I was then, but after the Aria, the Kent, the Harmony and the Peavy, I finally bought an Ovation guitar.. one which I still own today.

 

 

********  ********  ********

   Our family raced dragsters during the years that purchase took place, and as I was sitting on the tailgate of our push truck one day at a race in Bakersfield, California I saw a man standing in the distance that reminded me a lot of Campbell, casually resting his arms on the top of a short fence that separated the pit area from the staging road I was on as he watched the racing action beyond me.  I thought back to the day on the train years prior, proud that I had finally acquired the guitar of pros.

 

 

   I watched as two young girls walked up to the man, and I'll be damned if he didn't sign an autograph.  Oh, my.. no way.  Yes, way.  It was him.  What are the odds?  I thought quickly that I had better get over there before he wandered away if I wanted a second time to meet an idol.  I stood to walk his direction and realized it was a hot day and that he was standing there drinkless, so I grabbed a Sprite out of our cooler and took it to him.. didn't say hello or anything, just extended the drink as I approached.  This time I do remember our initial dialogue.

 

 

  “I think I owe you this for the fried shrimp you gave me on a train one day in Utah.  We met at the Golden Spike Centennial and we ate shrimp on the train back to Salt Lake.”

 

 

  I caught his moment of recollection, “No kidding.. that was you??  You grew right up!  You wanted to play my guitars.  Did you ever get one for yourself?”

 

 

   Indeed, I had gown up, and now, once again, I had him all to myself in conversation-- completely elated that he had remembered our meeting from years earlier.

 

 

 After a drive up from Los Angeles that morning to see a friend compete at the race, he couldn't locate his friend in the pits, so he had made his way over to the area where we now stood.  He looked much different to me that day in comparison to our first meeting.  Older, heavier, with a full beard and tanned very dark.. but the gentleman kindness clearly remained.  I re-introduced myself and we chatted for a few minutes while I told him about my new guitar.  He was pleased to know that he had steered me in the right direction and kindly complimented my choice.  Then the conversation turned to drag racing and we visited for a while longer before I finally had to return back to our crew.  The last thing he said was, “Thanks for the pop”, as he respectfully addressed me by name with a handshake in parting.

 

 

 Thus ended my personally-brief moments with Glen Campbell.  We've never met since, and probably never will again, though I will always view him as an affectionate mentor in the gist of friendship and advice.  And he was right.  I love my Ovation.

[Paul_D_North_Jr]

Interesting and nice story, thanks for sharing.  A lot of things can happen on a train, and resonate long afterwards.  As this story shows, serendipity, and the courage to step forward play a part, too. 

I imagine it's extremely difficult to be asked and expected to effectively be an adult when you're 14 and a parent is dying.  I'm glad there are some uiplifting aspets to those events. 

Also at 14, I had the audacity to ask for a cab ride on Strasburg's Decapod (2-10-0) steam engine.  It was a slow weekday, and J. Huber Leath (effectively the manager, whatever his official title) paused for a moment, and then said OK.  Unfortunately, I don't remember many details besides the heat (August), other than his kindness and generosity in granting my request - though I do have a photo of me standing in the gangway.  About ten years later I was back, but this time working for the company that maintained the SRR's track.  I spent a few days there from time to time, and although he didn't remember it, I sure did.

Sadly, Glen Campbell is in the final stages of Alzheimer's disease (per Rolling Stone magazine back in May, and I doubt that report is fictional).

A couple weeks ago I was at an evening concert/ recital by the songwriter Jimmy Webb, who played and sang a version of "Wichita Lineman".  Although most people think its about a telephone lineman or possibly a electric co. lineman, for the ending of the song he played some high notes which imitated the irregular rhythym of a telegraph sounder, fading out very gradually over a minute or so.  I'd never heard that version before, and want to look over the lyrics to see if they support that interpretation.  If so, then a railroad C&S lineman is also plausible.

- Paul North. 

[tree68]

Cool story, indeed.  It's surprising how many people have met someone famous in informal circumstances and ended up with a fantastic memory.

I have an Ovation 12 string.  Love it.

[Sonofahoghead]

Hi Paul.. thanks for your reply.  It looks like both of us had an interesting 14 on the rails.  If we only could have known then what we know now, ‘eh?  I rode the point with the old man many times (back when you could get away with sneaking a kid into the cab), but never even came close to riding on steam.  Lucky you!!

 

Campbell is currently resting at a facility in Nashville and, apparently, still likes his seafood.  Kim, his wife, brings it to him from the little sushi shop across the street most every day.  I got a little chuckle when I learned that.  His youngest kids, Cal, Shannon and Ashley are often on the road together with Ashley's act (Thursday is Ashley's 30th birthday).  Man, what I would give to have access to Campbell’s guitar vault.  If you haven’t yet seen the documentary “I’ll Be Me”, I highly recommend it.

 

I sure wish I could have been at Webb's show with you!  Such a talented man with a list of hits a mile long.  In fact, I was listening to Donna Summer’s version of “McArthur Park” just last night.  An interesting fact about Wichita Lineman::  A while back ASCAP, BMI, Pollstar and others in the music tracking business all got together to do a research tally, and all of them came up with the same result.  Wichita Lineman is the most played song (radio+live performance) in all of music history (based on the millennium ending in 2000). Whoda thunk??  I like what you said he did on his ending with the Morse code.  I’ve always heard it in the main rhythm break of the song before, thinking it may translate to something, but it doesn’t (A-A-A-A-H-repeat).  Makes for a nice connotation, though.  But there could still be some code hidden elsewhere in the song.  Let us know what you find!

[Sonofahoghead]

Hello, Larry.  Thanks for your response.  Yes, I fully agree with the fact that meeting someone famous can be extra special when it is in a setting and environment apart from what they are famous for.

 

Trains and guitars are two of my fave things, so I’m glad to meet another Ovation enthusiast here.  I still own the 1112-1 Custom Balladeer I mentioned in my story (among others) and it remains my #1 thing to rescue if the house catches fire (I hope my wife gets out okay.. lol). I wish we lived closer so we could meet and jam.. but in the meantime, grab your 12er and, if you haven’t already, come join us at the Ovation Fan Club online (www.ovationfanclub.com).  Lots and lots of O players having a great time together there.