Woody Guthrie's birthplace, Okemah, Oklahoma

“Left wing, right wing, chicken wing.”

            -Woody Guthrie

 

The other day I stopped for a caffeine fix at a lovely little coffee shop on Woody Guthrie Blvd. in Okemah, Oklahoma.  It’s was an  inviting place, perhaps a bit sacred to the artistic spirits traversing the back roads in this part of the country in search of the ghost of Woody Guthrie.  It used to be a decrepit Sonic drive-in, but they removed the car hop accoutrements and the elongated awning.  They did leave a nice front porch under which sits several oversized lemon yellow rocking chairs and flowerboxes full of purple and pink petunias.  I would have been rockin’ in one of those chairs if it wasn’t so damn hot. 

 

The place rests on a rise above the old highway running through town.  About five miles down this highway you’ll cross over a rusting iron bridge spanning the Canadian River.  From this bridge many years ago there was a lynching which Woody Guthrie captured in a song after learning his father was part of the lynch mob:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpe31zFkJME

 

As I was enjoying my coffee, I saw some tough looking hombre wearing a ten gallon hat pull up in a flat bead hay truck.  His face was peculiarly bulldoggish, perhaps receiving a horse kicking or two over the years.  He burst in as if through a saloon door but instead of ordering up a shot of gut rot whisky he asked politely for a “double shot latte . . . skinny with a shot of vanilla”. 

 

 

One would deduce this dude was a rhinestone cowboy.  But I’ve never seen an urban cowboy driving a beat up “dually” hay truck, especially one with a welder bolted to the back.  The urban cowboys instead prefer those gleaming fifty thousand dollar double-cab Fords (usually the “Texas Edition”) with four wheel drive and “baseball glove” leather seats.  Remember the one George W. Bush used to drive when he was out pretending to cut mesquite trees on his ranch (to enhance his “cowboy” image)?  That’s the one.  All it takes to expose a phony is one look in the unscratched truck bed to see they’ve never hauled wood, cow shit or even a cheap recliner from the big-box furniture store. 

 

The barista was pretty and ebullient, one of those cheerful, generous spirits who makes everyone feel as if they are at the center of her world.  The tough hombre was obviously fond of her because after a bit of sweet talking he invited her to watch him fight in a MMA match in Oklahoma City.  And if he won he’d take her to Dallas and then to the world championships in Vegas.  She told him there is no doubt he looked tough as nails and would probably win but she’s got a business to run and her husband’s the mayor.  He finished his latte as if it were a shot of whisky and said “bless yur heart Daaarlin’ . . . yur married to a politician!  Wish me luck ‘cause I’m gonna need it.”  And then he left.




At Woody's home place

Dave Rawlings Machine "I hear them all/this land is your land":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Def5J2wQP9M


This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,

I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps

To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,

And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there

And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,

By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,

As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.

           -Woody Guthrie

 

“I hate a song that makes you think that you are not any good. I hate a song that makes you think that you are just born to lose. Bound to lose. No good to nobody. No good for nothing. Because you are too old or too young or too fat or too slim or too ugly or too this or too that. Songs that run you down or poke fun at you on account of your bad luck or hard travelling. I am out to fight those songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world and that if it has hit you pretty hard and knocked you for a dozen loops, no matter what color, what size you are, how you are built, I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work. And the songs that I sing are made up for the most part by all sorts of folks just about like you. I could hire out to the other side, the big money side, and get several dollars every week just to quit singing my own kind of songs and to sing the kind that knock you down still farther and the ones that poke fun at you even more and the ones that make you think that you've not got any sense at all. But I decided a long time ago that I'd starve to death before I'd sing any such songs as that. The radio waves and your movies and your jukeboxes and your songbooks are already loaded down and running over with such no good songs as that anyhow.”
         -Woody Guthrie