Not Everyone Wants Willie for President

  I suck at writing about politics.

  It’s just that simple.

  How I wish I had the talent of Matt Taibbi who writes a lot of stuff for “Rolling Stone” and other big magazines.  His line about Rick Perry in a story back in 2011 made me laugh out loud:  “…[Perry] cracks a smug grin, looking like he's just sewn up the blue ribbon in a frat-house dong-measuring contest.”*

  I miss Molly Ivins who went “on to Glory” 11 years ago.  She could WRITE, and write with humor.  Like her view of politics in far west Texas:  “At a meeting last year of the Texas Civil Liberties Union board, vicious hate crimes against gays in both Dallas and Houston were discussed. I asked the board member from Midland if they’d been having any trouble with gay-bashing out there. “Hell, honey,” she said, with that disastrous frankness one can grow so fond of, “there’s not a gay in Midland would come out of the closet for fear people would think they’re a Democrat.”**

  Without Molly there appears to be no one to have some tongue-in-cheek fun with politics and issues, like that billboard that popped up west of Amarillo recently.  You know, the one that read:  “Liberals…Please continue on I-40 until you have left our GREAT STATE OF TEXAS.”

  I can just imagine Molly Ivins would’ve had grand fun with that.

  Naw, you really won’t see me writing too much about politics.  For one thing things have gotten WAY too serious regarding politics and for another I just can’t see that’s there’s anything I’m gonna write that’ll amuse hyper-partisans or persuade anyone to see politics the way I do.

  One of the nicest compliments I ever received was from the editor of the local newspaper who simply said:  “You know, I can’t tell what your politics are.”

  But (pssst) I’ll tell you, dear Reader:  I believe we should work to compromise and get along with each other.  You know, “United we stand, divided we fall” and all that.

  I generally keep my mouth shut about politics and religion for three reasons.  Reason 1 is once upon a time in America there was a social rule:  Don’t talk about religion or politics with friends. 

  Reason 2:  My radio boss told me to not get involved in “Hot topics and burning issues” like politics.

  Reason 3:  I like to follow the advice of Saint Elvis about being an entertainer.  Back during the Vietnam War years Elvis was approached by a reporter who asked for his thoughts about The War to which he replied:  “Honey, I’d just as soon keep my own personal views about that to myself.  I’m just an entertainer and I’d rather not say.”

   I’m a storyteller and bullshitter…a member of the entertainer tribe…so I TRY to follow St. Elvis’ advice.

  I especially lay low about politics after a lesson I got a number of years ago in New Mexico’s Pecos Valley.

Actual factual picture of the radio station 
where I used to work in Roswell, New Mexico.  
It ain't a country station any more.

  I was working at the country station in Roswell in 1990, just having a grand time but I didn’t make a helluva lot of money.

  Rhonda the Remarkable Roswell Radio Receptionist told me once upon a time:  “I saw y’all’s paychecks.  I never knew how y’all made it on so little money.

 So me and my buddy Wayne, who also worked at the station, had a “side gig” being disc jockeys at big parties and dances.

  I have to give credit and a tip of the hat to The Boss back then who turned a blind eye to us using the station equipment and music for those gigs.

  We’d disc jockey high school dances in Carrizozo, play the music for an oil company barbecue south of Roswell in Loco Hills, trek up to Ruidoso to blast out the tunes for a reunion, stuff like that.

  Then there was this one gig…

  Wayne and I were called on to disc jockey a big party for a bunch of Roswell area ranchers.

  We loaded up my Thunder Wagon, an old 1970’s station wagon I had, and rolled on in to a fancy place just outside Roswell.

  Everybody arriving on the scene was dressed way better’n we were.  Starched and pressed shirts, starched and pressed and creased jeans, high-dollar Stetsons.  I’m just sayin’ this was a big coin, high-dollar crowd.

  And so the partyin’ began.  We played George Strait and new country stuff and more George Strait and me and Wayne made sure folks were having a good time with the good tunes.

  Then I believed it was time to play some Willie.

  Anyone who knows anything about Country music knows who I’m talking about:  Texas pickin’, pot smokin’, free-wheelin’, outlawin’ Willie Nelson.

  Since I don’t know when, folks have kidded around about electing Willie president.  Easy goin’, friend to everyone Willie Nelson in the White House.

  So I’m getting ready to spin some Willie for these dapperly dressed southeast New Mexico ranchers.  I grab the microphone.

  “Let’s two-step to some Willie now,” I said, then I yelled.  “HEY, HOW ABOUT WILLIE NELSON FOR PRESIDENT?!?!”

  I expected a reaction like I’d seen at Willie’s 4^th of July picnics, expected the roar of the crowd in approval.

  But this was NOT just outside Austin, Texas.

  Nope, I was in cattle and oil country, the part of New Mexico some historical types call “Little Texas.”

  There was stone cold silence in the room.

  Immediately I knew I had breached some unspoken etiquette, done did a faux-pas, not gotten a much needed memo.

  For one reason or another this group wasn’t fond of the idea of Willie Nelson for President.

  “Alrighty then,” I said.  “Sorry about that, politics and dancing don’t mix.”

  I stalled for a little bit of time so I could switch out songs.

  “So,” I yelled, “How about Hank Williams Junior for Secretary of Defense???”

  Hoots and hollers came from the crowd as I fired up a Hank Jr. two-steppin’ tune.

  Wayne sidled over to me.

  “Bro,” said Wayne, “This ain’t a Willie crowd.  Thought you mighta had a feel for that.”

  “Yeah,” I said leaning over toward him so he could hear me above the music, “One of those things you learn by doing.  But hey, I really thought EVERYONE likes Willie.”

  After that night never again would I mention politics at dances I was disc jockeying.

  My learning days weren’t over though.

  Not long after that I learned not to bring Rap or Hip-Hop CDs to country dances.

  But that’s another story.

-30-

*“Rick Perry:  Best Little Whore in Texas,” “Rolling Stone,” 26 Oct 2011

**“Is Texas America?,” “The Nation,” 30 Oct 2003