By Grant McGee
“Waltz across Texas with you in my arms. Waltz across Texas with yooooooooo…”
The crooner with the country band was giving his best to
cover the old country standard Ernest Tubb recorded years ago.
“Like a storybook ending I’m lost in your charms, and I
could waltz across Texas with you…”
“That’s a waltz,” I told The Lady of the House pointing
matter-of-factly to the crowd on the dance floor.
The Lady of the House and I were out on the town. We stopped by the local senior center. She had read in the paper that a bluegrass
band would be jammin’ at the center.
“You know,” I said as we walked through the parking lot, “We’re
probably going to be the youngest ones in here.”
We walked in the door and surveyed the situation.
It was all dark except for the two glittering mirror balls
on the ceiling and the stage where the band was playing.
“We’re the youngest ones in here,” said The Lady of the House.
We moseyed over to a corner of the room and had a seat.
“That ain’t no bluegrass band,” I said. “But they’re pretty good.”
The band went through a bunch of classic country tunes by
Hank Thompson, George Morgan and others from that classic country era about the
time she and I were born.
I sang along with a few of the tunes.
“How do you know these?” she asked.
“My first radio job back in the mountains, lots of requests
for stuff like this.”
And then they were playing a waltz by Ernest Tubb.
“Ernest Tubb once pulled up beside me at a gas station in
Buchanan, Virginia back when I was in high school,” I said.
“Did you get his autograph?” asked The Lady of the House.
“Naww,” I said. “I
really wasn’t into country music then.
But I knew who he was from being over at Catfish’s house and his dad
would watch ‘That Good Ol’ Nashville Music’ TV show in the evenings after work.
I pointed to the people on the dance floor.
“Waltzing,” I said. I
spoke the dance steps out loud. “1-2-3,
1-2-3, 1-2-3…”
“No,” said The Lady of the House, “it’s 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4,
1-2-3-4…”
“No,” I said. “The ‘4’
doesn’t fit in there. It’s 1-2-3, 1-2-3,
1-2-3…”
“No,” she said, “it’s 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4…”
I then invoked the name of an old friend who has since gone ‘on
to Glory.’
“He taught me about waltzing, he was the authority on it,” I
said. “And he had a lot of respect for
you.”
“He was an old horndog,” said The Lady of the House.
I gasped.
“My buddy? My
bro? A horndog?” I said. “What’s your definition of a horndog?”
“Someone who’s always flirting with women,” she said.
My old pal, a horndog?
I thought about my old buddy who caught “The Cansuh” and
died.
When I came to the West I didn’t know much but over time he
taught me a lot, things like when you pointing a direction you don’t point with
your index finger, you point with your thumb kinda tucked in your palm so that
your four fingers are pointing off to the side but the thumb is pointing in the
right direction.
He taught me history, like there used to be a few brothels
on the south side of the railroad tracks in Clovis, New Mexico and that’s where
he experienced his…ahem…’first time.’
When he saw I couldn’t dance for shit out on the dance floor
of the bar on the south side of Roswell he told me the steps for the key dances
of the west: The Two Step, The Waltz,
The Cotton Eye Joe followed by The Schottische.
I never got the hang of the Cotton Eye Joe and the Schottische
but I remembered two-stepping. The two
step wore me out after about three turns on the dance floor because I had to
keep reciting the dance steps to myself:
“Step-touch-step-touch-walk-walk.”
Those were the instructions on how to move your feet.
I couldn’t even carry on a decent conversation because the
words kept going on over and over in my head:
“Step-touch-step-touch-walk-walk.”
And waltzing was “1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3…”
Then I thought about my buddy, thought about some of the
things I saw, some of the things he did.
I kinda thought it was sad he never wrote down all his stories. And I thought about what a charmer he was
with the ladies and…
“Well dang,” I said to The Lady of the House. “I reckon he WAS an old horndog.”
“I didn’t say it like a bad thing,” she said. “I was just stating fact. Your old pal was a horndog. And waltzing is 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4…”
“Why yes,” I said. “Yes
it is.”
“Now,” said The Lady of the House, “Why won’t they play any
Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys?”
“Probably because we’re in Florida,” I said.
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