The Legend-News

⇐Archives
Monday, 2003 March 3 : Volume 6, Number 5 Latest⇒

What We Got Here in this edition of The Legend-News.

Meanwhile, Back At The Critter Ranch

Duane Jenkins of New Zealand (a.k.a. "Middle Earth") writes:

Subject: Convoy - The Movie Sound Track

I believe there is an error in the Lyrics posted on the C W McCall website
for the soundtrack version of this song.

The lines

We trucked all day and we trucked all night
Pig Penny improvin' our style

Should read

We trucked all day and we trucked all night
Big Benny approvin' our style

This is a reference to the State Governor who organises the stop-over and
press conference. I may be wrong but this is what it sounds like to me.

I've just finished rewatching The Motion Picture CONVOY, and listening to the end title song several times, and I agree with Duane, partially. The correct line does sound like "Big Benny approvin' our style", but I disagree with "This is a reference to the State Governor".

When the Governor and the Duck meet at the field outside Albuquerque, the Governor clearly introduces himself as "Jerry Haskins". So the question is, who is "Big Ben"? Send your opinion to <legendnews@techren.net>.


An Interview With C.W. McCall (Part One)

The Legend-News recently sat down with a fully-loaded iPod and a fully-charged PowerBook, and got this exclusive interview with country music legend C.W. McCall

Legend-News: You're best known for the trucker anthem, "Convoy". But C.W., what can you tell us about your early life? What inspired you to write your songs?

C.W. McCall: Well, I was born in a town called Audubon.

LN: Southwest Iowa?

CW: Right where it oughta been.

LN: Please describe your parents.

CW: My daddy was a music-lovin' man, stood six-foot-seven, had big ol' hands. He lost two fingers in a chainsaw, but he could still play the violin.

LN: What your mother also musically inclined?

CW: Mom played piano; just the keys in the middle.

LN: What sort of music did you listen to when you were growing up?

CW: I was raised on Dust Bowl tunes. Woody Guthrie, Delta blues, the Carter family.

LN: Did you listen to a lot of radio?

CW: Well, I listened to Nashville and Tulsa and Dallas, and Oklahoma City gave my ears a callus.

LN: So that was your inspiration? Early country and western, Bill Monroe bluegrass?

CW: Mostly. But the place I remember, on the edge of town, was the place where you really got the hard-core sound. The place where the truckers used to stop on their way to Des Moines.

LN: The Old Home Café.

CW: Yeah. Them truckers never talked about nothing' but haulin', and they was always complainin' about their livers and backs. But they was fast-livin', strung-out, truck-drivin' son of a guns.

LN: So you decided, back in '72, to write about a truck driver.

CW: I never forgot that lesson of pickin' and singin', the country way. Yeah, them walkin', talkin' truck stop blues came back ta life.

Next Issue: Travelling across America.


Old Home Café: The Next Generation

Episode XII: The End Of The Beginning

The details of the events which transpired between 6:00 and 6:10 A.M. that morning in the Old Home Café would fill a novel, which you will be able to pre-order from Amazon.com as soon as it's written. For now you'll need to content yourself with this summary.

Larry turned out to be a fair cook, at least where eggs, bacon, packages and the occasional country ham was concerned. Well, maybe his omelettes where a bit on the runny side, but they weren't bad enough to give you salmonella.

Jerry had a good memory, something that is especially important if you're part of the wait staff. Give him an order for half a dozen coffees with varying amounts of cream, sugar and non-dairy creamer and he'd get them all correct. He even attempted to add some atmosphere to the Café, shouting orders across the room, but Larry's reply of "What?" to "Adam and Eve on a raft, whiskey down!" quickly ended that idea.

Crowd control, courtesy of Jerry Too, was excellent. Despite his taciturn attitude, no customer — potential or real — expressed a complaint about their treatment. He politely held back the growing crowd out front, and when a seat or booth opened up he would escort the next in line to their place.

Sergeant Hudson was impressed. Although the parking situation didn't really improve for another hour, he observed enough organization inside the Café to allow him to return outside, where he attempted to keep the traffic at the intersection of Main and 1st from looking like the Chicago Loop at midday.

Oh, yeah: Avis. Remember Avis? About an hour ago, she was jogging past the Café as Jon opened up for the day. Well, Mavis got home, took a shower, checked her e-mail (cursing the lack of a high-speed Internet connection), and continued to search for a job.

Next: Lunchtime.

Song A’ Th’ Week

Spring is arriving here in the northern hemisphere. The snow is beginning to melt, and water will flow through rivers that may be nothing but mud flats by August.

Niobrara
(C.W. McCall, Bill Fries, Chip Davis)
From the album Rubber Duck

Come ride with me cowboys
I'll tell you a story
Out where the whoopin' cranes fly
I'll show you the white bones
Of giants in sandstone
Out where the wind never dies

Niobrara River

Come sit by the campfire
I'll sing you a sad song
Of rivers that never return
Play soft on the mouth-harp
Strum slow on the guitar
And leave all the mem'ries to burn

[Chorus]
Roll on, Niobrara
Roll on, Niobrara
Roll on

I'll show you the bright shiny
Ribbon of silver
That flows through the sandhills at dawn
I'll find you the places
Where clear water races
Before all the traces are gone

[Chorus]
Roll on, Niobrara
Roll on, Niobrara
Roll on

So pack up the bedroll
And cinch up the saddle
And head for the red mornin' sky
We'll sing one more song for
The wild Niobrara
Out where the wind never dies

[Chorus]
Roll on, Niobrara
Roll on, Niobrara
Goodbye


Next Issue

Continuing our interview with C.W. McCall; burgers and fries at the Old Home Café; a Song A’ Th’ Week; and anything else that we can think of.


The Legend-News is published fortnightly — unless the fortnight is the fifth Monday, in which case it's published fortnightly-and-a-half — by TechRen Enterprises, a couple of bits short of a byte. Contents Copyright 2003 TechRen Enterprises, except for anything that we borrowed from someone else. Thanks to Bill Fries and Chip Davis for the words and music. "Who's in charge of this colon?"