EDITOR’SNOTE
ADAM PITLUK
Editor
BRIANSMITH
A
TheCowboyinMe
AH, THESOUTH.
Just the thought of it wrassles
up images of my boyhood in Cleveland, Missis-
sippi. I can closemy eyes and fondly recall days
spent running around the groves of magnolia
trees, barefooted and overalled; a straw hat on
my head; a piece of hay inmymouth.We’d play
carefree during the hot summer days — that is,
whenweweren’t tending thecrops. Andat night,
wedanced.Oh, dear Lord, howwedanced!We’d
haveahoedownsodarnhoey thatyoucouldhear
ourbootsa-stompin’ to those finecountry-music
fiddlesandsteel guitars fromNatchezall theway
toTupelo! Yep.Mmhmm. Youdang right.
Ah, well, that there was some good tall-tale
tellin’. Not a single word the truth. I can’t recall
having a single thought of the South, not when
I was growing up, nor when I was wrestling for
myhigh school team inCleveland—Ohio, that is.
Truth is, I neverownedoveralls; alwayshadshoes
onmy feet; couldn’tpickoutamagnolia tree from
a Christmas tree; and the only time I had hay in
mymouth is when Mike Manginomademe eat
grass in sixth grade and a few pieces got stuck
inmy teeth and died. As for dancing, I could do
ameanHumptyDance,muchmorehip-hop than
hoedown. Yep.Mmhmm.
Itwasn’tuntil I lefthome for college incentral
Missouri that Iwas first introduced towhatwould
becomeoneofmy favoritegenresofmusic: coun-
try. I didn’t know a singleperson atOrangeHigh
School inClevelandwho listened to country, and
mybuddiesand Iweren’texactlypassingConway
Twitty cassettes around inHebrew school.
But when I unpackedmy bags in Columbia,
Mo., and after my new college buddies brought
me to Black andGold, a hole-in-the-wall tavern
that had only country music on the jukebox, I
a scientific statement, but I think it’s safe to say
with99percentcertainty that I’msingle-handedly
responsible for every singlecountry-music fan in
Cleveland, Ohio.
AmericanWay
is goin’ country this issuewith
megastar TimMcGraw. One of country’s best-
sellingstars,McGraw’s life is itself acountrysong,
withups anddowns, tales of livin’ good and livin’
hard. And as the ladies will tell you, he ain’t too
hard to lookatneither.But that’snotall.We’reso
country here at the
AmericanWay
newsroom in
FortWorth, Texas, thatwe’regoing to show y’all
justwhat all the fuss isabout. Goodol’ American
will fly one lucky reader and a guest to Norfolk,
Va.,where they’ll stay inagrandHiltonhotel and
seeMcGraw live. However, just in case youdon’t
win—andnonebutoneofyouwill—youcan tune
to Channel 11 and listen to the best of McGraw,
with32 songs from the country superstar, includ-
ing23No. 1 hits.
Ah, it’s felt so good over the years to know
that thanks toone littleol’ line inaKennyChesney
song, and thanks tomy stick-to-itiveness inmak-
ing sure my hometown finally heard what I’ve
been hearin’ since 1995, Cleveland has country.
Sopleasedomea favor: Pleasedon’t let the folks
back home know that while I was researchin’
this here column, I learned that the Cleveland
Kenny Chesney was singin’ about eight years
agoain’tCleveland,Ohio. Turnsout it’sCleveland,
Tennessee.
Oy.
knew that Iwasa rural southernsoul trapped ina
northern suburbanbody.
For four years in the ’90s, many nights were
spent at Black and Gold, and many quarters
were spent in that jukebox. I became a country-
musicaficionado, justascomfortable talkin’ ’bout
anoldoutlaw likeWaylonJenningsas Iwas talkin’
’bout an up-and-comer, like this new guy out of
Louisiana named Tim McGraw (page 50). On
nights whenweweren’t listening to the jukebox
atB&G,wewere listening to live countrymusic—
andsometimes, two-steppingwith the ladies—at
theSilverBullet bar.
After college, when I moved to New York
City, I wasworried that I’d revert back tobeing a
country-music-less guy again. Now that I’d seen
the lightandheard the true-blueAmericansounds
of fellas like JerryReedandKennyChesney, how
could I ever go back to my musically ignorant
ways?
Turns out, I didn’t have to. After extensive re-
searchon thisnew thingumajigcalled the Internet,
I foundYogi’s, a real-lifecountrybaronBroadway.
It was every bit as Black and Gold as Black and
Gold, right down to the bathrooms smelling like
Mississippi outhouses.And the jukebox?Country.
Everysong.Of course,myCleveland friendswere
quite off-put when they came to visitme inNYC
and insteadof goin’ clubbin’ in theEast Village, I
was taking them toaplace that servedPabst ina
canon theUpperWestSide. I figured they’dnever
truly “get” countrymusic until therewas a song
they couldgeographically relate to.
And then it happened. Sometime in 2005,
KennyChesney’s single “AnythingbutMine”was
flying up the country chart. I was listening to a
country station on this newish thing called Sirius
Satellite Radio (because there wasn’t a single
country-music station in New York City) when a
lyrichitme. Likea fireflyover LakeTexoma, I saw
the light: “And in themorning I’m leaving,making
mywayback toCleveland/So tonight I hope that
I will do just fine/And I don’t see how you could
ever beanythingbutmine.”
Igoton thephoneandcalledeveryone I knew
back home to let them know that we finally did
it: Our citymade it into a country song. And it
worked. My friends told their friends, who told
theirs, andbeforewe knew it, country-music sta-
tionswerepoppingup inNortheastOhio.This isn’t
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“Editor’sNote.”
10
JUNE 01, 2013
AA.COM/AMERICANWAY
