October 15, 2016: Waiting for a Train: My Tribute to Rich Minus (1940-2016)
Two theme sets, in the 2nd & 3rd hours of the show: First, a bunch of songs inspired by Harry Smith's "Anthology of American Folk Music" on Folkways (1952). Harry Smith was a beatnik artist music collector; the 84 tunes he gathered helped trigger the folk revival of the 1950s & 60s. Then, a tribute to my old friend, Rich Minus, who died this past summer. Rich was a colorful character, a charming and talented country songwriter who grew up in San Antonio, Texas, and lived in Austin most of his live. Check out my short essay about Rich below the playlist.

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I JUST FOUND OUT THAT MY OLD FRIEND RICH MINUS DIED THIS PAST SUMMER. ***** Rich was a smart guy who wrote smart songs but he also drank himself to death. My kids knew him as the drunk guy who would call us in NJ a few times a year to say hello. He lived in NYC for a year or so, around 1980, trying to make it in the music scene. When a bunch of us went to see him— at Kenny's Castaways, I think— he was so loaded he couldn't remember the words to his own songs. He crashed at our place in Montclair a few times and was quite the character. His story has a sad ending but it wasn’t always like that. ***** When I first met Rich in Austin in 1969, he already had a Master’s Degree from St. Edwards University and he was, like me, now in the graduate program in Sociology at the University of Texas. His parents were both school teachers in San Antonio, where he grew up on the edge of the Tex-Mex community, alongside people like DOUG SAHM and ERNIE DURAWA. In those days, Rich wore a JIMMIE RODGERS train hat and did a mean version of “Waiting for a Train.” He really knew his music and we spent many nights, for many years, honky tonkin’ together at the Split Rail and other Austin music joints.***** In the spring on 1970, a bunch of us drove out to Big Bend National Park. We took some acid there and I had my only bad trip, out in the middle of the desert. But we hiked and camped, saw roadrunners, coyotes and javalinas—and took a wooden flatbed ferry across the border to drink beer in a little cantina on the Mexican side of the river. When some of the Mexican men in the bar started to fight over who would dance with Rich’s then-wife Molly, it was time to split. ***** In 1972, a bunch of us got busted for attacking an ROTC parade with squirt guns. We didn’t spend any time in jail but Rich and some others lost their teaching assistant jobs and had to quit UT; Rich stuck around Austin but Roy (now Raul) Breaux headed back to Louisiana to work on the oil rigs and Dave Dye left for Alaska. Raul now lives in Lafayette, LA, and does an excellent blues show on KLRS radio. Dave became a lawyer in Alaska and, I think, a Republican. I’d like to find out about that. Ironically, I had a National Defense fellowship but they didn’t mess with that. ***** Rich had already written a bunch of songs by the time he left grad school. He recorded a 45, with his “big hit”— “How Can I Dance When I Get Inside, I Gave an Arm & a Leg at the Door?” I still have a copy and played it on WFMU a few times. In the 1980s & 90s, he wrote lots of songs, played the Austin clubs regularly and recorded a number of albums, on the New Rose label out of France.***** One of his songs—“Laredo Rose”— was recorded by his pals, the Texas Tornados. He didn’t get paid much from that but he did receive a regular check from Warner Brothers, which he called his “Bugs Bunny money.” After I moved to NJ in 1973, I would visit Austin regularly. Sometimes I would stay with Rich, although one time he didn’t have a real place to live so we crashed on a couch at Texas Tornado drummer Ernie Durawa’s place. Mostly I stayed with my friends Billy Pope or Gail Caldwell but usually when I visited Austin, Rich and I would meet around 10 or 11 to hit the clubs. I remember one time he took me to the Skyline Club—“Hank Williams played here,” he would brag—to see DELBERT MCCLINTON. His friend Ernie was Delbert’s drummer in those days so Rich got in for free. I had to pay. ***** Rich was part of an amazing scene in Austin. He hung out and played with BLAZE FOLEY, CALVIN RUSSELL & TOWNES VAN ZANDT. Rich told me a story about the time he was driving a cab and picked up Townes, who was on his way to a club. Townes had been drinking and Rich joined in. He abandoned the cab and tagged along with Townes for the rest of the night. He lost that job the next day. ***** It’s an understatement to say that Rich was not a reliable performer. There’s an online story— uspest.org/coopl/tvzcactrib.html—about a tribute to Townes at the Cactus Café shortly after his death: “Rich Minus played both nights. He did well on Wednesday, telling an anecdote about a time when Billy Joe Shaver called Townes up for a couple of guest songs. Townes created pandemonium by saying that Billy Joe wanted everybody to have a drink on the house. On Thursday, Rich told every third word of the story, and stumbled through "No Lonesome Tune," singing the "In the kitchen mama sneezed" verse twice. Then he passed out on the stage. After Rich was helped off stage, Mark Ambrose sang the most appropriate Townes Van Zandt song to follow that bit of unease: "If I had no place to fall, And I needed to, Could I count on you, To lay me down..." ***** When my family went down to Austin a few years ago, we tried to find Rich. Ernie didn’t know where he was staying but he gave me his mom’s phone # in San Antone. When I called, she said Rich was living in a homeless shelter but she didn’t know the name. Rich hadn’t called me in NJ for a few years and I wondered if he was still around. ***** On the one hand, it’s a sad story. The death of an old pal. But it’s also a reminder of a life and legacy: Rich was a warm and witty guy, a dreamer and a doer, a clever wordsmith and a caring friend. So long, buddy. ***** Obit: http://www.mysanantonio.com/entertainment/music-stage/article/Laredo-Rose-songwriter-Rich-Minus-dead-8332913.php