Stan Hitchcock-View From The Front Porch-September 17, 2013

The stillness of the early morning is broken only by some tree frogs down by the creek, as I take my first gulp of coffee. Now, as if he knew I would be waiting, the Mockingbird hits his first solo of the morning, as the red dawn brightens up the horizon. Old Buck The Collie and I greet another new day with good cheer and a positive attitude, the way that we try to greet each day.

Denise and I will be heading for Springfield, MO on Thursday to my brother Sammy's house, to attend a reunion of the Johnson's, my Mother's side of the family. By now, most of the old Aunt's and Uncles are gone, and it is the cousins getting together for a pleasant day of Fried Chicken and all the trimmings, reminding each other of family history, cause it's important to know where you came from and who brung you. My immediate family tree is, on my Mother's side: The Johnson's from Kansas, The Wallis clan from Arkansas...and on my Father's side: The Hitchcock's and the McAlister's, both from Peoria County, Illinois. So, as you can see, I didn't have much choice in the matter...I was born country and it's too late to try to city-fy me now. I am solid Farm blood on both sides of the table, shoot, by rights I ought'a have my hands around a pitch fork throwing cow manure out of a barn, instead of fumbling with a J-45 Gibson and trying to sing like the hillbilly that I am.
Yeah, you just never know how you are gonna turn out, when you are twelve years old, standing, with your Dad, at the counter of Ike Martin's Music store in Springfield, Missouri, and Mr. Martin says, "Which one do you like son?" And you point at a Gretsch, youth model guitar hanging on the back wall behind the counter. Mr. Martin says to my Father, "We have a guitar teacher, upstairs on the second floor, and I'll throw in some guitar lessons to get him started." So marked the beginning of my real life...turning from pitching cow manure....to playing a guitar and warbling in my youthful, breaking voice. So, the year of 1948, was when I came out of the shell, wrapped my young fingers around the neck of a guitar, and decided that it fit my hand a lot better than a pitchfork. Then, the mold was really set, when I went upstairs, the next Saturday morning, at the same Ike Martin Music Store, met the nice, red headed guitar teacher named Mr. Allen, sat down in a folding chair next to him, my nervous hands holding the new guitar like it was solid gold, and he asked me, "Son, do you want to learn to pick lead guitar, or do you want to play chords, so you can sing along with it?" I thought for a moment, then said, "I want to sing." Just that simple, my life took on a new meaning. I had a purpose. It wasn't that I suddenly knew what I would do when I grew up...no, I knew what I was right then...I was a singer. I had been sitting on the piano stool, in the living room of our farm house in the Ozarks, learning songs while my Mother played the chords, from the sheet music on the piano. Now, after about three weeks of lessons, I was singing Roy Acuff songs, and playing the chords all by myself. I became totally engrossed in my guitar...I carried it with me everywhere I went....I slept with it in my upstairs attic bedroom, cradled in my arms, like a man holds a woman. And so it was, all through high school, by this time the Gretsch was traded for a J45 Gibson, and carried in the back seat of my first cars, to be whipped out and used to serenade the girls, parking on the creek banks of the Ozark countryside, playing the sound tracks of first romance, hitting the high notes of Roy Acuff's "Wreck On The Highway", while the girl stared at me and said, "Gee, don't you know any Pop Songs?" While I thought, dang, it don't get no better than "Wreck On The Highway", that was my biggie, just learned from the latest issue of Country Song Roundup, and she should be glassy eyed by now....hmmm, I'm gonna have to work on my song selections I reckon...wonder how "Rollin' In My Sweet Baby's Arms" would go over? So, my teen years of hard country music serenades did not necessarily equate to passionate embraces and steamy love scenes on Ozark creek banks. Oh well, the music has lasted longer than the teen age love scenes anyway, and it's hard to make a living as a creek bank lover, anyway....but a man that can hit a good solid D chord can go on and make a life out of it.

Yessir, so me and the guitar went on to live happily ever after, and the girls went on to marry someone else and have loads of babies and further populate the Ozark countryside. The cycle of life is complete, and when I told Roy Acuff about this, years later, he said, "Stan, you could have picked a better'un of my songs, looks like." So, there....the master has spoken.   Stan