L.E.o.R. - Fall ’10 - 80 to 40 - 4 of 5

CAROL NESMITH vs. JUNIOR JOHNSON
Carol Nesmith did time in prison for cockfighting and now runs his operation mostly for just breeding, although most cockfighting information is really hard to find, being it is illegal. There were some dudes near me who word was ran cockfights, but after the Michael Vick thing, the state of Virginia came down hard on everybody, and they sold off their operation to some guy in California. Now they run mud bogs.
Nesmith is one of the main dudes in America for the sweater breed of gamecock, which goes back to some dude in North Carolina back in the 1920s, and there is a large paying market for these birds in the Philippines and Mexico, and I'm sure here too, wink wink nudge nudge. Being an owner of chickens, and knowing these remarkable yet dimwitted creatures well, I can understand the fascination with cockfighting, and breeding a good game bird. These are the lost arts our modern world is overlooking while everyone gets giddy because some dumb bitch did a blog about every recipe in a Julia Roberts cookbook. (Yes, I know that's not correct, but it will be one day; trust me.)
Junior Johnson, similarly, was a bootlegger who ran shine throughout the south, infamously. Legend had it he was never caught, and when Nascar turned into a thing (nothing like the thing it is now though), he was one of its earliest superstars, parlaying mad stock car success into owning his own racing teams, and ultimately into a pork product empire still seen on grocery store shelves, like any good Carolina boy would do. In fact, his life was basically a long-winded money-laundering scheme.
However, he has gone legit, through redneck sports, while Nesmith remains not necessarily outside the law, but flirting with the edges of legality for sure. This world becomes more of a slave ship every time another outlaw dies, because cell phones are HAARP beams.
Advantage: Carol Nesmith.
BOBBY BEAUSOLEIL vs. CHARLES MANSON
Bobby Beausoleil was a dude who sold some drugs to Charles Manson's family, in a bad deal, and went to retrieve the money with Manson, and killed a guy in the process. Beforehand, basically he had just fucked some of Manson's chicks, and hardly hung with the crew, but the Manson family hysteria has caused Bobby Beausoleil to be stuck in jail the rest of his life. He has used this solitary confinement to paint, make music, and write some really interesting things about the spiritual aspects of high-minded masturbation. Really, he's an amazing motherfucker.
Charles Manson is Charles Manson. He is the best con man the world has ever known, able to reflect exactly what you want to see in him. I sometimes hope he never dies, or at least lives to be like 139, so that they have to release him from jail, because he has outlived American society.
Advantage: Charles Manson.
JIM BROWN vs. JOHN RIGGINS
Football running backs who are #2 and #3 in the all-time career rushing yards list as I recognize it in my heart (behind only Barry Sanders). Brown only played for 7 years, kicked ass, did movies, and attempted to uplift broke ass black kids. John Riggins was insane, wore his hair like Travis Bickle, passed out drunk at a Presidential dinner, and is still crazy as fuck. I am a Redskins fan though.
Advantage: John Riggins
LUCINDA WILLIAMS vs. STEVE EARLE
While I think both of these people can be overrated, as most things that fall under alt.country tend to be, being the type of people who rant and rave about alt.country lack that much of the country part of the genre title to get a good feel for real life shit. Steve Earle, as a musician, is not nearly as awesome as I'd like him to be. I could probably whittle his catalog down to a couple of CDs full of my favorite shit. But his life story is an amazing one, and he knows the real deal about Nashville. And when it comes to music, good lord, the man fucking knows it. His satellite radio show he used to do (may still do, I just never remember to listen) is one of the most amazing things you could ever hear. And you throw in all the political shit he's done, and his involvement in The Wire, and what you have is a rock solid bearded man from Kentucky.
Lucinda Williams is the type of older crazy drunkard woman I'd like to share a shitty hotel with for a couple weeks, until we almost kill each other, and I ride a Greyhound home, and never talk again for ten years, until we find each other on Facebook and time has made our memories of each other more romanticized, and we share in pretend nonsense about how great things could have been. But they wouldn't have been.
With all that being said, ultimately I have to think about the influence of the eventual Learned Elder on my teenage trainees. A crazy old vagina that likes to drink and play guitar can rip apart entire groups of friends, while a crazy old beard that had to quit drinking but still plays guitar can bring them together better than ever.
Advantage: Steve Earle.
BILLY CHILDISH vs. LEMMY KILMISTER
Billy Childish is a national treasure for whatever nation he's from (Scotland? Is that it's own nation anymore?), but Lemmy is motherfucking Lemmy. I mean, he's Lemmy.
Advantage: Lemmy Kilmister.
JACKIE TYSON vs. JESCO WHITE
Jackie Tyson is a dude who was friends with my folks and grew up with my dad and lives not too far away from me and keeps me connected to my upbringing yet grasping for something more. He is a solid motherfucker who I will not speak too much upon at this point because he may find it on the internet and freak out and never talk to me again.
Jesco White is a crazy country character like thousands of others, yet he had a documentary made about him. There are Jesco Whites all over this fucking country, including Jackie Tyson, who are allowed to flourish in their natural habitat without being dragged into the public consciousness like a goddamned zoo animal.
Advantage: Jackie Tyson.
CORMAC MCCARTHY vs. HARRY CREWS
Two of my favorite four living writers (along with Gary Snyder and Chris Offutt), and a pair of guys I hope to be a quarter as successful as before they chunk me in the ground and poke a slab of soapstone in at me. Oddly enough, most of my life, I did not read any Cormac McCarthy, even when a few people had specifically told me, "Hey Raven, I think you'd really love Cormac McCarthy; you should read him." And I never did, because usually when people tell me about things they think I'd like, it just ends up making me think they don't really know me. But yeah, when we were pregnant with our second kid, the boy's name we had in reserve in case it was a boy was Cormac, because it means "son of raven". But we had a girl. However, an interest in Cormac McCarthy completely separate from people telling me how much I'd like the new Little Brother CD or Kevin Smith movie or a book by him actually had me get some shit from library. And honestly, I have not finished half of the books I've read by him, but his style is so goddamned thick and dirty, yet very beautiful, it makes me realize very easily how far I have to go as a writer and how, even at 37 years and writing a few thousand words a night, I'm a goddamn baby on this stroll.
Harry Crews is the best ever, in my book. I could give a fuck about his novels, and haven't gotten into them when I try to, but his collection of essays (Florida Frenzy and Blood and Grits) are the fucking shit I would try to emulate. Good writing about regular crazy-assed people. It is what I grew up around, what has been sterilized by Wal-Marts and satellite TV and Toby Keith songs. He is a man I'd like to sit across the table from, or in a classroom with, or somewhere, and just listen and learn. Not that I think he'd tell me anything I couldn't figure out on my own, or I'd try to impress his old ass and get in good or be his holmes as a little sycophantic young 'un, but just to soak up the vibe. He's been on the same road, with the same crazy ghosts swirling around in his head, just when he went on it, it was unpaved gravel, and by the time I got to it, it was asphalt, but still unlined, and still way off the interstate. And while I think Cormac McCarthy's collected works would have more to offer than Harry Crews's collected works, the influence of man vs. man edge has to go to Crews.
Advantage: Harry Crews.
HENRY FULCHER vs. RALPH STANLEY
Henry Fulcher is an AM radio DJ in my hometown of Farmville, Virginia, and in some sort of country music or bluegrass hall of fame because he's a famous old school DJ back when playing music on the radio meant something more than getting your 19 Facebook friends to listen to you online. And what an entertainer. I have heard him play songs for the first time ever, then stop it by scratching the needle across the record saying, "We won't be playing that no one no more, folks." He'll talk about an old dude who died and then play a wonderful gospel instrumental that'll make you cry like you just heard Red Sovine's "Teddy Bear" for the first time ever. And work in plugs like a mad man, talking about getting your pork chops cut thick at the butcher's counter at some grocery store that still does stuff like that somewhere in southside Virginia where that type of thing is still appreciated. You know, them old folks are dying off. And I can tell you from a whole lot of personal research in my lifetime that the fried chicken you get from a Food Lion or Wal-Mart ain't shit compared to what you could get at the deli counter at them country stores or old mom-and-pop grocery stores. The best fried chicken you can get in the whole middle part of Virginia is in Palmyra, at the E.W. Thomas grocery store. And they have pickled beet eggs, for real ones, not those pink pieces of rubber shit they try to sell at other places as pickled eggs.
Ralph Stanley is of course a founding father of bluegrass music, which is basically speed metal for hillbillies. He also is a Dr. of some sort, and many bearded men in work trucks want him to be President. And though I'd want Ralph Stanley music to be played at my funeral (like it was at my dad's), Henry Fulcher is a fucking classic, in a dying breed way of doing things, and that's what Learned Elders are all about. There's all kinds of newgrass dumbasses playing Pink Floyd on banjo that can half-assedly carry on the legacy of Ralph Stanley. Who the fuck on the internet is gonna tell you where to get pork chops?
Advantage: Henry Fulcher.