This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one?
originally published 02/09/12…
I could have lived in Nashville. I almost had a date with Buddy Jewell, Osceola’s current claim to fame -the FIRST ever Nashville Star winner! Seriously. I have a love note from Buddy Jewell. He passed it to me after my biology class at Arkansas State, the fall of 1980. He had a class in that same classroom immediately following mine. As I walked out, he was sitting there waiting to go inside, actually playing his guitar. Just kinda messing around on it. Clearly, he was meant to be in Nashville.
She said, “I think his name is Jewell…?”
Buddy Jewell? Yeah, I know him! I have a love letter from him.
Later, after Buddy won, I dug it out of that drawer and flaunted it to all of my cousins who were duly impressed. (Always hold on to things like that – you just never know.)
Buddy was handsome – no doubt about it. He looked like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. And that guitar was hot. He carried it everywhere. Obviously he was headed for bigger things. And he was observant – he certainly recognized that I was a Nashville kinda girl. I could have been.
It was probably those Razorback Red Justin cowboy boots I wore – nearly every day – to classes. After I transferred to Baylor, I traded those in for more appropriate ‘Texas-looking’ boots, bought at The Western Fair in Lott – a quick side trip from Waco. All the Baylor freshmen saved their money to buy boots there – a necessity for the Cotton-Eye Joe which we practiced at the fraternal hall in West. The Western Fair smelled of leather and oil, and Lucchese boots were lined up for blocks and blocks. My new boots were brown – a bit more subdued. I couldn’t very well walk around the Baylor campus in Razorback red – the schools weren’t that chummy. I wish I still had those red Justins.
Becky’s primary goal on this trip was to spot Keith Urban, preferably without Nicole. Honestly, I thought our chances of spotting Keith lunching at Panera on baked potato soup were slim. But we looked. I’m not sure Becky even ate.
Sweet Southern Comfort, Buddy Jewell