A night in Branson

In 1907, a man named Harold Bell Wright published a book about the Ozarks (which I just found out is derived from the French “aux Arkansas”, or Of Arkansas), called The Shepherd of the Hills. That novel, combined with a natural beauty, and later a man-made lake, were instrumental in making Branson, Missouri, the phenomenon that it is today.
Im not here to give you a history of the place, (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Branson,_Missouri for that) but for most people it is a destination for those folks who love their country music and their wholesome family entertainment. And that it has in spades.
Courtesy of two different individuals, yesterday turned from bad dream to good dream within the space of a few hours.
I departed Harrison, Arkansas, at noon, literally just as rain started to fall. Lightly at first, and by the time I had reached the three mile point, heading for Branson, it was torrential downpours and severe and, to be frank, scary lightning. I was exposed to every single bit of all of it, and I was kind of enjoying it, keeping in mind that if I just kept walking forward, and didn’t get hit by a bolt from the blue, Id eventually get to Branson. I even sought refuge for 20 minutes in the Arkansas Welcome Center near the Missouri border for a little while but the rain didn’t let up , and so I carried on.
Somewhere around the halfway point a truck pulled up behind me. An off duty Carroll County Sheriff and his mother were on their way to Missouri to pick up his kids and saw me walking. They had just left the Huntville area in Arkansas and he told me that a pair of tornadoes had touched down there and that I was not safe out on the big highway. He strongly advised me to take a ride from him to get to safety, and I was inno position to argue, with another ten miles to go til there was an exit, or any kind of shelter. We loaded my cart on his truck and drove to Branson, losing my jacket and beloved John Lennon sweatshirt to the winds somwhere along route 65. Dammit.
Deputy Drew dropped me off near a strip of cheap motels on West Main Street in Branson, where almost all of the attractions are contained in 6 mile stretch. I got a room and tried to dry off.
A few weeks ago, an old schoolmate named John Dodge Miles, from Chateaugay Lake, New York, contacted me on Facebook. I literally have not seen or heard from him for about 44 years, and it was nice to make that contact. He had been following my story somehow and for many years had worked in the Branson area and knew a lot of people. He referred me to a man here known to all as “Cricket.”
Cricket is really Richard Heaton, and he has done the lighting for the Presley Country Jamboree for many years. The Jamboree is one of the very first of the shows that put Branson on the musical map, and Cricket was kind enough to treat me not only to dinner but to two full hours of great singing and playing, but cornball humor and inexpensive snacks, all following the ten cent tour of Branson.
The Presley Family has been around for years, and four generations of them perform nightly at the theater, along with special guests and friends. At times the show seemed to be a little slick and polished for my taste, but there were moments during some the comedy routines where it was obvious that a bit of spontaneity was taking place. Either way, it was never dull, and even though Cricket apologized to me for the heavy gospel content (he read that I am an atheist) I assured him that I love music…all kinds…and that I really loved the show, which I did. I also really liked Cricket, and feel like I have made a good and new friend.
There is something about country music in general that is appealing to masses of people. While in recent years the jingoism of ot all has gotten to be a bit too much, the simplicity of the message and the “just folks” attitudes that inform it appeal to the every day American and that is a good thing. Although I was raised on the altar of Dylan and Lennon, music doesnt always have to be challenging and edgy. There is a place for just nice tunes and plain lyrics.
The late Harry Chapin, who is my inspiration for this walk, wrote in one of his last songs…”Remember when the music came from wooden boxes strung with silver wire…” Harry’s song went on to talk about how the music brought us all together for things we believe in, but that first line really sums it all up for me….wooden boxes strung with silver wire.
I got a good dose of that last night, in Branson, Missouri. A tourist trap to be sure, but an affordable and pleasant place that doesn’t seem to be trying to pry your last dollar out of your poor hands.
Thank you, Deputy Drew, from Carroll County, Arkansas, for saving my ass. And thank you to Cricket for renewing my love in the plain and simple. That was fun.