Grady's Bio

More than half my life on this old planet I’ve wanted to share some rather unique stories of my extraordinary life experiences – fully packed with ecstasy and heartache. 

--Grady Owen



Grady Lynn Owen was born on October 22, 1934 near the town of Venus, in Johnson County, Texas.  His father rented a farm in the area and later worked as a mechanic and at other odd jobs.  Grady was the youngest of four boys. 

Grady took an interest in music at a young age, being fascinated by songs on the radio and a guitar that his older brother Bernie purchased.  Here, in his own words, he tells the story:

In the summer of 1938 I was only three years old.  Bernie was 11 or 12.  He had seen a picture of a guitar in the Montgomery Wards catalogue.  Bernie wanted that guitar.  Of course, nobody had any money for anything but food.  And the guitar cost $5.00.  In those days, a person counted himself lucky if he made as much as a nickel for mowing a lawn.  Today, lo these many years later, I can imagine a great mound of pennies and nickels—with probably nothing bigger than a 10 cent piece in the whole pile.  But, somehow, my brother had earned and rat-holed the grand some of $5.00 cash money.  And then, he had worked up the courage to show it to our mother—and to ask her to order that guitar for him from the catalogue.  The amazing thing is—mother did it. 

When it was delivered and unwrapped—until now—that is still the prettiest $5.00 guitar I’ve ever seen.  It was painted light brown, with a darker brown stenciled picture of a cowboy on his horse—with cactus and tumble weeds in the background—beautiful!

Suddenly—I was confronted with my first bona-fide fascination.  I wanted to touch that thing.  I wanted to hold it; caress it!  (Of course, I wasn’t allowed)  Much later, it seems Mom would lay it on her bed like a centerpiece and, if I promised to touch it gently—she’d put a chair next to the bed and I’d stand in the chair and I was allowed to strum it with one finger only.  In my young head, I was playing songs. 

That same year (’38) Daddy Bought a little radio.  I can still remember playing in the yard and seeing Daddy walking home totin’ that little radio.  I didn’t know what it was, ‘cause I’d never seen one before.  Thereafter, at 6:15 every morning, I’d wake up to the sounds of Ernest Tubb – singing and picking his guitar – on that little black radio.  He was on WBAP 570 in Fort Worth.  I can also remember Cecil Gill, the Yodlin’ Country Boy, The Chuck Wagon Gang, The Stamps Quartet.  Then, about noontime, there were The Light Crust Doughboys (for fifteen minutes, then the same boys suddenly became the Cedar Ridge Boys for another fifteen minutes)

At age three, I resolved to myself that I would learn to play that lovely guitar, and that someday, some way, I would play and sing on the radio.  Those were my only ambitions, even then. 

Bernie, for some reason, didn’t get on too well with the guitar.  Probably Bernie was too worn out from work and school.  I imagine he just didn’t have the energy to be fooling around with the guitar late into the night (and that’s what it takes). 

Well, time rocked along.  Things happened.  [My brother Willie] and Bernie sailed off to fight the war.  And between the two of them—and a few other guys—they whupped old Hitler and Tojo and all the rest.  By the time they got back home, and things had calmed down, I was beginning the seventh grade.  That was the time Bernie gave the guitar to me. 

Grady Owen circa 1946

Sometime during the year 1947 I was able to have a few months of music instruction.  Mr. Clyde Meadows from Fort Worth came to Arlington one day each week and taught guitar lessons on the front porch of the chief of police.  (Ott Cribbs)  Around Mid ’48, Pat Horan offered to drive me to Dallas every week [so we could] take lessons from Clyde Boyd.  (Boyd Guitar School). 

In the spring of ’49, Clyde’s other teacher, Jack Choate, gave notice that he’d be quitting in August.  Soon after, Clyde asked me if I would like to be a teacher, replacing Jack.  In August 1949, two months before my fifteenth birthday, I became a pro musician—teaching music lessons at the Boyd Guitar School.  Within a year of that time, I’d learned to pick a few more instruments:  ukulele, steel guitar, tenor guitar, mandolin, tenor banjo and accordion.  And, I’d realized my dream, to play and sing on the radio.  I figured I was well on my way. 

By the early 1950s, Grady was both a high school student and indeed a pro musician.  By his senior year he had been a pro music teacher for over three years, performed at the Big D Jamboree show in Dallas, Sat in with local acts Elton Britt, The Texas Troubadours and Bill Boyd, and he had performed on the radio, including such stations as WRR and KSKY.   

But things took a turn for Grady after high school.  By the mid nineteen fifties, Grady had been married, divorced, and married again.  He had a son and another on the way.  The music teaching wasn’t paying the bills.  He tried his hand at various other jobs, but these didn’t work out either.  All along he had been writing songs and in December of 1956, hard up for cash, he decided he would try to sell some of them. 

Most of the year I’d been trying to be an insurance salesman.  I wasn’t real good at that.  So, I had gone back to teaching music lessons.  Business wasn’t real good, so I got a job driving a taxi at night.  Working both jobs, we still didn’t have much money for Christmas. 

On a Saturday night (December ’56) I went to the Sportatorium, where the Big D Jamboree was happening.  



I banged on the stage door until the old security guy opened it.  I told him I had some songs I wanted to present to Mr Ed McLemore.  (Owner of the whole thing—he owned the Sportatorium, a radio station, a construction company, I don’t know what all.  He also booked and promoted wrestling, boxing, the Jamboree and lots of other entertainment.  He also owned a music publishing company, so I had gone there in hopes of selling a song or two for cash money.  If he liked a song, I planned to start at $50 and go down to $10 if necessary.  We needed some money that badly. 

So, the old guy got on the horn and talked with somebody.  Then he told me to go upstairs.  I was met there by Ed Watt (Booking Agent) and Johnny Hicks (Radio Announcer, D.J. and M.C. of the Jamboree).  Both of those guys were the right hand men of Mr. McLemore, and good, talented folks who became good friends with me.  I was not invited to see the big guy right away.  First we went into the office of Johnny Hicks.  I took my old guitar out of its case (not the one from Montgomery Wards) and I did two or three of my songs for those guys.  Soon, they held a whispered consultation.  Johnny Hicks picked up the extension phone.  After he hung up, he said, “Mr. Mac wants to hear you, let’s go to his office.”  We went across the hall to [McLemore’s] big, plush office.  I did three or four songs for him.  Then, Mr. Mac put a blank contract in front of me and a ball point pen.  It was a one year writer’s contract.  I was so startled, happy and complimented by that—I never gave another thought to asking for money.  I was too embarrassed.  But, it worked out good.  Christmas was fine.  They booked me into a studio (with a backup band) and I recorded several songs. 

They asked me to do two songs of other composers.  ‘Lost Without You’ [aka Balled of a Lost Love] by Johnny Carroll and ‘You are my Sunshine’ by Gov. Jimmy Davis of L.A.   Soon, I had my first record [with these songs] released on the Laurie label.   

In early 1957, despite his new songwriter’s contract, Grady was still working two jobs—teaching music and driving the taxi—to make ends meet.  In a rare moment of free time, he was having a beer with his friend and fellow music teacher George McCoy. 

George asked me if I could play bass.  Actually, I’d never touched one of them things in all my life.  But, I figured I could do it without a whole lot of problems.  So, I told George something that was somewhere between the truth, a half-truth, and an outright lie.  At the moment, I didn’t know which, and I didn’t really care.  I said, “yes, but I don’t own one.” 

George McCoy knew how much I wanted—and needed—to get into the music business full time.  He knew I was working and wasting my life away—just to pay the rent and put enough food on the table.  George also recognized and respected my talents.  So he told me that The York Brothers (George and Les York) were going on the road the very next Monday.  (Three days hence)  And, they were looking for a bass man.  A bass man who could also play guitar, sing, M.C., etc, etc.  Then he told me they were having a jam session at York’s Bar (on Denton Drive) the following night.  And, he said, why don’t we go out there and he’d introduce me.  And, maybe, they’d let me sit in and maybe (if I could do the job) they’d hire me.  I said, “But George, I ain’t got no bass.”  He said “They got a bass, don’t worry.

That was on a Friday evening, maybe seven p.m.  Now, I was so sure I could do it I went to the yellow cab office and quit my job.  I also quit my teaching job.  With those weights off my shoulders (And out of my head) the thoughts in my mind—all night and the next morning—were little more than rehearsing inside my old head.  I thought of virtually nothing else.  No regrets, nothing but playing bass. 

I knew that the four strings of the bass are tuned like the top four strings of the guitar [only one octave lower] and I knew these guitar strings intimately.  Next afternoon, George McCoy and I were there in York’s Bar.  George and Lester York (both in their 40’s by then) were a duet—with good credentials.  They’d had many big selling records and they’d worked for the Grand Ole Opry for several years.  But, they were [now] definitely on the downhill side of their careers. 

The York Brothers

George usually sand lead, Les usually sang harmony.  George banged out rhythm on his old gut-bucket Gibson guitar, and Les usually played lead on his blonde Gibson.  [They] were both very good pickers and grinners—and comedians.  They had one glaring fault which I had recognized while listening to their recordings.  Both of these guys would ‘break time’ terribly.  But, they always did it together.  For example, if there should be seven beats between phrases, they might do five or eight or twelve or three.  They’d be facing different directions and always come back in together.  I never understood it, but I learned to work with it.  And it worked out beautifully for them. 

Anyway, George McCoy met me in there in York’s Bar, introduced us and asked me to sit in.  First, I sang a couple of songs with guitar, then they handed me the big stand-up bass.  That’s the first time I’d ever touched one.  There were only three of us, George, Lester and me.  And they were listening intently to the bass.  Fortunately, the songs of the York Brothers are usually three or four chord tunes.  Very simple.  So I was able to plunk on that thing just barely good enough to get hired.  I got the job!

Early next Monday morning, Les took off in his big ’56 Cadillac, heading for Detroit to see his wife and kids.  He later met [George and I] in Cleveland.  We had thirteen weeks booked in Cleveland at the ‘Nut-House Café.’  After the first three or four nights, my old fingers were raw and bloody.  Every bone and muscle in my body was sore and aching.  I think we worked six or seven hours every night.  And I was really floggin’ that old bass.  I didn’t know how to hold it.  I didn’t realize, yet, that you could just caress it, pluck it with one finger, etc.  Pretty soon I learned.  I began to take it easy, and that was lots more fun. 

After a few nights, they let me sing some--by myself, then, in trios with them.  It was quite a challenge for me—then—to sing and play bass all at the same time.  Because, bass has gotta be right on the beat.  And my singing style just ain’t that way.  Many times, I’ll sing just behind the beat, or just in front of it.  More like talking than singing.  (We call it ‘phrasing’)  So, for a little while, I had problems with coordination.  But, before long, it came naturally. 

After thirteen weeks in Cleveland, I had become a fair-to-middlin’ competent bass man.  We had another thirteen weeks booked in Chicago at ‘The Swing Town Lounge’ on 63rd St just north of Halstead.  Les went to Detroit to pick up his family.  George and I drove to Chicago.  We arrived in the afternoon and pulled up in front of the Swing Town Lounge.  They’d hung a huge sign; it must’ve been thirty feet long by four feet high.  It looked like this:



Now, I don’t know which York Brother they had in mind.  I think the sign painter was drunk (or the guy who wrote copy for him).  But, ‘his famous band,’ that had to be me! 

George rented a small room nearby.  I lived in the Arms Hotel directly across the street to the east.  In Chicago, we worked nine hours a night, every night.  Now, that’s a long time to be pickin’ and grinnin.’

After about two weeks, George and Les had a falling out.  I don’t know why.  But, George wound up totin’ his guitar and suitcase to the El.  He caught the next train Dallas bound.  The next night, I became a ‘York Brother.’  My name was Grady York.  I had to try and replace George.  A tall order, but, I knew all their material (songs, comedy bits, etc).  Les had to hire another ‘Famous Band’ to pick bass. 

The first payday after George took off, Les asked me how much George had been paying me.  I told him $65 a week.  Les shook his head disgustedly and said “That’s about what I thought.”  From that time on Les’ paid me $125 a week. 

After our thirteen weeks at Swing Town, Les got us thirteen weeks out in Calumet City, right across from Hammond, Indiana.  The ‘Casa Blanca Club’ was owned by the mob, but we always got our money, and no problems.  After that, Les booked us thirteen weeks in the ‘Hillbilly Lounge’ on the loop.  It was a real honky-tonk.  And we had no ‘famous band,’ just the two of us. 

While working in the old ‘Hillbilly,’ a transient illness which folks referred to as ‘The Asian Flu’ overtook both Les and me.  It was terrible: fever, shakes, diarrhea, barfing, coughing, sneezing etc.  But, we couldn’t afford to take a night off.  So we worked!  Often, Les would lay down his guitar, jump off stage and run to the men’s room.  I’d keep pickin’ and grinnin’ for the folks until he’d come back.  Then, we’d switch.  I’d go while Les entertained.  Miserable!  The weather was cold, usually below zero, and the snow was laying heavy everywhere.  And the wind was like knives cutting through you. 

The last night of our thirteen weeks at the ‘Hillbilly,’ as Les and I were driving to work, he said, Grady, do you wanna go home?”  I said, “Yeah, Les, I do.  You’re sick, I’m sick, Yeah, I wanna go home.”  And we did.  Just in time for Christmas ’57.  A few days later, I felt much better. 

Grady was back home, but he was now faced with the same problem he’d had before joining The York Brothers—earning a living. 

I’d only been back home in Dallas a few days (wondering how I’d earn a living) when Ed Watt called.  Ed asked me how much money the York Brothers had been paying me.  I told him $125 a week.  He told me that he was booking Gene Vincent.  And, he said, Vince needed a guy who could play guitar, bass, sing background, sing solo, M.C. and put on a good show. Ed said he’d pay me $125 a week if I could leave right away.  Ed must have been pretty sure I’d accept, ‘cause he already had my airplane ticket.



I knew nothing about Gene Vincent.  I’d heard his records on the radio for the past couple of years, and they sounded good.  Also, I knew he was a big star, and the money was about as good as a ‘side-man’ could expect.  And, I trusted Ed Watt, so that was that. 

Early next morning, I boarded my flight at old Love Field.  We flew to Omaha, Nebraska, where I taxied to the St Regis Hotel.  I asked Gene’s room number.  They guy at the desk gave it to me, then said, “He ain’t there.  They all rehearin’ in that room right there.”  He pointed toward a banquet room.  Inside, there was a small stage.  Vince and the other guys were sitting around up there.  Vince saw me and asked if I was Grady, and told me to come up.  He said “That’s your guitar and amp.”  (Fender Stratocaster and a Fender Bassman amp—the best combination I’ve ever found)

That night, I worked my first show with them.  Everything went okay. 

Grady fit in well with the Blue Caps and they toured at a frenzied pace for the next couple of months before heading for Los Angeles in March with the intent to record some new songs.  However, the weekend before arriving in L.A., they had a tour stop that went particularly wrong.  This infamous blip on the rock and roll radar was a little town known as Globe, Arizona. 

The boys arrived on a Friday and checked into the El Rancho motel in Globe.  What happened after this is subject to some debate.  Various stories of the Globe, Arizona incident differ.  I’d read several different versions in books about Gene Vincent, and these all differ slightly from the version Grady told me.  I’ve also tracked down an Arizona newspaper article about the incident.  All include the fact that a fight broke out at a show and Gene was arrested.  What differs are the reasons and the sequence of events.  Grady’s version and the newspaper article are relatively close to each other.  I’ve included both below:
  
Grady:  In the sleepy little town of Globe—we were scheduled to play the Nat’l Guard Armory.  However, we were to play a promotional show at the gymnasium of the Globe High School at Approx. two pm.  Just before we left the motel, heading for the high school, maybe a couple of the guys scuffled around a little bit, just joking, and chairs got overturned and a lamp was on the floor, but nothing busted. 

We arrived at the high school gym, and all the audience was liking it so much.  We just did our usual show.  But, after about 20 minutes, the sheriff and many deputies came in and handcuffed Vince—hauled him off to jail.  The charge was: doing a lewd show.  Of course, we all went to the police office and inquired about his bail, and of course, collectively, we didn’t have enough money.  So, we called poor ole Ed Watt, and he sent all the money we needed via Western Union.  We went back to the hotel.  We were evicted. 

We arrived at the Nat’l Guard Armory at the appointed time.  IT was a huge place.  This was where the real trouble started.  Most of the people were Indian or Mexican, but there were two couples of blacks.  Apparently, one of the black guys asked an Indian girl to dance.  That started a fight.  Then, one by one, two by two, ten—twenty—a hundred joined in until everybody in the entire place was fighting. 

Of course, here came the sheriff and his gang.  They shot tear gas into the place.  The fighting stopped.  The crowd cleared.  The show was over!  But, we still had to pack up our equipment.  We’d run inside and grab one piece of gear and run outside again.  We had to make three or four trips each.  When we got out to the wagon, we found that someone had caved in the top of our U-Haul and broken a couple of windows of the car.  So, we got out of Globe as quick as we could. 

The Arizona Record Newspaper addresses the events in two articles from an edition a few days later.  I’ve included a scan of them below.  They corroborate most of Grady’s version, with the main difference for the arrest being the stated as the hotel room trashing.  Click on the image to view full size.  



After Globe, the band headed for Los Angeles, possibly playing one additional date between Globe and L.A., most likely Las Vegas.  In L.A., they spent five days (March 25-29) in the studio at the Capitol Records tower, where they cut sixteen new songs, including two penned by Grady himself.  Some of these tracks would make their way onto Gene Vincent’s next two albums.  Grady played rhythm guitar on all of these recordings. 

Photo from the Capitol recording sessions in March, 1958
From left, Cliff Simmons, Grady Owen, (standing behind piano), Bobby Jones, Johnny Meeks

During this L.A. interlude, the band also found their way into starring in a Hollywood movie, an American International release called Hot Rod Gang.  



This was one a of a slew of hot rod/rock and roll/teen angst B-movies that were produced fast and cheap for the teen market.  They featured good-looking actors and lots of rock music—they were sort of the MTV of the 1950s.  



Hot Rod Gang, directed by Lew Landers, actually has some decent production value, and includes some well-filmed scenes of hot rods racing through the L.A. Streets.  The comedy isn’t bad, and the acting is acceptable, but we are treated to some great rock and roll numbers, including four by Vincent and the Blue Caps (two of them written by Grady).  We also get to see Gene Vincent act, and Grady is visible in the scenes with the band, miming at playing his Stratocaster.

Still of Gene and the Blue Caps from the movie Hot Rod Gang.  From left: Johnny Meeks, Tommy "Bubba" Facenda, Grady Owen, Gene Vincent, Gene Ridgio, Paul Peek

Grady had this to say about the filming of Hot Rod Gang:  We were on the set at seven a.m.  We stayed there until seven p,m., with a twenty-minute lunch break.  Mostly, we just stood around.  Gene had quite a lot of acting to do.  The star, John Ashley, had asked them to write a big part for Gene.  So, he stayed pretty busy.  For the rest of us—very tiring.  We couldn’t sit down.  (Afraid we’d get our britches dirty—no chairs) We were on camera approx. eight minutes. 




Gene and the Caps perform 'Dance in the Street' and 'Baby Blue' in the movie Hot Rod Gang.  Grady can be seen on the back left playing his Stratocaster in the wide shots of each song

The wild world of rock and roll touring took Grady a bit by surprise.  This was a whole different world than the sedate York Brother’s shows.  Grady said that Gene’s energetic, almost acrobatic stage performances whipped fans into a frenzy, and they went crazy at the shows, sometimes rushing Gene and ripping off his shirt.  And when they toured with other acts, no one wanted to follow Gene on stage—the Blue Caps were almost always moved to the final spot in the show, Grady reports. 

The list of antics and incidents that took place on the road with Gene Vincent is long, shocking and sometimes contradictory.  These are well-reported in many books on Gene which I’ve listed in the bibliography page of this site, so I won’t try to laundry list them here.  Gene was a complex man with many troubles and issues, but suffice to say that long before the likes of The Doors, The Stones, Led Zeppelin and many others, Gene Vincent was the embodiment of Rock and Roll wildness and manic excessiveness.  Yet he was also a true artist and a seminal figure in Rock and Roll history.  His music was wildly original and he stayed true to his roots to the end.  And Grady Owen, a farm-boy from Johnson County, Texas, through both the good and the bad, the crazy and the mundane, was along for the ride. 

After L.A, the tour continued, moving back through the Midwestern states and up into Canada.  By May they were back in Dallas.  At this point, Gene decided to take a break from touring for a while.  Grady was suddenly in need of work again. 

I couldn’t afford to be out of work very long.  Ed Watt—one of the best—was well aware.  As it happened, Buddy Knox (also one of the best, and a superstar at the time) was in need of a bass-man, a drummer and a lead guitar man for one tour only.  Ed Watt handed to me the job of playing bass with Buddy Knox.  Ed gave me a one-way Greyhound bus ticket to Amarillo, Texas.  It was there I learned that Juvie Gomez (of the Blue Caps) was to be the interim drummer for Buddy.  That made me happy. 

Buddy Knox

Buddy Knox was an early pioneer of Rock and Roll music.  His self-penned “Party Doll” went to number one on the national charts in 1957 and achieved gold record status.  He was said to have influenced Buddy Holly, though he was later eclipsed by him. 

Juvie Gomez and I boarded that old bus and headed north.  We checked into the old Amarillo Hotel.  Buddy Knox picked us up the next day.  We had a show booked at the Amarillo High School auditorium that same night.  Buddy wanted to rehearse a little bit, so we went to the high school and in the dressing rooms he introduced us to his new lead guitar man, Bubba King.  I had known Bubba before, but we’d never actually worked together.  Bubby was the younger brother of Sid King. 

Anyway, I figure that Buddy Knox had about the best three subs he could get anywhere.  Juvie was as good as anybody.  Bubba turned out to be one of the best lead men I’ve ever worked with.  Then, there was me.  And, even if not a great bass man, at least I was versatile.  I could do many things on stage and in recording sessions. 

Buddy Knox and the Rhythm Orchids
From left, Grady Owen, Billy 'King' Erwin, Buddy Knox, Dude Kahn.  

Buddy Knox was a pleasure to work with and to travel with.  We covered a lot of country during that short time.  All the way north to south, east to west and in between.  But, the time came—too soon for me—that Buddy’s regular bass man was to ruturn to work.  So, late one night they put me on a train in Waterloo, Iowa.  It took me all of three days to get back to Dallas. 

But, when I checked in, Vince was ready to go again.  And somehow, he had convinced Ed Watt to let him have back his ‘dancers’ (clapper boys) –only this time not Paul Peek and Bubba Facenda, but Max Lipscomb and me. 

So when we left Dallas that time (late summer, 1958) the personnel of the Blue Caps were:  Howard Reed/Lead Guitar, Clifton Simmons/Piano, Bill Mack/Bass, D.J. Fontana/Drums and Max Lipscomb and Grady Owen/Show Openers and ‘Clapper Boys.’ 

After only one tour (13 weeks or so) of working that way (and Max and Gene and I had so much fun on stage) Good ole Ed Watt decided it was costing too much to maintain that many guys.  Therefore more changes in personnel.  Bill Mack went back home and I took over on bass.  Max Lipscomb and Howard Reed went home and Johnny Meets returned on lead guitar.  D.J. Fontana left, so we were joined by Clyde Pennington—a very good drummer and super guy. 

This version of the Blue Caps toured and eventually worked their way back out to Los Angeles in October.  Here they hit the studio at Capitol Records again, and appeared on a few television shows, including Compton’s Town Hall Party and The Country America Show.  

Below, a few stills from the Town Hall Party Performance.  

From left, Grady (on bass) Gene Vincent, Cliff Simmons (piano) and Johnny Meeks (lead guitar)

Grady (left) plays bass while Gene Vincent croons on the Town Hall Party TV show
Grady plays as Gene gazes off into oblivion
Grady, his Pompadour hairstyle collapsed, sports a prescient 1980s 'Flock of Seagulls' look.  

After this the famed Blue Caps were disbanded and they went back home and Gene became a solo act.  He toured Europe heavily and he influenced a number of future Rock and Roll greats, including John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page.  Gene and an early incarnation of the Beatles actually met one another while both were performing in Hamburg, Germany. 

Gene Vincent (Right) with 'Fans' Paul McCartney, Pete Best, George Harrison and John Lennon.  

After his time with Gene and the Blue Caps came to an end, Grady traveled with Max Lipscomb to New York City where they made several recordings.  I (unfortunately) have very little info on this time as Grady just mentioned it to me in passing, and never elaborated on it.  (He had planned to, but never got around to it.  Grady’s detailing of his career to me was rather sporadic and he jumped around about and would later come back to previous times.  On this site I’ve attempted to put everything in chronological order)  There is a brief mention of this trip in the liner notes to the Bear Family Records CD release That’ll Flat Git It, Volume 20.  Here it mentions that Grady and Max Lipscomb contacted producers Frank Slay and Bob Crewe, who agreed to record them.  Two songs from these recordings, Rollin’ Dynamite and Evenin’ Time, are featured on that CD, with Lipscomb on lead vocals, his name changed to Scotty McKay, and Grady is listed as playing lead guitar for a change.   I have no idea what other recordings were made during this trip, but it is certainly high on my list of things I’d like to discover.  See the music/recordings page for more info on the two songs mentioned above. 

After the New York trip, Grady’s mother was after him to get a ‘real job,’ so he talked to his brothers Bernie and Willie, who were working for the Texas and Pacific Railroad, and they helped him brush up on his Morse code and got him a job as a telegrapher for the T&P.  This job lasted for about a month, then, the music world came calling again:

After about a month [of the railroad] I was climbing the walls.  That’s when Johnny Carroll and Howard Reed came to see me.  They offered me a job (on the road) beginning right away.  $125 a week plus, even when we weren’t working, $65 a week.  So, I quit the railroad and went back on the road. 

Grady, Johnny Carroll and Howard Reed, along with Bill Hennen and Royce McAfee, formed a band called The Spinners (not to be confused with the Motown band of the same name).  It was sometimes called Johnny Carroll and the Spinners.  Johnny was lead vocals, with Howard on lead guitar, Grady on bass, Bill on piano and Royce on drums.  They played a mix of R&B, Country and Western, Pop, Ballads and Rock and Roll.  All were very talented musicians and they could pull off a wide range of sounds.  For a time, they even shared a stage with Johnny Cash, as this newspaper clipping from a Corpus Christi paper from November 1959 reports.  


  
The band recorded as well, backing Johnny on some of his solo work, and also had a 45 release of their own with the songs Rag Mop and Little Otis on it. 

Of The Spinners, Grady says:  We had one-nighters booked all over the country.  Anywhere from 200 to 800 miles apart.  Then, we got two weeks in Pittsburgh—with a six week option.  That was in a ‘black and tan’ club.  Back before integration, there were a few clubs up north where races could mix.  They didn’t especially like us, therefore, our option was not picked up.  And, we had no place to go. 

John called Ed Watt.  Ed said, ‘Just sit tight.  I’ll have you something in a day or two.’  Actually, he was counting on that six week option.  We were at an all night truck stop drinking coffee.  John got into a conversation with another fella.  It tourned out he owned a concession in a carnival which was playing small towns around Pennsylvania.  He had a big tent and no kind of show at the moment. 

So, we spent the next several weeks working in a traveling carnival.  I was nominated to be the ‘barker.’  I didn’t like it, but I did it.  That guy had contracted eighteen pretty girls from the Pittsburgh playhouse to open the show with a can-can dance.  He had appropriate costumes for them.  (Later on, Howard married one of these girls)  So, Howard and I would haul his guitar, my Fender bass and a couple of amps out front.  Royce would bring his snare drum and sticks.  Then, we would commence to try to attract the attention of the passers-by.  I’d tell them about the great rock and roll show, the girls, etc, then we’d bang out a couple of tunes—then, haul everything back inside and we’d do our little show.  Then we’d do it all over again.  We must have done eight or ten shows every day. 

The Spinners, Circa 1959
From Left: Bill Hennen, Royce McAfee, Grady Owen and Howard Reed

Grady toured heavily with Johnny Carroll and The Spinners throughout 1959.  Then, things came to an end once again. 

Grady:  Early 1960, Johnny Carroll quit the road.  He got a job as manager of The Cellar, a night club in Fort Worth.   During my time with The Spinners, if we had no jobs for a while, we’d return to Dallas/Fort Worth.  I found a place I could work during our time off.  That place was on Main Street in Fort Worth:  The Hi-Fi Club owned by Tom Glass.  Tom let me work there any time I wanted.  That was the first time I worked solo, Just me and my guitar.  I liked working that way.  I was very into folk music. 

During 1960, a guy named Joe Barber was working with a trio right across the street from the Hi-Fi Club.  On their breaks, they used to come into the club and listen to me.  After a while, Joe offered me a job with them.  Joe wanted me to play bass, sing and play guitar on special songs. 

Grady ended up working with the Joe Barber Trio for the next three years.  He then fell into more solo work, and ended up doing some recording with a local music producer named Jimmy Crisp.  This led to several releases on 45 records, some of which got some play and had minor chart success on local and regional radio stations.  Grady worked extensively with Crisp over a couple year period, penning songs and performing on recordings for some other artists in Crisp’s stable, such as The Riels, Mary Ann Reed, Sue Jenkins and others.   During this time Grady was working the club/lounge circuit as well.  He toured off and on as a duo with his friend, truck driver turned song-smith Wayne Waller.  My old friend Wayne Waller composed ’36 From Dallas, Blue Driver and so many more.  Wayne was a real life truck driver—he actually drove ’36 from Dallas—and he was a picker and a grinner—and a poet without a peer, and we were buddies for many years.  

Ad from the Corpus Christi Caller Times - 24 December 1966
Grady and Wayne Waller appear nightly at the Oil Patch Club

By the late 1960s, Grady was working with a band known as The Levee Singers.  This band, formed by Ed Bernet, owner of the Levee Club in Dallas, had been around since they formed in 1961 as the Levee Banjo Band.  Grady joined them on bass, with Ed Bernet on banjo and lead vocals, and Smokey Montgomery and Ralph Sanford on additional banjos and vocals.  The band played traditional country and western, ragtime and Americana music.  Grady remained with them through 1972, performing at their home base of the Levee Club, touring and recording an album with the group as well. 

The Levee Singers, Circa 1972 
From left, Ed Bernet, Smokey Montgomery, Ralph Sanford, Grady Owen

Sometime in 1973 Grady moved to Fresno, California.  Here Grady began a long succession of solo work.  He had a regular guitar gig for many years in the bar of Richards Restaurant, an upscale steak and chop house in Fresno, but performed at other clubs as well.   

Ad from the Fresno Bee Newspaper, 30 November, 1973

At Richard’s he was known as The Man of 5,000 songs and they had a sign that said as much that they hung outside the bar when he was performing.  Grady had the unique talent of being able to hear a sing only once or twice and he could play it, so his repertoire of songs probably did approach the thousands. 

Grady in Fresno, CA circa early 1970s

Grady worked and resided off and on between Fresno and Lake Tahoe for the next twenty years or so.  In the late 1980s, he visited the Philippines and fell in love with the place.  He finally retired there in 1995, where he lived until his death in November of 1999. 

Grady, like many of the musicians he worked with, was a complex man with many sides.  He was for the most part a gentle, quiet soul but he certainly had his dark side as well.  I’ve chosen to focus solely on Grady’s music career on this site, but like a lot of artists, he had his share of demons.  I just don’t feel it is my place to go into such things, but basically, watch any rockumentary, any ‘behind the music’ docudrama, and you’ll get the gist.

As far as I know, Grady never really craved great stardom; that’s not what he was after.  Grady loved to perform, sure, but he mainly played music to bring home the bacon and pay the bills as it were, he never had illusions about being a big star some day.   He was first and foremost a songwriter, and I think what he really hoped for was the jackpot of some big name artist recording one of his songs and it making him enough so he could kick back and watch the dough roll in while he wrote more songs, played golf (one of his passions) and polished off another twelve pack or two. 

Note: I’ll edit this bio from time to time to add to it if I get more info about Grady.  Thanks for stopping by. 



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