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 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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