Introduction

Growing up, I knew in a vague way that my Uncle Grady was a singer and musician of sorts. I had a record to prove it. This was a single 45 vinyl disk with two songs, Blue Driver and Two Walls. I didn't know where it came from, just that it was Uncle Grady, and it fascinated me. As a preschooler I used to play that record over and over on my little record player and even then, I found Grady's voice mellifluous, rich and haunting. By the time I came around, Grady was sort of a long lost uncle.  My father never talked about his younger brother that much--I don't think he approved of his lifestyle, and as Grady lived far away in California, I never saw him.  

Dad, however, saw Grady a time or two when I was a teen and in college; he even went to see him play once when Grady was passing through Dallas. I was never invited. I think Dad might have believed that if I got one look at Grady, heard him play even one time, I might go off on the same trajectory. Hell, he was probably right.

The years went by and I never really learned much about Grady, never knew the depth and breadth of Grady's career. To me, he was just a guy who made that one record and maybe never did anything else. I couldn't have been more wrong.

I finally met Grady during the time my father passed away. Some of my family had been in touch with him, and on the afternoon of my father's death, I talked to Grady on the phone.  It was the first time I’d ever spoken with him. We talked a little bit right then and at great length later that night. He was living with a friend in Fresno California then, down on his luck as always, barely getting by. And yet, there was that voice--so calm, so modest, so full of mystery and yet as nearly familiar as my own father's. I had to meet Grady.

I asked him if he'd come to the funeral. He said he normally didn't do funerals, and that he didn't have the money to fly in from California. I offered to pay his way. He said he'd think about it. Later that night he called back and we talked at length well into the night. We talked of family, of life, of music and of such things as mundane as dandelions. Grady liked dandelions--something most people consider a weed. I think he admired their subtle beauty, their tenacity and perhaps their purported wish-giving ability when one blows their fronds into the afternoon air. He found a kindred spirit in me--I'd always felt the same.

Grady agreed to come to the funeral, and I picked him up at the airport the night before. Who knows how many drinks he'd had on the plane--this was going to be tough for him, and even with his herculean tolerance for alcohol, he staggered a bit coming down the jet way.

I knew him at once. He looked like a younger version of my dad, and he greeted me with a bright smile. I was immediately comforted to have him around after my father's death. He sounded like my father, even smelled like him--beer and cigarettes mostly. We stopped by a bar on the way home from the airport--he needed a few more drinks. Then we went to my mother's house and she and Grady played guitar and we all visited with lots of family. Afterwards Grady and I went back to my apartment, where we sat up all night while Grady played guitar and sang and told stories. Just like my dad had feared, I was hooked.

Somehow we managed to pull ourselves together and make it to the funeral the next morning. Grady played a couple of songs at the service, including Cool Water, my dad's favorite. Afterward, at the cemetery, I acted as one of the pallbearers, carrying my dad to his final resting spot. Each of the bearers had been pinned with a carnation on our lapels, and the pastor had instructed us that after we placed the coffin on the bier, we were to remove the flowers and place them on the casket. We did so and stepped away. As the pastor spoke some final words, I saw Grady pluck a dandelion from the ground and place it on the casket as well.

Some of Grady's friends had heard he was in town, so that night we took him to his friend Sam Gafford's house, where we were entertained by lots of great music and a brisket feast. I was just beginning to realize the depth of my uncle's talent.

Grady left the next day, but we stayed in touch for a while, but eventually, I lost touch with him over the next several years. Life has a way of doing that. Around late 1997 I got curious about him one night and searched his name on the internet. What I found were a lot of references to the bands Grady had played with, including an outfit that I had never heard of--Gene Vincent and his Blue Caps.

I later learned that Gene Vincent was very big in the 50s, and very influential in the early Rock and Roll scene. But except for musicians from the era and people of a certain age, Gene is largely forgotten. People my age usually have never heard of him. We had no idea Gene had influenced such greats as John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Jeff Beck, Brian Setzer and many others. Gene was a bona fide legend. And Grady had played and recorded with him.

There was a message board on one of the sites. I posted and introduced myself. The next day I got several emails from various people--old friends and band mates looking for Grady, rock historians wanting information, even a record producer who wanted to use one of Grady's songs. I was excited--but I had no idea where Grady was.

It took me several months, but I finally found out that Grady had moved to the Philippines a few years earlier. I got his address from his ex-wife, and I wrote to him. He wrote back and we began to correspond. I interviewed him for the Rockabilly Hall of Fame, got his song on the record via the producer, and had a great time hearing from him. He asked me to come visit him there, and I was making plans to do so when I found out he passed away in late 1999.

Grady was gone, but I continued to research his life and music off and on for the next couple of years, mainly just out of curiosity but also because I like doing that sort of thing.  Through this I met and interviewed a few of Grady’s band mates and friends, learning still more about him.  I didn’t have any real reason to be doing this, other than the fact that I’m fascinated by history, the music industry, and music in general.  Maybe it goes back to when I was a toddler listening to that single record.  In my young mind then, I figured that because he was on a record, Uncle Grady was a star.  Perhaps what I’ve learned through this little quest of mine is that, in his own quiet way, he truly was. 

Over the years, I’ve wanted to do something with all the wealth of info I discovered on Grady.  The original impetus for writing to him and interviewing him when he was alive was because the Rockabilly Hall of Fame had asked me for info about him, and I then had very little.  A wrote a page of info for that site back in 1999, after my first preliminary interview with Grady.  But Grady kept sending me more info, and I’ve always wanted to go back and add more of it, but I never really got around to it--until now.  

Thanks for stopping by,

--C. B. Owen,

   9 August, 2017