We lost an American treasure this morning — Buck Owens has died and I am really sad about it.
When I was a kid growing up in North Carolina, I watched Buck Owens on Hee Haw every Saturday night with my family like just about everyone I knew (seriously), but I didn’t really know much about him beyond his famous red, white, and blue guitar.
Despite being absolutely surrounded by it (and perhaps because of that), I hated country music growing up. When I was young, it just seemed silly. When I was an adolescent, it just seemed hopelessly corny and dated. I would complain whenever my mom put on her Loretta Lynn records and she would defend her music mightily, saying, “this music is about real life.” I don’t know if it was moving out of my native South to California or just getting older, but over the past ten years, I’ve grown to love country music. If you put my iTunes collection on shuffle, you’re just as likely to get Hank Williams (Sr.), Buck Owens, or Loretta Lynn as you are to get anything else.
Over the past few years particularly, I had really grown to love Buck Owens. Buck’s song “Love’s Gonna Live Here” lifted my spirits on many occasions after a painful breakup a few years ago (a little bit of the “real life” my mother had told me about):
Oh the sun’s gonna shine in my life once more
Love’s gonna live here again
Things’re gonna be the way they were before
Love’s gonna live here again
Love’s gonna live here
Love’s gonna live here
Love’s gonna live here again
No more loneliness only happiness
Love’s gonna live here again
I was fortunate to see Buck play live twice in the past few years: once in a ridiculously poorly-attended show with Loretta Lynn (before the kids became hip to her due to her Jack White collaboration) at the Masonic in San Francisco back in 2002 (the place was 2/3 empty), and then last April at the Crystal Palace, Buck’s restaurant in Bakersfield where he played every Friday and Saturday night.
That trip with Nancy to the Crystal Palace was a landmark experience. It was so unlike going to see a famous country musician in San Francisco, where such events can be so bathed in hipster irony that sometimes it’s difficult to connect to the music. It was different in Bakersfield. At the Crystal Palace in April, Nancy and I watched Buck Owens and his Buckaroos play while we ate steak and pork chops and drank beer. We watched grandparents dance with each other, and dads dance with their daughters, and we even got in on the action ourselves. Real life — just a Saturday night in Bakersfield.
One unfortunate thing about Buck’s death it is that I had been talking with my mother about taking her to see Buck in Bakersfield really soon (Nancy had been doing the same with her mother). You see, my mother has never been on a plane and she decided recently that she needed to try flying to California to visit, and I had been holding out the visit to Bakersfield to see Buck Owens as the reward for her getting over her fear of flying. I told her about the steaks, the pork chops, the dancing, and seeing a true legend up close in his hometown. That would pretty much be heaven for my mother, and I was looking forward to giving her a distinctively Californian experience while sharing a mutual love of country music that didn’t exist when I was younger. We can still go to Bakersfield, but Buck won’t be there. The lesson in this applies to many things in life: there is no time like the present. Sometimes “later” never comes.
We’ll miss you, Buck. My thoughts and prayers are with your friends, family, and fans. Rest in peace.
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