This is part of a series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a bus full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
Rick:
“Back in the sixties, marketing yourself was quite different than today. There was a company out of Missouri I used to order these rainbow posters. It was my trademark. They would look exactly like this, only, of course, would say, “Rick Sikes and the Rhythm Rebels” and advertise where and when we were playing. I’d give anything to find one of these posters.
I’d usually give my bass player, Red, a stack and I’d take a stack and we’d canvas the area where we were going to be playing. We’d tack them up on telephone poles, tape them to windows and anywhere folks would let us put one.
I recorded several little 45 rpm records back then and as soon as I’d have a new one in hand, would start hitting every little radio station across the state. That was a time when you’d walk in, meet the DJ, hand him a couple of records and visit with him. Nowadays, you have to have a record promoter to even get in the door of a radio station, but we did it all in those days.
I recorded a song, “Hundred Miles of River,” that was a true story about a Confederate gunboat that was purposefully sunk in the Sabine River during the civil war. I pushed that song hard. I had these cards printed up and got some newspaper coverage on it.
Then when the DJ’s played my songs, I always thanked them.
I had business cards that I left with every club owner across the five-state area.
I booked my band through Wilson Talent Agency out of Fort Worth, Texas for a while and they wrote up this nice little promo for us.
But, sometimes publicity attempts backfired on me.
I had this crazy idea to do some promo pictures at the train tracks outside Brownwood, Texas and make us all look like outlaws about to rob a train. Little did I know that these two pictures would be used against me in the trials for bank robbery. They were submitted as evidence. So, what seemed like fun at the time, turned into a bad deal.
It was a very hands-on time for marketing and promoting yourself and your art. Without internet, social media or even faxes, it required leg-work and one-on-one connections. And, I was pretty good at it, if I do say so. I kept us booked solid and for the times, drew good pay. So, maybe there is something to be said for old-fashioned communication…”
What do you think would be the best way to market yourself and your books without all the instant internet avenues we have today?
This is part of a series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a bus full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
Since we are entering a New Year, I thought I’d take a step back and show the vast difference in the economy between the 1960s and now. I found these interesting.
I couldn’t find the exact date on this, but do know it was somewhere around 1965 or 1966.
Rick Sikes and the Rhythm Rebels with Mayan Ranch Owners
The following are entries from a 1967 Yearbook in which Rick noted every gig played and what clothes he wore. That was important to him. He never wanted to duplicate the costume at a venue.
New Year’s Eve was the golden night as far as pay went.
So, there you have it. The totals for the entire year.
Now, to put it into perspective:
The average price of gas in 1967 was Thirty cents per gallon.
The average price of a new car in 1967 was $2,750.00
Average rent was $125 per month
Average income was around $7,000
So, you can see from these journal entries, that playing music for a living wasn’t exactly lucrative. But, Rick managed to support a family, a girlfriend and keep the band members paid. He did pay the band members less than he paid himself. After all, he did all of the bookings, advertising, choosing songs, providing costumes, and transportation.
So, I’ll end on this note because I can’t say it any better.
This is part of a new series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a van full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
Wow! We are already in Episode 10 of “Stories From The Road!” To celebrate, I will give a $10 Amazon Gift Card to someone who leaves a comment. Winner will be picked at random. Today’s post is probably Rick’s favorite story of all time and he loved to share it.
Rick:
“Over the years, I was fortunate to get to play with some great entertainers – legends, in fact. I guess the most outstanding for me personally was when, in 1964, Sam Gibbs Booking Agency from Wichita Falls, Texas, called and asked if my band would like to do a tour with Bob Wills. I immediately said, “Hell yes!” before he told me how much we’d be paid, where we’d performing or any other details. Growing up in west Texas, there was no bigger star than Bob Wills. He was the ultimate Texas superstar, in my opinion.
Shortly before World War II, Dad bought Mom a Zenith console radio. It was really beautiful and had all the short-wave bands, as well as excellent AM radio reception. There was no FM radio back then. I recall that radio blaring out “San Antonio Rose” over and over. That was the hottest song going for months on end. It was recorded in 1940. Bob eventually recorded twenty-two #1 hits. In 1968, Bob was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. In 1999, he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as an “early influence.” Bob died in 1975 in Fort Worth, Texas at the age of 70. He had begun to play the fiddle professionally at the age of ten.
Anyway, this tour with him was the epitome of my dreams – me playing with the legendary man himself. Tag Lambert was driving him around and playing guitar for him. Bob had just sold the “Texas Playboys” name to Leon Rausch but had decided to do another tour anyway. The posters just said, “Bob Wills and the Boys.” I’d give anything if I’d saved some of them. I can only find one picture of Bob and myself together, but I know there were dozens more.
We were with Bob when Tommy Duncan died and people would come up to the stage and ask Bob if we were going to Tommy’s funeral in California. Bob handled it great. He’d say, “No, regrettably we can’t make it.” The majority of the public didn’t know that Bob and Tommy had become bitter enemies.
At the time we were backing Bob, I had a drummer who was a good drummer, but he had a problem. He’d done some bad acid, I think they called it STP. Anyway, he’d sorta’ slip into another zone now and then and start banging a drum solo with cymbals and all crashing, right in the middle of a song. I’d have to scream at him to snap him back into the real world. He did this two or three times on the first gig with Bob. Bob said, “Just give me a plain ol’ country shuffle; none of that fancy stuff.” I told Frenchy (the drummer), “Man, hold it down. Be cool.” He would say, “Ok.” Well, on every show, he’d go off and I’d have to holler him down. Bob was really nice in the way he told me, “Son, I don’t have anything against the drummer boy, but you sure do need to get you a country drummer.”
I asked Bob one time how he always had such a great dance band. He said, “Get you a good rhythm section and you’ve got a dance band.” I asked him how to tell if you were doing it right and he replied, “Look at the dance floor. If it’s full, you’re doing it right. They get thirsty when they dance and the boss man likes that.”
I recall an older lady coming up to the bandstand one time and saying, “Bob, do you remember me?” He smiled and tipped his white hat and said, “Honey, I sure do. It’s good to see you again.” Then he turned around to us and said, “I never saw her before in my life,” and grinned real big.
Once, we were at the Del Rio Civic Center to do a show. At that time, Bob didn’t light the cigar anymore, but he always held one. He wasn’t supposed to smoke or drink because he’d had a heart attack. Anyway, we were sitting in his dressing room (just he and I) and he said, “Son, you got any whiskey in your bus and maybe an extra cigar?” I said, “Sure. I’ll be right back.” We were in there smoking and having a shot of Jim Beam whiskey when Tag Lambert knocked on the door. I had noticed Bob locking it after I came in. Tag hollered, “Bob, are you in there?” Bob said, “Yes, what do you want?” Tag asked, “Are you drinking or smoking?” Bob said, “What if I am.” Tag said, “Open the door and let me in.” Bob got irritated and replied, “Get the hell outta here. You’re not my momma.” When we came out, Tag was really pissed and he pulled me aside to jump me. He said, “What in the hell are you trying to do, kill that old man?” I said, “No, I’m not trying to harm him in any way, but if I have anything he wants, I’ll damned sure give it to him whether you like it or not. So, don’t try to hand me any shit. You got that?” Needless to say, Tag didn’t like me very much.
Tag was a good singer and a helluva good guitar picker and I truly believe he worshipped Bob as most every picker who ever knew him did. Bob Wills was a musical genius. He could arrange music with three or four instruments or a twenty-five piece band. He knew how to put it together – really together – and he never had any formal music training. He just knew how to combine sounds in a way that few others have come close to doing. Nothing in my entire music career ever topped playing for Bob Wills.”
This is part of a series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a van full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
Rick:
“There was a singer back in the sixties named Warren Smith. He was very good and charted some records. In fact, “I Don’t Believe I’ll Fall In Love Today,” got to #5 on the charts in 1960. He also did some recording for Sun records. I thought he was an excellent talent. We did a lot of backup gigs at that time and we backed him up at Round Rock, Texas at the Big G Club. Then, later on that night, we found out that after he finished the gig, he had gone into Austin and robbed a drug store for some drugs. That was the last I heard of Warren Smith.”
This photo was taken from Rick’s collection
“Kenny Price was a musical genius. He could play almost any instrument exceptionally well and could sing at least three parts of harmony. I booked Kenny on his first gig in Texas through Jimmie Key at New Keys Talent. I booked Kenny in at Pat’s Hall in Fredericksburg, Texas. He met me in Brownwood and I drove him down to Fredericksburg. We stopped at a restaurant in Brady, Texas to eat some lunch. Well, Kenny damn near cleaned ’em out. That guy could put away some chow. We got to Pat’s Hall and they had a Lone Star sponsored band out of San Antonio to back Kenny. There were seven guys in the band. Kenny asked one of them if they would tune his guitar with them and the guy said, “What’s the matter? Can’t you tune a guitar?” Kenny said, “Damned right I can tune a guitar, you sonofabitch, and if you guys get smart-assed with me, Rick and I will take your instruments away from you and play the gig ourselves. I can play every damned instrument you’ve got on that stage and probably a damned sight better than y’all can.” The whole band looked kinda’ stunned.
We went to a table and drank a little whiskey while the band warmed up. This curvy blonde came up to the table and gushed over Kenny. She was obviously star struck. She went on and on. I remember her saying, “I can’t believe it. I just saw you on TV last night and here you are in Fredericksburg.” Kenny grinned and said, “Ain’t it a miracle, darlin’. Here, sit down.” He patted a chair beside him and she sat. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
I can’t recall what her name was, but she sat down and Kenny laid it on strong. After a couple of drinks, he told her, “Honey, I’ve got to go up and play, but I sure would like it if you’d come to the motel tonight with ol’ Uncle Kenny.” She giggled and batted her eyelashes and said, “Oh, I don’t think my husband would like that too much.” He pulled her up real close and said, “Oh hell, just tell him you’re going with me. He won’t mind.” She giggled some more and then said she had to go.
I told Kenny, “Man, these people down here are pretty clannish and they’re probably all kin in some way or another. If you fight one, you’ll have to fight them all.” He replied, “Hell, I’m from Kentucky and everyone is clannish there. I ain’t afraid of these bastards, are you?” “No,” I said, “but I don’t see any use in getting into it with ’em.” He slung back another whiskey and said, “Well, are you afraid to get an ass whipping?”
I leaned back in my chair hoping we would both get out of there without a fight. “No, I’ve had it before.” Then we both just started laughing. The old gal never came back over.
Kenny could tell a joke like nobody else. He could imitate the male and female voices and he was funny. I booked him several other gigs in Texas over the years, but I’ll never forget that first time.”
**Six-foot tall, 300-pound Kenny “The Round Mound of Sound” Price was best remembered for his work on the long-running television show Hee Haw; he was also a talented singer/songwriter and musician who never quite made it to the big-time, despite having 34 chart singles over his 15-year career.**
This is part of a new series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a van full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
This segment involves the dedication of Hords Creek Lake, located 8 miles west of Coleman.
“We still lived out in the country when they dedicated Hord’s Creek Lake. The Corp of Engineers had Lefty Frizzell, Harry Choates, and the Chuck Wagon Gang out to provide entertainment for the day. At that time, Lefty was about the hottest thing happening. I was a big ol’ dumb country kid out there in the sticks thumping on a guitar. I thought Lefty was great. They had an old touring car – stretch car – not exactly a limousine, but what they used back then, to tour.
My, mom and dad, took me and my younger brother out to spend the day. Most everybody in Coleman County turned out for this thing. I went and sat in the backseat of the car with Lefty Frizzell and talked to him. I can only imagine now, what he must have thought about some hick country kid talking to him. I told him all about my aspirations of becoming a singer. I was starstruck and thrilled to talk to him. He told me he was going to California when he left. He had some gigs out there. He said, “Do you want to go to California with me?” I said, “Well sure, man. Are you joking?” He said, “No I’m not joking. Do you want to go to California with me? I’ll take you with me.” I told him I would be back in a little bit. I ran to find my mom and dad and told them what Lefty said and that I needed to go home and get some clothes.
My dad said, “Are you crazy, boy? You’re not going anywhere with that drunk son-of-a-bitch.” Lefty was very drunk that day. I told my dad, “This is my big chance.” And Dad said, “You’re not going anywhere with him. You gotta be out of your mind if you think we’re gonna let you go off with him to California or anywhere else.” And that was that.
I was pretty mad at Dad for a while. Of course, I thought I’d just blown my one big chance to “make it big.” Looking back, I know Lefty was just drunk-talking. But, it was another event that made a big impression on me at a young age.”
And while this is not the exact car Lefty was touring in that day, it is a historically accurate example of what they used.
What do you think would have happened if Rick had gone with Lefty that day? I’m curious to hear your thoughts.
This is part of a new series of posts I’ve entitled, “Stories From the Road.” Each week I will post a new story from Rick Sikes, a Texas musician who traveled the roads of Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico and out to California for well over twenty years. With hours to pass in a van full of sweaty musicians, they found ways to entertain themselves. These stories are told in Rick Sikes’ words. I’ll do my best to correct grammar, but I want to keep them in his own voice.
This week we are traveling back to the late 40s or early 50s with another tale from Texas Singer/Songwriter, Rick Sikes
“Here’s another experience I want to relate to you from my early formative years. Back in those days, bands would travel around and stop in every little town at every little radio station to promote their records. Sometimes, they’d do a live show of thirty minutes or so. Once, back in the 40s or early 50s, Webb Pierce came to Coleman. He was on his way somewhere else to play but stopped in at KSTA Radio to promote a record which I believe was “Wondering.” My mom took me and my younger brother out to the station to see him. I can gauge the year by the fact that I wasn’t old enough to drive yet. (A side note…my mom was a helluva piano player and she loved music almost as much as anyone I ever knew.) Anyway, she took us out to the station and we watched their show through the control room window. There was no one else there besides the DJ. I often wondered where everyone was. Perhaps they were working and couldn’t get away, as it was in the middle of the afternoon. At any rate, for whatever the reason, we had exclusive access. I distinctly remember the members of Webb Pierce’s band that were there that day: Jimmy Day on Pedal Steel, Tillman Franks on standup bass, Faron Young on rhythm guitar and fronting for Webb, Floyd Cramer on piano and Tommy Hill on fiddle.
After they finished their show, we got to visit with them. This was a real boost for me to see these guys because by then, I knew this was what I wanted to do the rest of my life – play music. They were driving a brand new shiny Pontiac car and had this nice little band trailer they were pulling. They were looking flashy for those times. I patterned myself after these heroes of mine when I launched my career. And while I never really cared much for Webb Pierce’s voice, I admired the hell out of him as a performer and businessman…”
Webb Pierce was known as the “KING OF HONKYTONK BLING” and this now famous car was lined on the inside with silver dollars while the outside sported a set of longhorns and pistols for door handles.
UNSPECIFIED – JANUARY 01: (AUSTRALIA OUT) Photo of Webb PIERCE; Posed portrait of Webb Pierce, with car (Photo by GAB Archive/Redferns)
Writing and Music 
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