Original image by There Stands the Glass.
As a fourth-generation Kansan raised on Waylon and Willie, quail hunting and bass fishing, I’m probably typecast as a country boy by a lot of people. A harrowing new biography of Gary Stewart reminds me that I’m little more than a precious city slicker in spite of my Midwestern drawl and the hereditary dirt under my fingernails.
When “Drinkin’ Thing”, "Out of Hand" and “She’s Actin’ Single (I’m Drinkin’ Doubles)” were among my family’s favorite sing-alongs in 1974, I was unable to intuit the backwoods darkness behind Stewart’s first radio hits. The ill-fated musician was a real-deal Kentucky hillbilly.
Jimmy McDonough’s gonzo-style documentation of the terrible choices, devastating losses and self–sabatoge of Stewart and his extended family goes far beyond standard Nashville chicanery. In addition to the constant backdrop of alcohol, drugs and infidelity, Gary Stewart: I Am From the Honky Tonks contains wooly tales of organized crime, chicken fighting and airplane crashes.
Stewart’s considerable intelligence and artistic talent were swamped by a chaotic rustic upbringing. Repeatedly described as childlike throughout McDonough’s 500-page doorstop, Stewart was a stereotypical genius without a lick of sense. His inability to assume autonomy over his career is maddening.
Unlike Stewart, I rarely handle guns. I’m not even sure where my shotguns are stored. And the accumulation of hard knocks I’ve suffered would merely equate to a bad week in Stewart’s abbreviated life. McDonough’s excellent work causes me to thank God I come from a line of Kansas teachers, preachers and farmers rather than coalminers in an impoverished Kentucky holler.
