The Southwest Voice

All > News
Missing Buck’s ‘Freight Train’
Topics:
Posted by themelaman Fri Apr 7, 2006 14:19:15 PDT
Viewed 344 times
0 responses 0 comments This Sunday, I test-drove a new car.
The salesman buckled up and told me to drive from White Lane to Panama Lane. On the freeway on-ramp, we passed a cop who was sitting on his parked motorcycle.
“He’s gonna catch somebody,” I thought. We passed more parked cops before coming to a blockade at Panama.
“There’s been a shooting, obviously,” the salesman said.
Then, we saw the people.
They emptied the buildings; they pushed themselves to the edge of the sidewalk; and they stood waiting silently for what seemed to be a motorcade.
I realized that I was witnessing a rare event.
When Buck Owens fell asleep for the last time March 25, the veins of a close-knit community opened, and a great one had slipped out.
And, as with all great ones who pass away — Lincoln, Kennedy, Diana, Mother Teresa — people poured out through the veins of the cities to pay homage.
I was aware of the funeral, but after work, I decided to visit a car lot to see a vehicle I had been romancing for several days. My business had left me out of touch with the wound my adopted city was suffering — losing a legend who defined her.
For me, Buck represents what I have always loved about Bakersfield — the same open arms that welcomed Buck in 1951 had welcomed me in 1995.
But, I had been too busy buying a car to realize that this was Buck’s last ride. 
I felt like I was intruding upon the funeral motorcade.
The police barricades had let my cold business pass through uninterrupted, while others stopped and stood specifically to catch a glimpse of Buck’s motorcade.
Ironically, the exit to Panama and drive to the dealership was smoother than normal, courtesy of the blockades. 
The car dealership overlooks the freeway, and upon our return, I sat down at the desk and stared out the window at the freeway.
I wanted to see Buck’s hearse, but I only saw several slowly passing cars. The scene reminded me of a poem called, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed” by Walt Whitman.
The speaker stops and watches the funeral train, while expressing his grief. Whitman wrote the poem after the death of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln’s coffin passes on a train.

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, 
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, 
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. 
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, 
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,         
And thought of him I love.

Had I attended Buck’s funeral or seen him perform, I think I would have better understood and appreciated what Bakersfield is all about. Buck was the one person who defined Bakersfield for its citizens.
I went to a chain bookstore last week to read some poems and stories. At the close of the reading, the community relations manager, Thomas Robinson, stood at the microphone and held up a book. He paused, and then explained that he had successfully negotiated with his company to sell their first book ever written by a non-profit organization.
The book, “Freight Train Running: a Biography of Buck Owens” by Linda Stacey, will benefit Bakersfield City School District’s Education Foundation. The biography is available only at the Crystal Palace, Russo’s Bookstore, and Barnes & Noble.
Robinson could not attend the scheduled book release celebration at the Crystal Palace, so he missed a final opportunity to see Buck and his hat. He paused again and explained that he had planned many times to see Buck perform. The words he uttered each time were, “I should go.”
How easily time passes.
And how easily we say the words, “We should go.”
People come and go, and sometimes “we” turns to “I.”
“You know, I really should go.” We say it with such feeling. Yet, the children grow up and away, and the opportunity is gone. In reality, we do not have the past or the future, only the now.
In missing a performance, Robinson had missed Buck’s unique “Bakersfield sound.” The biography calls this Buck’s “Freight Train.”
I wish I could say that I saw Buck perform, specifically in the city he loved, but in my business, I was probably 10 years away from just planning to do so. The thought crossed my mind.
But, other than a family brunch at The Crystal Palace last year, the would-be viewing on the freeway was the closest I would come to seeing Buck Owens, the man who was Bakersfield.
I, too, missed the train.
And, so here is my salute to you, Buck: “Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song.”

Send to a Friend

Report a Violation