Roger Miller
When people think of Oklahoma, they probably think of the Broadway musical of the same name, or maybe the wide open spaces, or the wit and wisdom for which its natives are famous.
Some folks might even know that the state beverage in Oklahoma is, huh? -- milk! And that the state musical instrument is, huh? -- the drum.
They might know that Brad Pitt was born in Shawnee, actor Sheb Woolley in Erick, and two of the greatest humorists America has ever produced, Will Rogers, in Oologah, and Roger Miller.
No, wait. Roger Miller was born in Oklahoma? Well, yes, sort of, but not exactly. Here, in his own words, is the truth at last:
"I was born in Fort Worth, Texas, but due to poverty and a strong southerly wind, we moved to Oklahoma."
He called Erick his home town, and dazzled audiences for many years with humorous references to it.
"Erick is so small that the city limit signs are back to back."
"The population of Erick is 1500, including tractors and rakes."
"The school I went to had 37 students, me and 36 Indians. One time we had a school dance and it rained for 36 days straight. During recess, we used to play Cowboy and Indians. things got pretty wild from my standpoint."
"This train used to come through the middle of town every night at exactly 10 PM. It sort of spooked us because there weren't any tracks."
"My dad was an Oklahoma land baron. He owned the most barren land in the territory."
He admitted to being Erick's first grade-school drop out. "I even flunked school bus."
Later in life when Roger had achieved unprecedented success, he said, "When you're poor, you're always thinking of the things you'll do when you get a lot of money. Now that I've got money, I can't seem to remember what it was that I wanted so desperately."
Once upon a time, I was Roger Miller's "roadie," frequently accompanying him and his musicians to Las Vegas, Reno, and Lake Tahoe. Those were the halcyon days just after "King of the Road" came out, and "England Swings," "Kansas City Star," "In the Summertime," "Husbands and Wives," "Dang Me," "My Uncle (Mother) Used to Love Me But She Died," "You Can't Rollerskate in a Buffalo Herd," and countless others. Audiences couldn't get enough of his music or his humor.
I was Production Assistant on his NBC-TV show which would probably have stayed on the air a lot longer if it hadn't been scheduled opposite Lucille Ball. Nobody but Lucy could've knocked him off, and she was a huge fan of Roger's, too.
We wrote a book together, "Home is Where the Hurt Is," and it was an incredible experience to witness the manner in which his mind rapidly spun sayings so profound as to dazzle the listener. Songwriters would follow him around to pick up some ideas, for which Roger never asked for credit, though it was usually given him anyway. Country music people are like that .
Roger Miller never slept, or it certainly seemed that way. No one could keep up with him, not even if they plied themselves with the over-the-counter, stay-awake pill, "No Doze." Arrogant songsters and musicians alike tried. Closest anyone ever came, as far as I know, was Thumbs Carllile, Roger's brilliant sideman. One night, after the midnight show (when the artist is supposed to go back to his suite and rest) Roger was changing into a pair of jeans preparing to search out 24-Hour pawnshops looking for anything interesting. Kris Kristofferson asked Thumbs "When does Roger sleep?" and Thumbs said, "Don't know. I've only been with him for three years."
I was with Roger one night about 4 a.m. in a pawnshop, when he spied an old Derringer.
"That loaded?" he asked the pawnbroker. "Nope," said the man. Roger placed the tip of the barrel against the palm of his left hand and pulled the trigger with the right. BOOM!! Shot himself right there in the palm.
Surprised at the noise, the smell of black gunpowder, and the blood spurting out of his hand, Roger quipped, "This imitation bullet sure do hurt a lot."
As his roadie and the person responsible for his well being while on the road, I hysterically ripped through my purse for a Kleenex to stop the blood from spurting. I was in a panic, and throwing the other contents of my purse all over the now-bloody floor.
Roger stared at his hand with great interest, then said to the pawnbroker, "Got something I kin put over this here wound? Better make it a shot glass."
For the next week or so onstage, he held up his bandaged hand, told the audience what happened, unwrapped the white bandage so they could see the black hole left in his hand after the emergency room removed the bullet. He then replaced the bandage, and played and sang as usual. Nothing to it. Not for an Oklahoman.
I lost touch with Roger sometime in the seventies, and was greatly saddened to hear of his passing in 1992.
Then in March while driving from California to the 2004 Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, I left Amarillo Texas headed for Tulsa on the I-40 when, just over the state line, I saw the sign that said, ERICK, and it was just a few miles away. No way could I pass Roger's hometown without stopping in to pay my respects.
As soon as I walked into the bank to inquire about where Roger's former home might be found and stating who I was, Glenda West welcomed me with open arms. She told me about the Roger Miller Museum and how they were raising funds and hoped to have an opening soon. She didn't have long to wait.
The Roger Miller Museum, at the corner of Sheb Woolley Avenue and Roger Miller Boulevard (fittingly, the old Route 66) will hold its Grand Opening on October 23, 2004 and I'll be there to hear Roger's son, Dean, perform on the same stage as once sang his famous father.
And Roger will be posthumously inducted into the Oklahoma Music Hall of Fame on November 12, 2004.
They say you can't go home again, but I think Roger has done it anyway.
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