Merle Haggard died last week. He probably wasn't on your radar, but I was a fan of his music. When I first moved to LA from Alabama, I was absolutely homesick for the South. In fact, not long after I arrived, I was quoted in The New York Times Magazine (I am not making this up) thusly:
In those early days, I used to wake up on Sundays to listen to the webcast of the Frazer United Methodist Church service out of Montgomery, which Reverend Earl Andrews would always start by saying, "We'd like to welcome those of you today who are worshipping with us through television, radio and the internet." And I'd deep fry something, just 'cause.
Thankfully, I soon found a group of fellow displaced southerners who happened to be musicians, and I ended up going to see them play at their weekly gigs. They had a policy called "Mandatory Merle," which meant that they were obligated to play at least some Merle Haggard at each show. Usually "My Favorite Memory." I loved it, because as far back as I could remember, Granny Jack had been quoting Merle to me, often in a card addressed to my college apartment with a lifesaving check tucked inside and a note that read, "It's like Merle says: 'If We Make It Through December...'"
As a bonus, the southern actor Leslie Jordan was usually in the audience of those shows, and had a brilliant habit between songs of yelling "PLAY THAT ONE I LIKE!!" so whatever song came next - by default - was the one he liked.
All that to say that I totally associate Merle Haggard with those early days of life in Los Angeles, and like my youth in general, I was sorry to see him go.
Two things that I really appreciated the day the news came out were the stunningly beautiful Merle tribute cover of The Tennessean newspaper, and a voicemail I received from friend Clay Mercer. I combined them here:
The only way Clay could have made that message any more southern would be to say he "passed" instead of "died," and if he'd reminded me not bring something sto'-bought to the memorial.
I'll miss you, Merle.
Love,
Brooke
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