inspired western swing. I would open the set with a few of my originals before the main country singer, whose gig it was, came out to do popular covers of the day and standards. The regulars at the club became familiar enough with my songs that I could kick one off and they would head for the dance floor.

    It was out of boredom and persistent curiosity that I began stringing together the song titles I was playing every night in such way that they told a story. The story was of a couple who were fighting, and they refused to speak to each other, but would argue by playing songs back and forth on the jukebox: a “Jukebox Argument”. 

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She played “Release Me”, and he played “Stand by Your Man”

She Played “Don’t Be Angry”, and he played “Out of Hand”

She played “Good Hearted Woman’’ and “When Will I Be Loved”

He played “He’ll Have to Go” and “Window Up Above”

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    The story continues with additional song titles until the final scene of the song when she plays “I’ll Get Over You”, and he plays “Born to Lose”. It was a novelty song that people remembered and kept requesting. I thought it was clever enough, but I wasn’t that proud of it. I saw it for what it was: a honky-tonk coping tool for a guy who was really hungry to write some songs that could get some attention, whatever it took.

    Johnny Paycheck and Gary Stewart used to hang out and bar hop in Dallas, and they would stop in at the Country Club on occasion. Paycheck would attempt to play steel and Stewart would sing a Haggard or Jones song, or maybe his “Drinking Thing” or “She’s Acting Single”. Paycheck heard me do “Jukebox Argument” and asked if I had a demo, then took my phone number. Spending the money to book a studio and get players together was not an option, so I got in the small bathroom off the bedroom of our modest rent house in Garland. The echo off the plastic tiles provided some tolerable ambience. 

    I had been recording my songs into a cassette recorder and mailing them to myself, the poor man’s copyright. I got a tape of Jukebox Argument to Paycheck, mailing it with lyrics to an address in Arlington. I didn’t hear from him for a few months, then I saw him in the parking lot of the club one night as I was leaving. When I realized it was him, I stayed parked for a while until it appeared his conversation was wrapping up with some friends. I caught him before he drove away and asked if he had received the cassette. “Oh, yeah, that jukebox thang. That’s a funny one; I like it. I gotta go catch up with these folks, but you take care now,” and he was gone. I assumed that was all there was to Paycheck recording my song. 

    About two weeks later I got a call from him at three in the morning. I was home from the club and climbing into bed with Barbara and baby Nathan. “I figured you’d be up; you gotta come teach me that song. I’m going to Nashville to cut it tomorrow with Billy Sherrill.” Billy Sherrill was the genius record producer of George Jones, Tammy Wynette, and so many others. I told Johnny to just sing along with my tape, it would be easy to learn, trying to get out of leaving the house in the middle of a rainy night. When he told me he didn’t have the lyric, just the cassette, mangled in his girlfriend’s car player, I started pulling my jeans back on and heading to an address somewhere in Arlington. A lady with very slurred speech gave me directions that I carefully took down. Before I left the house, I wrote out the lyrics, printing large. There are a lot of words to Jukebox Argument with all the song titles referenced. My hope was to drive there, give him the lyric sheet, sing it through a few times for him to learn it, and get back home to bed. 

    After getting turned around in an Arlington neighborhood in the middle of the night and having to find a pay phone to call for directions again (the first directions were to a different house than where they were), I rang the doorbell at four AM and Johnny Paycheck answered. I didn’t have my cowboy hat on, and he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me at first, then he invited me in. It was a nice place with a big pool in back and a pool table in the dining room with Christmas lights in July, looking like party central. I brought in my Martin D41, and Johnny had a Grammar acoustic guitar. I put the lyric in front of us and started strumming. It was then that I noticed a small hill of cocaine on a mirror on the coffee table before us. Johnny took a mighty snort and passed the straw to one of two girls in pajamas. When I was offered, I passed. My hope was to get the song in Paycheck’s head and head home to get some sleep. I would be with baby Nathan starting at seven when Barbara left for her teaching job. 

    As wide open as Paycheck’s eyes were, I thought he could see the lyric well enough. I had written it in a purposeful large print, anticipating him having trouble focusing. “You gotta write this thing out big, really big where I can see it from across the room. No way I’m gonna have it down by the time we cut.” Every time he said something referring to him cutting the song I felt a surge of excitement. Two pieces of large poster board were brought into the living room by a grinning pajama girl. Johnny’s girlfriend’s little sister was making posters for a school event. With a black sharpie I printed the words out ridiculously large, with Johnny cheering me on and snorting some more enthusiasm. When he finally sang the song it sounded great, and I had high hopes that the great Billy Sherrill would bring some magic with an arrangement. Johnny was seriously into it; he loved that there were titles of a few George Jones and Ray Price hits in the lyric. He had worked with both, playing bass and singing high harmony. 

    I realized I should give up on the hope of making it a brief visit. I hung in there ’til he was singing the chorus with confidence and wrestling with the verses convincingly. I continued to pass on the blow but was glad to have some coffee and Cheerios before getting into morning traffic back to Garland. Paycheck left when I did, driving straight through to Nashville. I never saw him again and the phone number I had for him was no longer good. I’ve always just assumed that Billy Sherrill didn’t like “Jukebox Argument” enough to cut it.