Jess Martin Pitched for Henryetta, Oklahoma

It was a dream of his come true
He had finally found his avenue
No more in those Missouri hills
would he be roamin'
'Cause now Jess Martin pitched
for Henryetta, Oklahoma

Jess's biggest problem created strife
Fightin' off the women and the bar life
His good looks attracted gals by the dozen
And drinkin' just seemed to keep 'em comin'

He found him a good woman and settled down
He chased that dream upon the pitcher's mound
Lord, let me pitch in pro ball and you'll see
The Lord granted him his dream in ninety twenty-three

Repeat chorus (first verse)

Jess toiled on that mound all spring and summer
Giving it all he had but he began to falter
Old problems he had would give no sympathy
Jess ended up back home in his Missouri

To the big leagues he was never bound
But somewhere there's a dusty, forgotten
pitcher's mound
And there, deep in the soil is still 
the sweat from his brow
And the wind never blows away that dream

Spoken:
They called the league the Western Association
Hens was the nickname for the organization
Though his dream lasted but that one single year
It was a dream he forever held dear

For that was the year...
Jess Martin Pitched for Henryetta, Oklahoma

©Godot Boys Music (BMI) 2003

Words and music by Bryce Martin

 SEEN ON INTERNET: Book Size Matters?

Who knew?

The Man On Red Mountain

The Man on Red Mountain is looking up from on high

The Man on Red Mountain is looking up toward the sky

You can see him up there when you enter the town

There’s not much else to see as you look around

There’s played-out gold mines and a rusted building or two

A few hangers-on still around who didn’t skiddle-dee-doo

Back when gold and riches untold provided the big lure

Red Mountain was the place to go for that permanent cure

The Man on Red Mountain is not a tourist attraction

Though he’d likely welcome any kind of reaction

And a little action around here is all you might expect

Here in Red Mountain a little action is all you can get 

There’s played-out gold mines and a rusted building or two

A few hangers-on still around who didn’t skiddle-dee-doo

Back when gold and riches provided the big lure

Red Mountain was the place to go for that permanent cure

Red Mountain all those big dreams are now all but dead

Yet, the Man on Red Mountain still raises his head

A head one must feel is still filled with faith and hope

Why else does he still search the heavens…

Could it be for… for those streets paved with gold

© Godot Boys Music (BMI) 1970

Words and music by Bryce Martin

--1971--

 

OLD BAKERSFIELD

My drinking days are long behind me (Jan. 3, 1993). The former Idle Hour location near Belmont Church was my hangout starting in 1988. Harlan Howard was a regular, as was Billy Large, and Donnie Qualls. Bobby Herald, the owner, kept an old bus parked in the back with black and gold Vanderbilt colors. The tires were always flat, an irony I felt that was wholly suited to VU's football team.

 

Graphic by Bryce

FUZZTONE, MY NICKNAME FOR HIS NICKNAME: AN ARKIE IN OKIELAND

 Buck and The 'Roos

When we had real stars

I won't show the photo of Jane Fonda a decade later carousing and smiling with our foes while our military personnel were spilling blood on the same soil she walked on to lollygag with the Cong. 

Little Lousy Jane

Marilyn Monroe. Korea 1954

 

HITTING HOME SONG

"Choctaw Bingo" by James McMurtry

Don't Ever Get Your Whisky At A Place Called Papa Joe's

My parents gave me a road map and a smile 

Said hit the road and try life for a while 

Well it was a big change I must admit  

A change I didn’t like not one little bit 

I had to get a job and find it real quick 

Who’d hire some kid from the hickory sticks 

I sorely needed someone to give me a boost 

Because I really needed a place to roost

I’m telling you all this because I want you to know

Don’t ever get your whiskey at a place called Papa Joe’s

I met a call girl named Shirley who gave me a place to stay

For protection against those who might misbehave 

She sent me out to get her her favorite whisky blend 

She liked to have a sip or two sometimes between men

It was at that place I mentioned called Papa Joe’s

A place for sure one should never even once ever go

I got Shirley’s bottle of whiskey she liked so

But just as soon as I was getting ready to go

Papa Joe said son do you want a taste of pure delight

It’s on the house to try and see if you like

An offer from a stranger it seemed reasonable after all

Still, I’m only human and us humans have our flaws

So I took a swig of what he called a pure delight

And I must admit right off it suited me just right

Well you can probably guess that one little swig

Wouldn’t do me, the next one had to be big, real big

Smooth as clear creek water and sharp on the tongue

This pure delight encounter had just begun

I rolled on the floor all the time crying more, more, more

Praising Jesus for leading me to this glorious whiskey store

Some like it hot some like it cold but never has it been told

This pure delight sent from the heavens in my hands I now hold

I was soon guzzling with a funnel found lying around

And taking my heavenly liquid lying on the ground

Papa Joe was now just a blur lost in the background

I sensed that though my brain was now whisky bound 

My brain was on hold from the reality I had known

All thanks to the generosity a stranger had shown

This rank stranger I only met, one known as Papa Joe

Should I consider him a new friend or a dangerous foe 

 

Because it’s for sure this pure delight will never let go

I’ll be its slave and it my master for ever and ever more 

I won’t be able to get a job or work even mopping floors

I’ll have to rob and steal to buy it at Papa Joe’s store

So dear lads and lassies too

If  your parents give you the boot 

Leave, but don’t stop, just scoot

Pass on by Papa Joe’s on your route

©Godot Boys Music (BMI) 2023

Words and music by Bryce Martin

It's Baseball Season!

The Bakersfield Blasters

 🎸🎶⚾

[Baseball cards]

Note: All of the players would probably want No. 7. That wish is granted since all images are frontal views.

C Biff Adam — A solid block of granite behind the plate.

1B Lew Talley — Tall and rangy, able to scoop up short tosses.

2B Merle Haggard — Makes smooth pivot to start double plays.

3B Bill Woods — Infield leader with Hot Corner skills.

SS Jelly Sanders — Can go to the hole with ease.

LF Buck Owens — Dependable flycatcher patrolling his space.

CF Mayf Nutter — Fluid ball tracker with great speed.

RF Don Rich — His strong arm a threat to base runners.

Pitchers, and their “out” pitch:

Tom Brumley, sinker

Red Simpson, screwball

Billy Mize, fastball

Jerry Wiggins, knuckler

Utility Roy Nichols — Scrappy fill-in master.

Bullpen catcher — Doyle Holly  — Keeps pitchers, and everyone else, loose.

Manager — Jimmie Thomason — Has herd (band) organizing skills

Coach — Oscar Whittington — Sound judgement in game situations.

Coach —  Norm Hamlett —  Tuned to a soft approach.

Batting Order

1. Nutter
2. Talley
3. Owens
4. Adam
5. Woods
6. Rich
7. Haggard
8. Sanders
9. (Pitcher)

       BakersfieldBiscuits.com

I like Dwight Yoakam's music. Like it a whole bunch. So do a lot of people. So it makes me wonder, why does he need to keep riding that Bakersfield theme in so many commercial directions? Hellfire, it makes me mad. He's not from Bakersfield, never lived there, and his only connection to the city is having sung a song -- one he didn't write nor did Buck Owens -- titled "Streets of Bakersfield." You would think he owned the copyright to all things Bakersfield. Why I really hate his Bakersfield-grab is because whenever I mention to anyone how I was a journalist covering Bakersfield's country music scene back in its heyday as a reporter for the daily newspaper, the response is always, "Oh! Dwight Yoakam." Not often, not more often than not, but 100 percent always, "Oh! Dwight Yoakam." Not Merle Haggard, who was born in Bakersfield. Not Buck Owens, who came to Bakersfield in 1951 and stayed. Not Red Simpson, Billy Mize, and so on. And it's from every age group, even from people from my age group who you would think had more awareness. "Oh! Dwight Yoakam, my ass!"

Original photo made from a glass plate for my weekly country music column in early 70s for the Bakersfield Californian

Californian/Alan Ferguson