Singer/Songwriter Nevada Bob Is A Storyteller, Too

Nevada Bob. Photo: Gary Firstenberg

I've written a few blog posts about Nevada Bob Gordon this past year, chiefly pertaining to some CDs he's recorded in Nashville. He has a Johnny Cash baritone that is easy to listen to. 

In addition to singing, he has also written a memoir titled 50 Years with the Wrong Woman, which he hopes to see published before too long. 

The title, of course, is more for entertainment purposes. His wife, Carol, has been his inspiration from the day he set eyes on her.  In addition to covering other artists, Bob has recorded a half dozen or more songs for Carol.

Nevada Bob is a character through and through, and his memoir shows how much of a character he's been for the past 8-plus decades. This anecdote from his memoir will give you a clue as to where some of this came from. It apparently runs in the family.

Here's an excerpt from his manuscript, which I've been given the pleasure of reviewing. (Used with permission.) 

A Reno Trip with Emily

It was also around this time that Carol and I purchased our new home. Soon after we moved in, I was approached by my grandmother Emily Sharp. Emily was a young-appearing, attractive woman in her early 60’s. She wanted to fly to Reno, Nevada so she could gamble because she loved bingo games. Her husband, Bill Sharp, was working on a job that took him out of the country for extended periods of time, so she asked me to accompany her to Reno. 

Carol was not interested in the slightest in coming with us. This let us take advantage of a particularly lucrative package offered by Reno Casinos; soon, Emily had arranged for her and me to fly as man and wife. During the flight, the stewardesses’ treated me with a fair amount of disdain. I don’t know how they made the connection or assumption that this young man married a wealthy woman, but they definitely had, and throughout the flight they made me very uncomfortable with their glares. 

When we finally reached our destination at our hotel, a young lady got out of the vehicle with us. Trying to be polite, I carried the young lady’s luggage as well as mine and Emily’s into the hotel. I think the girl assumed I was flirting with her. 

After checking in the clerk said aloud, “Mr. and Mrs. Gordon you have room 114.” 

The girl looked at us in disbelief. My crazy grandmother, looking over her shoulder as we walked away, said, “It’s okay honey, he only married me for my money.”

Related Links

Nevada Bob Gordon's Long Train to Nowhere

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2021/05/come-along-and-ride-nevada-bob-gordons.html

Photo: Bary Firstenberg

1960

1960 was a big year in my life. That was the year I got out of school for three weeks in spring and went cross country with my grandparents. From my home in Cleveland to Reno, NV, all by rail, through Chicago, Salt Lake City, prairies, mountains, day and night for three days each way. Destination: my cousins, aunt and uncle an hour outside Reno. Uncle Dale did geology and the Wolfe family lived a free, remote life. Later that same year we went to Niagara Falls with cousins, aunt and uncle on my Dad's side...

That's not the reason, however, that 1960 is today's theme. This year is an election year. 1960 also proved to be a significant election. Perhaps all are, but 1960 seems especially so. John F. Kennedy electrified voters with his oratory skills, charm and wit, and in November was elected the youngest president of these United States, breaking new ground as the first Catholic to sit in the Oval Office.

I've heard said that Obama is being compared to JFK. This week I can see a bit of that. He has charm, and panache. And so I went online (everything is but a click away these days!) and found a site that assembled JFK quotes, among others. Here are a few that pertain to the arts.

"Too often in the past, we have thought of the artist as an idler and dilettante and of the lover of arts as somehow sissy and effete. We have done both an injustice. The life of the artist is, in relation to his work, stern and lonely. He has labored hard, often amid deprivation, to perfect his skill. He has turned aside from quick success in order to strip his vision of everything secondary or cheapening. His working life is marked by intense application and intense discipline."

"We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth."

"I look forward to an America which will not be afraid of grace and beauty...an America which will reward achievement in the arts as we reward achievement in business or statecraft."

"In serving his vision of the truth, the artist best serves his nation."

I chose these quotes about the arts, several from remarks made at Amherst, because 1960 was also the year that artist/poet/musician Bob Dylan emerged on the scene in NYC. Behind me here in my office is a Sept 1960 poster announcing that Dylan would be performing on the 19th at the Underground Cavern in Greenwich Village.

To think that Dylan is still making music today, 48 year later, and that that other beacon of 1960 was snuffed out 45 years ago...

Thinking of Kennedy brought to mind this very short essay by Jorge Luis Borges, which I discovered in a Fall/Winter 1970-1971 edition of The Antioch Review.

IN MEMORIAM J.F.K.

This bullet is an old one.

In 1897, it was fired at the president of Uruguay by a young man from Montevideo, Avelino Arredondo, who had spent long weeks without seeing anyone so that the world might know that he acted alone. Thirty years earlier, Lincoln had been murdered by that same ball, by the criminal or magical hand of an actor transformed by the words of Shakespeare into Marcus Brutus, Caesar's murderer. In the mid-seventeenth century, vengeance had employed it for the assassination of Sweden's Gustavus Adolphus in the midst of the public hecatomb of battle.

In earlier times, the bullet had been other things, because Pythagorean metempsychosis is not reserved for humankind alone. It was the silken cord given to viziers in the East, the rifles and bayonets that cut down the defenders of the Alamo, the triangular blade that slit a queen's throat, the wood of the Cross and the dark nails that pierced the flesh of the Redeemer, the poison kept by the Carthaginian chief in an iron ring on his finger, the serene goblet that Socrates drank down one evening.

In the dawn of time it was the stone that Cain hurled at Abel, and in the future it shall be many things that we cannot even imagine today, but that will be able to put an end to men and their wondrous, fragile life.

~by Jorge Luis Borges