Let’s go back to nineteen sixty-seven, when I was but a twinkle in my emotionally intoxicated and lovestruck parents eyes.

A warm evening in South Padre Island and a romantic sway in the humid breeze combined with a cocktail or three that lead to at least four and a half minutes of powerful love making that would produce a second child. It was me. A sequel to my brother. I already had a preconceived alliterated name. My father always wanted a boy named Sam and I was designed to complete the duality of the comical Vaudevillian characterization of his children as ‘Sam and Sid’. As it were, Sid would arrive in March of nineteen sixty-eight to accompany his brother born approximately three and a half years prior.

Simultaneously, a Texas raised songwriter with a farm home still in Ridgetop, Tennessee, but relocating to Houston, was testing the live music market in south Texas. My dad, Raymond, had big ol’ ears that caught the nasal twang and jazzy, country, folk fusion of a sharp eyed poet named Willie Nelson. My dad just happened to be in the music business and was instantly enamored with the unique quality and originality of the unknown singer.

My dad was an employee of a radio station in Corpus Christi, Texas. He sold advertising spots. He was a news and sports announcer, disc jockey, and did whatever else people did at radio stations back then. But when my dad heard the subtle, intrinsic style of Bob Wills western swing entangled with the likes of Ray Price’s crooning melodies, stirred up with Django Reinhardt’s jazz licks on a gut-string guitar, and combined with the unparalleled thought provoking lyrics of the outward brained, pontificating troubadour, Willie Nelson, he decided to become his personal promoter and booking agent as well. My dad was aggressively inspired. He never did this for anyone other than Willie.

Willie had been playing in Ray Price’s band and was starting to get out on his own. Willie’s own team of band members and managers were soon to be sleeping on the couch and floor, parking R.V.’s in the driveway, throwing birthday parties in the backyard, and just killing time in between shows. There’s even a story of a stolen donkey after someone was left behind at a gas station. It was an exciting time. Forging friendships and making music. Gigging from town to town all across south Texas, from Laredo to Bandera, building what would someday be a musical empire from the ground up.

My mom became somewhat obsessed with Willie, as did countless others. At that same time, Willie was the father of a brand new daughter while still married to the mother of his previous three children who were still in Ridgetop, Tennessee. His wife found out about the new daughter when she received a hospital bill for the birth. There was a moment, about twelve years later, when I questioned if Willie was also my father. Fortunately and unfortunately,  he is not. 

Beyond the music he was a personality like none other. Willie had a zen-like calmness and unfathomable wit. His intelligence matched my father’s along with his ability to blend with the ordinary and average mind of anyone around him. And during those days, he was a drinker, which was also a common catalyst for some amazing adventures. It was a time in my parents’ lives that had to be difficult to maintain with any resemblance of normalcy. I believe they failed in the most fun way ever.

But honestly, how could any young couple with babies and toddlers be a part of the entourage of wild musicians? The musicians themselves left their babies and wives at home. The strain of late night dance halls and alcohol consumption must’ve placed a high burden on trying to raise a family. It seems the balance proved too difficult to maintain, so eventually my dad took a job in San Antonio as the head of Wilkins Broadcasting School. This was when you needed a license to be on the radio. He was still involved in the rising career of Willie Nelson, but was becoming less engaged as time passed. It wasn’t long after that my dad made the insane decision to move far away to New Mexico and have us live among the Navajo Indian Reservation. I will never know what drastically happened that inspired that convoluted brainstorm. Unfortunately, it was the beginning of a long, difficult and turmoiled time and living there wasn’t as cool as it sounds.

The main friendships that remained for years after were with Willie’s former band members, Johnny Bush and Frenchie Burke. Willie was catapulted into another level and had to leave many good people behind. It’s just the nature of the business. Johnny Bush stayed in touch for a long time and Frenchie would even come visit on occasion, wherever we were living at the time. I have especially fond memories of Frenchie Burke and a deep admiration and respect for Johnny Bush.

Willie has always felt like a family member to me. It’s a very strange thing to separate his musical genius and legacy from the man behind the stories I grew up with. I didn’t really discover his incredible catalog until just a few years ago. There’s a touch of delusion and fantasy entwined with the success of someone your dad helped make it to worldwide stardom. It has affected my entire life and perspective of reality vs. fame vs some kind of worship. Especially through the eyes of my mom. I can only imagine what it would be like to be one of his actual kids. What a whirlwind of confusion I don’t envy one bit.

The point of all this story is to tell, just the one story about me as I have been told repeatedly by my mom for the last fifty years or so.

I have a special nickname.

The day I was born, Willie Nelson and Johnny Bush visited Spohn Hospital to see me. As my dad handed out the cigars in the lobby, and undoubtedly lit them up, Willie and Johnny asked what he named me? Without missing a beat, my dad confidently said, ‘Willie Bush’. A questionable name that surely raised their eyebrows in fear that he was actually serious.

I hope they all got a nice chuckle, but I wouldn’t really know. I had just arrived.

Willie Nelson and Johnny Bush around 1968. *unknown photographer for picture credit

THE PEARL BEER TAPE

A side story here is about a rare reel to reel tape recording I found a few years ago in a cardboard box. The box was full of random recordings of my family, radio programs, stage performances, comedy routines, and monologues by Will Rogers and Paul Harvey. And a very special recording of three individual original, one minute advertisement songs for Pearl Beer written and sung by Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, and Merle Haggard.

I have not found any information about the makings of these recordings and it is an ongoing investigation. I have contacted and inquired many sources and no one knows anything about it. The people involved in the late sixties recordings are most likely gone from this world, including my dad who stuffed the tape into a box more than fifty years ago.

The tape is available for purchase at three million dollars. I’m not being greedy. I just want enough to give a lot of it away. As of now, I have the only existing tape that I am aware of. It is not on the internet anywhere other than here. Of course, I haven’t shared them in their entirety. I also do not have any legal rights to profit from the recording outside of selling the physical tape.

Lukas (Willie’s son) suggested I put it online and see if anybody claims ownership. Amy (Willie’s daughter) suggested I send it to an auction house. Susie (Willie’s daughter) said her dad never did anything for Pearl and to never contact her again. The curators of Pearl in San Antonio and the Nashville Country Music Hall of Fame have no information. John Spong from Texas Monthly Magazine and the One By Willie Podcast was interested in doing the story but his supervisors were not. Pearl beer is mostly defunct with failed reboots and poor quality beer. I have not been able to contact Willie, the one person that would know anything about it.

The Pearl Beer tape on my YouTube channel

Also a confusing poster by Danny Garrett with Pearl logos added instead of Lone Star.