Here's what some folks are already saying about it:


From TOM T. HALL:
"I am looking forward to reading the adventures of Jack and Misty.
Wonderful friends who have made the world a better place with
their music. If their biography is like their lives, which I'm sure it
is, we're in for a helluva ride."
Tom T. Hall: The Storyteller / songwriter, Nashville, Tennessee.

From RALPH EMERY:
“I have always enjoyed Jack and Misty’s music. They visited my program
many times during their career, and though I have not seen them in a long time,
they are a Class ‘A’ couple.”
Ralph Emery: Television host, Nashville, Tennessee.

From LLOYD GREEN:
"I recorded hundreds of records as steel guitarist and session leader
for producer “Little” Richie Johnson on Wayside Records during the 1960s & 1970s.
The only #1 hit to emerge from that smorgasbord of songs was Jack and Misty’s
'Tennessee Birdwalk', selling more than 1 ½ million records as #1 in the Billboard
Country charts and as a sizable hit in the pop charts. 
Bravo for those two intrepid singers!"
Lloyd Green: Renowned pedal steel guitarist, Nashville, Tennessee.

RON OATES, Nashville producer/arranger/session pianist :
"The hardest-working duo in show business. Jack and Misty have
followed their passion for 4 ½ decades to the continued delight of their
millions of fans. No matter your musical cup of tea, just sit in on a set of
Jack’s and Misty’s... they are masters of it all. You’ll be fans forever.
Count on it." 
Ron Oates: Jes Fine Productions, Nashville, Tennessee

STEVE HALL/SHOTGUN RED: 
"I did a show years ago in Minnesota with Jack & Misty and I was
just a kid so I got a real lesson on how to entertain a crowd. Not only were
their songs cool but they had the crowd eating out of their hands with comedy... 
I know it has been 30 years but I still remember Jack telling the crowd that he
doesn't touch anything in the bathroom... he flushes the toilet with his foot... 
he turns the water on and off with his elbows ... he said he doesn't even touch
the door knob on the way out... he opens it with his teeth!
I talked a lot with Jack because he wouldn't let me near Misty! I don't blame him!"
Steve Hall / Shotgun Red: Nashville, Tennessee.

We're looking forward to getting a copy ourselves.

All the best.
    Jack & Misty




A Blatant Promtion: The NEW Album...

Download the new album now for $9.99 from CDBaby.

All proceeds go to a needy couple :)





And now, here's our very own Soundclick™ player to while away the days of catching up

with over 100 Jack and Misty songs and productions (and one essay):



Now playing: Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan




Neat, huh? 



May 23rd, 2013...

Today’s celebrity birthdays: Thursday, May 23
Bluegrass singer Mac Wiseman is 88. Actor Nigel Davenport is 85. Actress Barbara
Barrie is 82. Actress Joan Collins is 80. Actor Charles Kimbrough is 77. Actress Lauren
Chapin is 68. Country singer Misty Morgan is 68. Country singer Judy Rodman
is 62. Singer Luka Bloom is 58. Actor-comedian Drew Carey is 55. Country singer Shelly West is 55.
Actor Linden Ashby is 53. Actress-model Karen Duffy is 52. Actress Melissa McBride is 48.
Rock musician Phil Selway (Radiohead) is 46. Actress Laurel Holloman is 45. Rock musician
Matt Flynn (Maroon 5) is 43. Singer Lorenzo is 41. Country singer Brian McComas is 41.
Singer Maxwell is 40. Singer Jewel is 39. Game show contestant Ken Jennings is 39.
Actor Lane Garrison is 33. Actor Adam Wylie is 29.

Happy Birthday and best wishes to Misty!
 


May 21st, 2013...

UPDATE.

Hi everybody. 
We've been to the hospital for tests, and have an appointment with our GP tomorrow.
We are still feeling pretty rough. Misty is fighting it better than I am.
Our GP is supposed to send me to a heart specialist, which I think is a waste of time,
because the test indicated that the slight irregularities are likely caused by cold medications.
I've been taking TONS of those for the past week or two. I got well in the ER, and returned
home and got lung trouble again. I think I may be allergic to something in the house,
and was tipped over the edge by the creosote cloud that came through here.
(See previous writings.) We hope to be back with you soon. 

Love, 
    Jack & Misty.



May 14th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

WHY MY COLUMN IS SHORT TODAY.

Friday night we got creosote poisoning from burning railroad ties.
Channel 9 TV showed an interest and Misty went and took pictures of the burn site 
and how they covered it up by dumping sand and gravel on it. 
She also got a sample of the burned ties and creosote in a jar. 

I was up all night coughing like I needed an exorcist. 
The crew showed up at about 8 this morning. 
I looked and felt like a murder victim and didn't answer the door.  
I was already thinking about clean underwear for the hospital. 

I'm so sick today I don't even care about TV news. 
Misty and I don't have any voices to talk with, 
but we feel a tiny bit better. 
I feel almost alive. 

My apologies to the TV people.

Copyright © May 14, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



May 12th, 2013...

Just got some serious news from Jack, so I'm posting this as a public service,
with prayers for a swift recovery to both Jack and Misty.

HOW WE GOT CREOSOTE POISONING.

    A couple of nights ago at about 2 AM a cloud of black smoke surrounded our house,
cutting visibility to near zero. It had a powerful creosote smell and burned our eyes, nose,
throat, and lungs. We've been coughing our brains out, and have been weak and we
thought is was a bad case of flu. After taking a lot of medicine and sleeping sitting up
we seem to be finally coming out of it. Here's what I found on how creosote effects health,
besides being a carcinogen.

"Health effects of Creosote:
   According to the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry (ATSDR),
eating food or drinking water contaminated with high levels of coal tar creosote may cause
a burning in the mouth and throat, and stomach pains. ATSDR also states that brief direct
contact with large amounts of coal tar creosote may result in a rash or severe irritation of
the skin, chemical burns of the surfaces of the eyes, convulsions and mental confusion,
kidney or liver problems, unconsciousness, and even death. Longer direct skin contact
with low levels of creosote mixtures or their vapors can result in increased light sensitivity,
damage to the cornea, and skin damage. Longer exposure to creosote vapors can cause
irritation of the respiratory tract.
The largest health effect of creosote is deaths caused by residential fires, which are
entirely unconnected with its industrial production or use."
 
Jack Blanchard & Misty Morgan.

---

As I said, this is serious stuff, here, folks. Sending out prayers and well wishes.
  -- Jerry.



May 11th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

THE TEAR. (For my mother on Mothers Day.)

There’s something about a photograph. 
Many people believe that having your picture taken steals some of your soul. 
I look at pictures of friends and relatives who have died, 
and I can see that soul, especially in the eyes, the expression, 
and even the body language.

I have a picture of my mother
taken at a holiday gathering during her later years.
She was smiling, and seemed to be in the Christmas spirit.

I’ve looked at that picture many times,
but a few weeks ago, I enlarged it,
and thought I saw something.

I hit the 200% button, made it really big,
and zoomed in on her face.
The smile was still there,
but in her eye I saw something unexpected:
A tear.

I sat back in shock and took a deep breath.
What could she have been thinking?
Was it a tear of joy or sadness?
Did she know that it may be one of her last family moments?
I asked her that question aloud,
but the photograph didn’t answer.

I’m sure we were all enjoying the moment together,
but at the same time, taking it for granted.
You always think there will be many more.
Now I realize
my mother was not taking that moment for granted.

I keep going back to look at the photo,
even though it’s burned into my mind,
and my heart.

When I discovered the tear behind her smile,
I had tears to match hers.
We spoke to each other beyond the limits of time and space.

There is soul in a photograph.

Copyright © 2008, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



May 7th, 2013...

Taking my birthday off starting.... NOW. :)

                  -- Jack.



May 3rd, 2013...

Four months down, eight more to go this year. Before anything else, let's wish
early Happy Birthdays to our two inspirations for this website. Happy
Birthday to Jack and Misty!

And speaking of Jack...
 


52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

JERRY'S BEANERY.

In Miami I had a little office doing music-related things.
A sweet elderly lady came to me to make a lead sheet of a song she'd written.
"It just popped into my head", she said. "I call it 'Jerry's Beanery'."
She sat by me on the piano bench and sang the tune to "Mountain Greenery",
a famous old standard song.
I said, "Was the radio on when you got the idea?"
She said, "I think so."

Some years ago I tried to help several songwriters and singers
by setting up recording sessions or arranging meetings for them.
Two of them just didn't show up and left me holding the bag, and the bill.
They told people they didn't show up because I was a crook.
It was easier for them to avoid the opportunity and blame me,
than to take their chance and face the possibility of failing.
They could use me as an excuse for the rest of their life.

A friend asked me to produce a recording session for his wife. 
He said she had written the song.
About ten minutes into the session I said to my friend,
"She didn't write that melody. It's an old hit song."
He said, "What song?" I said, "'Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch'".
He ran it over in his head, rolled his eyes, 
and whispered, "Don't say anything."

It's been raining for days (and nights) here in Florida.
It looks like it will never stop.
I'm turning sort of a pale green. Croak.

We heard from a friend that it's snowing in Minnesota in May. 
The biggest snow storm I remember in Buffalo was on May 8th. 
We were snowed in at Big Bear Lake CA in June. 
They closed the roads that go down the mountain.
Weather is weird, but it's better than no weather at all.

Just got this from Channel 9 Weather...
"More Rain and a Few Storms", a variety.

"If you're a super hero it's OK to put a big "S" on your shirt,
but I think a cape is just rubbing it in."
Will Campbell

"When a chicken gains weight it never shows in its face."
Roger Miller.

Misty was watching the weather on TV just now.
I asked, "What's happening?"
She said, "Severe thunderstorms capable of producing midgets."

CELEB BIRTHDAYS FOR THE WEEK OF MAY 5-11, 2013.
By The Associated Press — 
May 8: Comedian Don Rickles is 87. Singer Toni Tennille is 73.
Country singer Jack Blanchard is 71. Singer Gary Glitter is 69. Drummer
Chris Frantz of Talking Heads and of Tom Tom Club is 62. Singer Philip Bailey
(solo and with Earth, Wind and Fire) is 62. Country musician Billy Burnette is 60.
Drummer Alex Van Halen of Van Halen is 60. Actor Stephen Furst ("St. Elsewhere,"
''Animal House") is 59. Actor David Keith is 59. Actress Melissa Gilbert is 49.
Drummer Dave Rowntree of Blur is 49. Drummer Del Gray of Little Texas is 45.
Singer Darren Hayes (Savage Garden) is 41. Singer Enrique Iglesias is 38.
Actress Julia Whelan ("Once and Again") is 29.

Copyright © May 3, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



April 27th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

EDDIE SIMMONS.

When I first got to Miami I answered some help-wanted ads for piano players.
One was at The Sportsman’s Lodge, a restaurant and lounge 
that sat right in the driveway of The Hollywood Dog Track. 

I auditioned for a man in his fifties named Eddie Simmons. 
I thought he was the owner, because he had an air of authority.
He was small, wiry, and bald, except for a fringe of dark hair. 
His long nose pointed straight out like Pinocchio or Cyrano, 
but his Sean Connery eyes nailed you to the wall.
There was also a little of the sad clown about him.

It turned out that Eddie was the singer and drummer
who would work as a duo with me.
He had one of the greatest voices I’ve ever heard...
the depth of Barry White, with Al Jolson’s power.
He didn’t need a mike.
When Eddy sang, he was an actor, drawing the crowd right in.

Everything Eddie Simmons did he did with a flair.
He’d come out from behind the drums, during a song
and sing personally to women in the crowd.
It would have been corny if I had done it, but Eddie had the touch.

One week the chef was out sick and Eddie cooked for the whole place,
making it look easy.
I saw him take a head of lettuce, slam it down on the counter,
and then drop into a pot of cold water.
The core fell right out and the lettuce opened like a flower.

He’d switch from the chef’s apron and hat to a waiter’s jacket,
and glide out from the kitchen with heavy laden trays of food held high,
and serve it with a flourish, a smile, and a bow...
like a magician.

Eddie had problems, but he didn’t let the public know it.
One was alcohol and the other: women.

He married a nice lady named Betty
who got pregnant and stayed that way for about ten months.
The last few months she looked like the Queen Mary.
A doctor finally told her it was a false pregnancy”, and she immediately deflated.
It was all in her mind.
She left Eddie for a Norwegian sea captain 
who docked his last ship at Port Everglades and retired.

Eddie did what alcoholics do, but his singing was still genius,
especially the blues.
The last I saw of Eddie he was going with a lady alcoholic.
It was sad to see them drinking their lives away.

Eddie Simmons was a star the world lost before he was found.
I wish you could have heard him sing "When It’s Sleepy Time Down South".

Copyright © 2011, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All Rights Reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



April 26th, 2013...

In the 1970s Misty Morgan and I did a string of shows in the south
billed as "The Three Couples Tour".
The three couples were Jack Greene and Jeannie Sealy,
George Jones and Tammy Wynette,
and Misty and me.
They were all the nicest people you could work with.
We are losing too many of our old acquaintances.
 -- Jack.



April 24th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

NORM.

When strangers enter our lives,
we always try to be nice, even when they are rude to us.
We know they could either turn out to be our best friends,
or have a dark side that could show itself later.

We're two of the friendliest entertainers in the business,
but, as in the Kenny Rogers song...
You have to know when to fold 'em.

Once a man named Norm came into our nightclub
and overheard a conversation
in which we said we were planning to have a large speaker cabinet built.
He had the erect posture, jutting chin, and clipped speech of a military man,
but he wasn't.

We already had a carpenter in mind,
but this man introduced himself,
and insisted that he be allowed to build it for us...free.

A week later Norm wheeled the cabinet into the club,
presented it to us,
and showed us his bloody hands,
to illustrate how hard he had worked.
He had bled for us.
We thanked him, offered to pay,
and expressed our sympathy for his injuries.

He began coming to the club every night,
and if we didn't neglect all our other customers,
and spend our time only with him,
he sulked and soon became angry and belligerent.

He began getting drunk
and butting into conversations we were having with other friends and fans.
He would even threaten them,
and tell them to stay away from us....
that we were his brother and sister.
In his mind he was our bodyguard.

We tried to reason with him,
and he would apologize and promise to lighten up.

We finally had to bar him from the club,
which caused a big unpleasant scene.
Then he began driving past our house at all hours.
We had friends on the police force,
and with their urging he eventually went away.

I think he probably  latched on to somebody else.
Here's why:
He needed more than most people can give.
He often talked about his father,
who was a high ranking military officer,
and who considered Norm a disappointment for not enlisting.
In his father's eyes, he couldn't do anything right.
The lack parental of approval haunted him.

This type of episode with strangers has happened to us more than once,
and to most other people who lead public lives,
but we still give new relationships every chance to work out well.

When they end badly,
the person usually becomes depressed, and then angry.
You have to be careful, but you can't lock up your life.
There are too many good friends out there, waiting to be met.

Copyright © April 23, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



April 23rd, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

ATLANTIC CITY.

Being a lounge act at an Atlantic City gambling casino
is not what it's cracked up to be.

We were one of the first three acts in town when they first got gambling.
Our casino they were using play money for the first week,
until the license came through.

The entertainment is way down on the list
of what's important to casino operators.
In fact, it's a necessary annoyance.
They don't like you if you're too good,
because people will be paying attention to you
instead of losing their money.

We heard there was a good band across the street at Bally's.
We went to have a look,
and there were no signs anywhere telling you who the band was.
The employees didn't even know.
After listening for a few minutes we realized that it was Jonah Jones,
the great trumpet player with a string of hit records.

We worked in the casino for a couple of months
and didn't get to know even one employee.
The day after we closed, we went back to get something we'd forgotten,
and nobody knew who we were.

There were no signs or ads for us either.

After we'd been playing there about ten days,
a workman came over from the other side of the huge room,
where there was still some construction going on.
His tool belt was slung low like a gunfighter,
and a cigarette pack was rolled up in the sleeve of his tee shirt.
He stood in front of us and waited until we finished the song we were doing.

Then he said this to me:
"I been listening to you guys for a couple weeks now and I got a question.
How come you do so much Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan material?"

Copyright © April 23, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



April 20th, 2013...

SOUNDCLICK CHART, TODAY, APRIL 21, 2013.
DONEL AUSTIN sings "SOMETHING YOU'VE GOT".
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12278880
BOY WITH THE BEBOP GLASSES. By The Dawn Breakers:
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=11585856





April 15th, 2013...
(or, The Ides of Taxes Are Upon Us)

And after a dreadful pun like that, here's a shot of Jack...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

BEING PLEASANTLY NUTS.

Writing is an obsession with me. 
I think it started seven or eight years ago.
I always had to dig for ideas like everybody else. 
but now, as soon as I finish one thing an idea shows up for the next. 
Once it's in my mind it sticks like a song you can't get out of your head, 
and I can't let go until it's done. 
The neighbors see my light still on as they go to work many mornings.

I've never been good at moderation in anything...
music, sports, reading, love, alcohol, and on and on.
Sports and alcohol seem to have run their course,
and after reading a lot, I now write more than I read.
After listening to a lot of music I like,
I now compose more than I listen to.

A shrink would ask about my childhood.
As a kid I knew all the sports names and statistics
but I had other heroes like writers and musicians.

I hope this might be a little help to another writer
but I wouldn't try to teach anybody how to do it.
I can just tell what works for me.

Roger Miller said a lot of his song ideas
came from misunderstanding what other people say.
Thomas Edison said that Ideas come from space.
Woody Allen says he gets his ideas
from a post office box in Schenectady.

I think my ideas come from being pleasantly nuts
but it's not a bad kind of mental illness.
I should have come down with it sooner.

I think a computer is better than a legal pad for stories.
and a piano or guitar is better for writing songs.

A lamp is good.
To me, a piano, a desk, or a guitar in soft lamplight
is hard to resist.

I've been asked if I write words or music first.
It varies, and sometimes it's both at once.

Writing every day becomes a helpful habit.
It's a nice feeling to have a finished story or song.
Hey! I did this! How the hell did that happen?

At first the hardest part is starting
and once I get started
the hardest part is stopping.

Compulsive writing could be a side effect of getting older.
Age can bring this realization...
Time doesn't grow on trees.

Get it all down now
if you want to leave your mark.

Copyright © April 15, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



April 7th, 2013...

Well, we made it through another minor crisis only slightly scathed. Those
of you who know the deep dank dark behind the scenes stuff of websites
like these will no doubt appreciate this. Or not. 

Recently our hosts, the Friendly Folks at Tripod™, decided to give their
website a complete makeover. That's fine, nothing wrong with that.

Unless it becomes an inconvenience.

Basically, when I went to update some files, I headed to the trusty File
Manager.

Which wasn't there.

(Insert SFX: screams, thunder and lightning, diabolical laughter -- you know
the bit...)

Much wailing, gnashing of teeth, and a grumpy letter to Tripod followed.

I will say this for the FFaT's Customer Service department: they waste no time
in coming up with a reply.

Their suggestion was useless, but as it turned out, unnecessary; they had
simply moved the File Manager to the 'File Editor' tab. Problem solved!

Only now, I forgot what files I was going to update.

Websites. You gotta love 'em. (Or not.)

Your friendly neighborhood webmeister™, Jerry.



Oh, before I forget: we recently changed guestbook hosts, which (in the words
of the immortal Victor Borge,) seems to be a secret.

If you want to leave a few words for Jack & Misty, it's simplicity itself. Just
click this button:



and type away! (And again, thanks to said new hosts at 123guestbook.com!)



March 31st, 2013...

Happy Easter, everybody! And now, a few words from our peerless leader...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

Our first Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan duet recording
recorded in Nashville, was in 1967.
It included four original songs: "No Sign of Love",
"Midnight Greyhound", "Lonely Bell",
and the main song "Bethlehem Steel".
We produced the session ourselves.
Our plan was to shop it around to labels,
or release it on our own little indie, Zodiac Records.

Tape cassettes were not around then,
so everybody got their demos made on acetate discs,
aluminum discs shaped like 78 RPM singles,
with a black plastic lacquer finish that would wear out
after a limited number of plays.
We were in a studio watching a guy make us a demo of our songs.
I asked him if thought "Bethlehem Steel" would get country air play.
He was very enthusiastic about my lead vocal:
"Yes! Nobody up here has a voice like that!"
What he didn't know was that I had the flu during the recording session,
and was never able to get that sound again.

In January, 1969...
"Big Black Bird" was released as a Country record,
but Billboard gave it a Top 10 Pick in the Pop field.
We were on the Pick list with Aretha Franklin and other pop artists.
Our small label didn't have pop distribution,
so they made a deal with Mercury to distribute it.
They took so long to close the deal that the record lost its momentum,
and Defeat was snatched from the jaws of Victory.

I also heard that when our label, Wayside Records, 
sent the master to Coral Records,
they inserted gaps in the music to prevent anybody from stealing it
before negotiations were complete.
When Mercury was ready to distribute it, 
they checked the master and found the gaps. 
They had to call Wayside and have the real master sent.
There was no internet then, so it was snail mail. Another delay.
But later, this turned out to be a sort of a good thing.

"Bethlehem Steel" got good airplay and chart action for a first record,
but was not a big hit.
The next release on Wayside/ Mercury was "Poor Jody",
and then another, which I can't remember.
Mercury was ready to drop us. There was one release left.
They wanted to put out "Tennessee Bird Walk", and we objected.
We were afraid of getting type cast as a novelty act.
(By the way, it was written as "Tennessee Birdwalk",
but on the label it was printed as "Tennessee Bird Walk",
so it's been "Bird Walk" ever since.
We still write it the original way. We've always been stubborn.)

Looking back,
if "Big Black Bird" had not gotten everybody excited,
Birdwalk would not have been released on a major label.
We got a phone call one day. The voice on the other end said this:
"You'd better get ready to travel. 
We're selling 50,000 a day, and just getting started!"

It was being promoted and distributed by Mercury. Records.
The indie label, Wayside Records, could not have handled it,
so "Big Black Bird" actually paved the way for "Tennessee Birdwalk",
our #1 Country record.

Copyright © March 31, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



March 19th, 2013...

Another year older, and another year... well... older... it's YFNW™ Jerry doing a
little bit of catching up around the website. Here's a couple of classics from our
peerless leader. Enjoy...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

THE LAST SALOON.

When the bad guy sneaked open our front door to get at Misty, 
we were living in Homestead, Florida. 

I was playing piano at the Last Chance Bar on US 1 in Florida City, 
It’s the last saloon on the United States mainland, 
before you head down into the Florida Keys. 
Next stop: Key Largo. 

Misty had picked up a gig at the Redland Tavern, 
a couple of towns up. 

I had canvassed every bar up and down the highway, 
and the Last Chance had an old upright piano, 
so I bought a beer and sat down and started playing. 
I got the job. 

Misty and I rented a small house with a screened in front porch. 
From the street, you could look in the windows, 
through the living room, and into the kitchen. 
I'm telling you this for a reason. 

It was our night off, and very dark outside. 
We were both in the kitchen. 
Misty was by the stove and sink, and was visible from the street. 
I was sitting at the table, to the right of the kitchen door, 
and could not be seen. 
We heard the porch screen door creaking slowly open. 

We looked at each other, 
and I raised a hand signaling her to stay where she was. 
I sneaked silently through the living room, in a half crouch, 
to the front inside door. 

I heard the screen door still opening. 
I jumped onto the porch and slammed the screen door, 
catching the guy's arm in it. 
He was outside and his arm was inside, 
I held it hard, bracing the door with my foot. 
I yelled "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?" 
He said, "Food". 
We both knew that the food was Misty. 

Right then she came to the living room and said this: 
"You hold him and I'll go get the 45". 
I said, "Go! I'm gonna blow his head off!" 
We didn't have a gun but he didn't know that. 
He took off like a shot, leaving his sleeve in the door. 
Misty's a creative thinker. 

We had taken on more than we thought, renting the house. 
We'd forgotten about the utility bills, deposits, etc., 
and we were worried. 

The bartender at the Last Chance, 
who was also an NCO at the Air Force base in Homestead, 
said he was exhausted and needed a night off. 
I told him I'd take his place on a Sunday night, my night off. 
He said, "Can you tend bar?" 
I said, "Sure. No problem." 
Well, the electric bill was overdue. 

I learned to tend bar on the job the next Sunday. 
A man came in who looked even more depressed than I did. 
I got talking to him, 
and he told me that everything he touched turned to money. 
I thought: "Gee. How sad." 

He was wealthy, but had family problems that were getting to him. 
I took a shot. 
I said, "You should be in my place. 
My wife and I are about to get our power shut off, and then evicted." 

He said that he could give me the money, 
but it wouldn't make us happy, 
because "Money never does." 
I said, "Don't toy with me. We're desperate!" 
He wrote me out a check for $120, which is like about $700 now. 
The check was on a Key West bank, 
so we worried for several more days, but it cleared. 

I never told the regular bartender about the huge tip. 
Why make a grown man cry? 

I never saw the rich guy again, 
but I heard that he owned a major string of truck stops. 
If I ever do see him again I'll tell him this: 
The money really did make us happy for a while. 

I've never seen a problem that money made worse.

Copyright © March 19, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.





52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

GHOST TOWN.

Somehow we had missed the turnoff to the southern Ohio town.
We went back to where the highway ought to be
and found a narrow old road,
with grass growing up through the cracks in the pavement.
Could this be the main road to town
that I remembered from my childhood?
The sign said it was.

The small city,
after slumbering quietly for generations,
had become a boomtown with the coming of a large chemical company.
For a while the population grew with the influx of labor.

The little corner taverns
where old cronies had once exchanged worldly wisdom
became juke joints
as the town opened up.

Housing became scarce,
money became plentiful,
and the townsfolk began a new habit...
locking their doors.

That was the last time I'd seen the place,
and the only memory I had to go by.
I was surprised at the desolate weeded over road
that had once been a main artery.

We turned off the superhighway
and followed the rustic lane toward the town,
trying to spot familiar landmarks.
There were new shabby buildings,
some vacant and boarded up.

There were new gas stations
looking aged and toothless
with their pumps gone.

I thought I recognized an old building...
a certain curve in the road...
but the clutter made it impossible to get my bearings.

Drifting into town,
I was relieved to see the railroad station
and its surrounding park untouched by time.

I had often told Misty about the good times at Aunt Bess' house,
where I had spent a lot of my childhood.
Now I was about to show her the actual place where it all happened,
but at first I couldn't find it.

It used to be right there on the corner of Fourth and Maple.
Now there was just an ancient rundown Frankenstein house,
hiding in the weeds.
We parked while I stared at it for a long time.

I had somehow forgotten...
They're all gone.
The whole smiling, partying family
had died off one by one since I'd been gone.
I knew it, I'm sure, but I’d blocked it out.

The small grocery store across the street had a new name
but looked the same.
I went in and asked,
but they didn't remember who had lived in that corner house.
They didn't recognize my desperately mentioned names,
and they were busy.

Asking around
we learned that the chemical plant had laid off thousands of workers,
and the government had built a superhighway that bypassed the town,
so it went quietly back to sleep,
somewhat the worse for wear.

We searched the town all day,
and it was sunset before we found anyone we knew.
They were all together, as always.

The squeak of the rusty wrought iron gate
pierced the evening stillness,
as we entered the old cemetery,
and began brushing away weeds and dust,
to peer at names on tombstones...
names that clicked on familiar faces in my mind.

We drove out of town and didn't talk for a while.
Nobody said goodbye.
If this was a ghost town these new people didn't know it.
We were the ghosts.

Copyright © March 17, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



March 18th, 2013...

A MARCH 18th, 2013 HAPPENING.

I was sitting at the table just after midnight last night 
and saw somebody walk by me on my left. 
I turned and nobody was there. 
Misty was in the shower with the door closed. 
When she came out I told her 
and we discussed the possibilities.
Today would be my father's birthday.

Just sharing.

Jack.



In other news of recent vintage...



We're celebrating a little milestone...
Over 200,000 YouTube views on one song.
Actually 200,344 but who's counting. :-) 

Jack Blanchard & Misty Morgan on TV, 
with Ralph Emery and Tanya Tucker, 
performing Tennessee Bird Walk.

It's right here.

Thanks.
    Jack & Misty



March 6th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

OUR FIRST GIG AFTER 9/11/2001.

I wrote this on September 16th, 2001.

"We did several shows today.

"We had been a little apprehensive, 
due to the past week's events. 
We'd wondered if they'd want us to match the present mood of grief. 
We hoped we weren't being irreverent, 
putting on a show at this time. 

"We also wondered what the mood of the audience would be. 
But, we had said we would appear, so we kept our word.
We wore red white and blue.

"I looked around the club 
and noticed familiar faces we hadn't seen for a long time. 
It was almost like a family reunion.
In a sense, it was.

"We turned up the PA and kicked butt from the first note. 
No sense being mousy. 

"We were rewarded with warmth, applause, 
and many requests for our own songs. 
People gathered around the stage between shows to talk to us. 
We told how happy we were to see each other again. 
The active word there is 'happy'.

"Music has a healing effect. 
It felt good to see them smile.
They needed it.
So did we."

Copyright © March 6, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



March 2nd, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

FAREWELL TO AN OLD FRIEND.

Winnie has been through a lot of adventures with us,
over many years... good times and bad
It’s hard to say goodbye.

I don’t know if you get attached to “inanimate objects”, but we do.
After they’ve been with you a long time,
they have personality and feelings.

Winnie was never inanimate until her last few years.
She was always on the go,
scurrying across 48 of our big beautiful states
from one show to the next.

Winnie is short for Winnebago, our home away from home.
We adopted her when she was gloriously new,
with zero miles on her odometer.
But eventually she got old, and when we had her towed away
It was like having your dog put to sleep.

Many famous stars have joined us at Winnie’s kitchen table.
One morning I was in the bathroom when Misty called to me:
“Jack, George and Tammy are here.”

Among the other visitors were Waylon Jennings, Grandpa Jones,
Archie Campbell, Skeeter Davis, Faron Young,
Conway Twitty, and on and on.

Winnie should have been bronzed and put in the Hall of Fame.
There should have at least been a funeral ceremony.
Can bagpipes play country music?

Maybe we’re crazy, but we said some teary goodbyes,
patted her walls affectionately,
and thanked her for the years of fun and comfort.
We left before she was towed away by a wrecker...
probably to a junkyard.
We couldn’t watch.

We still feel sad when we think of her, and even a little guilty.
Winnie was a big part of our life.
She took care of us, and the very least I could do was write this.

Copyright © March 2, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.





52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

March 1st, 2013...

LOST TIME.

High on the mountain curves of The Blue Ridge Parkway
both of our left rear dual wheel tires blew out with a shotgun blast.

Our big motor home lurched and swayed,
and our equipment trailer tried to pull us over the cliff.
A Seven-Up bottle had ripped the tires apart,
and I fought the heaving monster to the shoulder of the two-lane road,
where it shivered and died.
Dead silence.

Misty and I were in shock.
Our traveling companion, Pat Patrick, showed no emotion.
As usual.

We couldn’t raise any help on our CB radio,
and nobody had cell phones then.

It was early gray winter
and the bare trees were black lace against the sky.
We were stranded in a Currier and Ives Christmas card.
Pat said calmly: “I can fix it.”

I thought I deserved a good panic first
but he left the bus and got the tools from the trunk.
We followed, still in a daze.

He assessed the situation,
examined the guilty pop bottle as evidence,
and then he slid under the crippled dinosaur.
Misty said, “You really shouldn’t be under there.”
Pat said, “Hand me the jack, please.”

The jack looked small and wobbly, as Pat pumped it up.
There was a little glaze of ice on the asphalt.

The jack slipped and the big rig dropped to within a half inch of his face.
He didn’t blink or utter a sound.
He scraped off a patch of ice and tried again.

When we were moving down the road a few minutes later,
I looked over at him and said, “Thanks, Pat!”
From the co-pilot seat he looked ahead through the windshield and said,
“No problem.”

Pat Patrick and I were friends for a while,
but, being me, I wanted to be friends for life.
Being Pat, he was basically a loner.

He was a former Green Beret
and an intellectual with strong opinions.

I made him laugh a lot with my smart alec comments,
and I liked that he got the jokes,
but we also got into philosophical debates,
followed by quiet spells,
while each of us thought the other just didn’t get it.

I’m never nervous on stage,
but I’m always a mess just before going on.
Pat and I would play chess right up to the minute they called me.
He always won, but it stopped my pre-stage fright.

We were sort of a three-piece family...Misty, Pat, and me,
and like a family we occasionally did something that hurt or annoyed another.
Misty lets you know loud and clear when you’re out of line,
my style is to sting back with quiet words,
but Pat never reacted at all.

All these years later I realize he was letting it build up inside.
When the negativity reached a certain level
he just faded out of our life.

He was the guy who carried our heavy sound equipment,
scared reluctant show promoters into handing over our money,
and shared adventures with us all over America,
but we never knew where he lived.

He didn’t believe in having a telephone because they were “an invasion of privacy”.
He used pay phones.

I missed having Pat around and tried to find him for a long time.
I finally heard that he owned a little antique store called “The Rusty Duck”.

I went to see him and at first we didn’t recognize each other.
I looked pretty much the same, but Pat had had a stroke.
He was shaky and white haired.

We traded cordial small talk for a few minutes,
and held back decades of words.

Recently I heard that Pat Patrick had died.
I keep thinking about the years of friendship we lost
and wondering why.

Copyright © March 1, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



February 19th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

LAST EARTHLY GIFT TO OUR MOTHER.

As I write this it's my mother's birthday.
My sister Val, a Central Florida artist and writer,
published this revealing tribute,
so today for the first time I have a guest columnist. 

"MY LAST EARTHLY GIFT TO MY MOM."
By Valerie X Armstrong



For anyone who doesn't know my family well this might seem like a strange tale...
For those who do know us, it's just another "business as usual" story.  We are a
family of artists, writers, and musicians, sprinkled with a little Addams family vibe
and an appreciation of subtle humor.  One thing is for sure...We love and respect
one another deeply and always try to do the very best to make each other's lives
as pleasant as possible. 

We share some of the same traits or idiosyncrasies, nothing terribly weird, just,
we like to sit in the aisle seat at theaters, preferably the back row.  We like to be
alone at times to reflect on the beauty of nature and embrace the calm. 
We love holidays and always make a big deal of them and we don't disbelieve
in the hereafter and the presence of our departed loved ones still being close
to us as we go about our daily lives.

My mom was a flower child before the time when they were popular.  She was gentle,
highly intelligent, creative, talented,loving,and cool. A modern day wood nymph.

She left this earthly plane on August 5, 1981.  I wanted to have her buried in a setting
befitting her personality.  The problem was, at the time, I was short of funds...I picked out
a very nice cemetery near where we lived so I could visit often.  There were some lovely
available spots but they were out of my price range.  I had to settle for a spot that I could
afford, which I knew my mother would have hated, but I had no choice at the time. 

I felt so guilty leaving her there, crowded among strangers, in the middle of the
shadeless park, when I knew how much she disliked being in the sun.  She was a redhead
and avoided the sun at all costs.  I promised her that day, that I would do what ever I could
to get her some shade. 

Several years later when my finances had improved, I decided to have mom moved to
one of those beautiful spots I couldn't afford before.  It was right next to a little woodsy park
like area..It was the aisle seat with trees and shade and no one else between her and
the lovely lush natural woodsy area, so her spirit could cavort with the sprites on a moonlit night.

On Halloween day 1987, a small group of family members gathered at the cemetery
with a few seasonal refreshments, and witnessed the moving of my mother from the one spot
I knew she would have hated to another that I knew she would have loved.  We gave thanks
for being able to do one last thing for mom that we felt she would have thought was the coolest
thing ever.  We cried and reminisced about the wonderful former Halloweens we had all spent
together and we talked about this day being one we would never forget, and then we smiled.

Valerie X Armstrong

Thanks, Val, for this wonderful tribute to our mother, 
and the brilliant sketch of our unusual family. 

Jack Blanchard

Copyright © February 19, 2013 by Valerie X Armstrong. All rights reserved.



February 13th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

MISTY'S REVENGE.

I was shocked when Misty told me what she had done,
I said, "You're KIDDING!"
She wasn't.

Here's how it started:
The couple we liked moved to Oregon,
and a real idiot took their place in the house next door.

We tried to be friendly,
but when we'd look at this guy or his wife, they'd look away,
avoiding eye contact.

They ignored our presence but they seemed to know who we were.
I know that because when he took his big German Shepherd out,
we heard him tell the dog: "Go over in Misty's yard and do it".

I'm pretty sure he suspected that we'd called the cops
when he was beating his wife. We had.
He was a sweetheart.

He had two cars and a two-car garage.
He needed two cars because he'd wreck one every weekend.
The other was a spare.

Once, when he came home drunk
he ran into the center post between the garage stalls
and knocked it down.
For an encore he came home stewed and smashed into his spare car.

Meanwhile,
our property was filling up with German Shepherd doo-doo.
A cruel friend said this to me: "It's good luck to step in it."
Somehow I didn't feel lucky.

Misty apparently had had enough of this guy.
She took a trowel out to the yard, picked up each pile, one by one,
and carefully threw them at the side of the jerk's house.
She took particular aim at the screened windows.
This time HE called the law.

The policeman came to our door and asked us if we had done the dirty deed.
Instead of denying it,
Misty said: "I was just returning his own property."
I cringed. She was proud of it.

The cop said, "That's against the law." and tried not to smile.
Nobody went to jail.
In a way we won and in a way we didn't.
The moron never cleaned the side of his house,
and, of course, it was the side facing us.

Copyright © February 13, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



February 6th, 2013...

Another new book with a nice section about us. 



Check it out here: 
http://tinyurl.com/b2kcbqp



February 2nd, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

VIET NAM VET KIDNAPPED.

Our friend Mike Miller was kidnapped last week.

Mike is a Viet Nam vet who saw the worst that war had to offer.
Two or three years ago he got cancer, diabetes,
and other deadly effects of Agent Orange,
which had hidden out in his liver for decades.
He had had a number of major surgeries and came through them,
over a hundred pounds thinner,
but still with his musical ability and sense of humor.

We drive to the Jacksonville area to visit Mike and his wife Wanda,
and we talk and laugh often on the phone.
Mike is as sane as you and me. He's probably saner than I am.
He has to take a lot of medication for his physical health and his PTSD.
Occasionally the medication needs to be adjusted if he's not feeling well.

He went to the emergency room in a Florida hospital last week
to see about getting his prescriptions adjusted.
It was a different place from the one where he usually goes.
They put him to sleep with something and he woke up in a mental facility.
They had Baker Acted him with no explanation, and kept him for a week.
His wife had no idea where he was.
Nobody did.

The place was filthy, the staff were terrible,
and there were mentally ill patients there
along with perfectly sane ones who had also been shanghaied.

One man said he was terribly sick
and the nurse fluffed him off with a glass of water,
which he immediately threw up.
Mike told them "This man is really sick! Call 911 or you'll be in trouble!"
The medics from the ambulance said the guy was seriously dehydrated
and they hurried him away.

The place was dirty, violent, cruel, and the food was inedible.
They get $550 a day for each patient they capture and keep.

Mike has consulted his regular doctors since, 
and they say he is not mentally unstable in any way, 
and that he has been victimized.

They even threatened Mike with loss of benefits.
He has learned since that they have no authority to do that,
or to threaten him.
He has written to a lot of important people
in associated government positions, and he wrote this:
"If my phone doesn't ring soon I'm going to the press with this."

Mike is our friend, so I'm making as much noise as I can.
We want people to know what's going on.

Copyright © February 2, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 31st, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

ALFALFA. (A special edition)

I started working for gangsters when I was about 18. 
They liked me because I looked innocent, 
and that makes for a good front man.

I was just reading about Carl Switzer, the actor who played Alfalfa 
in The Our Gang Comedies of the 1930s. 
I met him in Miami shortly before he was shot to death over money. 

I was managing two clubs for The Mob, 
both clubs in the same building. 
The club owner was a notorious money lender and killer. 
I got talking to a guy at the bar. He said, "I was the original Alfalfa." 
He wore a suit, looked about 30, and seemed very edgy. 

This was 1958, and I was surprised to read that he was killed 
in January, 1959.

Copyright © January 31, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 29th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

JUST ANOTHER COLUMN TO CHEER YOU UP.

My first studio session in the late 1950s there was no mix. 
Just mike placement. 
This was recorded mono to acetate disc. No tape. 
If you didn't like the take you threw the disc in the trash 
and started over with new discs until it was right.

A fan said "You two are better than ever, What's your secret?"
I said "We have always been motivated by bill collectors."

We've performed in stadium shows where I wished I had lip synced. 
It was like singing into a bucket of live bait.

I just asked Misty what we're having for dinner. 
She said "Spaghetti and moth balls."

SIGNS IN A BAR...
"The piano player will become temporary manager 
in case all other employees are dead."
and...
"For your safety: Please don't feed the band."

OMG! There's a program on with girls screaming for Justin Bieber 
and I can't find the remote!

"I wish I was an Oscar Meyer wiener."
Do you remember that little Freudian commercial?

The airlines never say "crashed".
They say, "The aircraft descended to an altitude below that of the runway."

Misty brought home Chicken Tidbits. 
I didn't know chickens had tidbits.

When startled, armadillos have a habit of jumping three feet straight up.
My Aunt Bess had that same habit.

SIGN: "Trespassers will be violated."

I actually had a drink with Richard Nixon.
and I had dinner with Joe DiMaggio.
Did they ever call or write? No.
I feel so used!

I was playing football in the street with other kids. 
When cars came by we'd stand back by the curbs. 
I didn't stand back enough 
and this huge vehicle stopped right on top of my foot. 
The driver got out to see if I was hurt, 
and all I could do was keep pointing at the wheel on my foot, 
like Lassie trying to tell that Jimmy fell in the well.
Or was it Timmy? I don't think that matters to a dog.

Now they're talking about regulating our caffeine intake. 
Soon we'll never have to make a decision for ourselves. 
I wonder when they'll start regulating my underwear? 
I wish somebody would.

In Groucho Marx's last days, 
his friend George Fenneman, who was also old and not very strong,
was helping Groucho from his wheelchair to his bed. 
As they were struggling, Groucho said, 
"Fenneman, you always were a lousy dancer."

About 30 years ago the TV showed a "Please Stand By" message.
That's what I've been doing ever since.

"No matter what happens, 
somebody will find a way to take it too seriously." 
Will Campbell

I was a country singer for the FBI.

Copyright © January 29, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 22nd, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

BEFORE AND AFTER.

Time flies when you're having life.
We've had a lot of good times, 
but I seem to remember the bad ones more clearly. 
It seems to go more slowly when we're younger. 
Now I get up, watch a couple of reruns, and the day is over. 

Misty remembers every detail of every experience we've ever had. 
How does she do that? It's weird.
When she tells me about some of our adventures, 
it's like a bedtime story... fictional.. 
Luckily, a lot of our life is recorded in photographs and in our music. 
It still kinda seems like somebody else. 

Here's a Before & After picture:



I can't help staring at the young me in pictures with some kind of morbid curiosity, 
I'm comparing him to the the present me. 
The older me wins a few games, but not the series. 

I must admit I sort of envy that young guy. 
I know he's in for a lot of hard knocks, bizarre adventures, and some tragedy, 
but he has plenty of time on his side.

I've been inches from violent death more than once,
in desperate situations that seemed to have no way out,
and yet somehow I survived.
I met Misty only by the wildest string of coincidences,
and she has given me me hope and direction.
I'm beginning to think that I was meant to come this far 
down this improbable path.

I was in the ER a couple of years ago,
and the nurse asked me if I wanted "heroic measures" to keep me alive.
I said "You betcha. NOBODY pulls the plug on me. I got things to do."

Anyway...
you spend a bunch of decades learning stuff, 
and when you just about get it all right...time's up. 
That's not good planning. I object to this system. 
Who do you complain to? 
Is there an 800 number?

Copyright © January 22, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 21st, 2013...


Another new song by Jack Blanchard & Michael Warner.
Demo by Michael Warner.



Click here to listen...
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12119550

We're having fun
writing five songs long distance in just a few weeks.
Michael's in Australia and we're in Florida.
Hope you get a smile out of this one.

Jack & Misty (and Michael).



January 11th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

I'D RATHER EAT GLASS.

I'm never tense during a live stage show.
I'm ALWAYS a wreck on TV shows.
What makes the difference is this: Control.

At a stage performance we can instruct the sound guys,
get the equipment set up just right,
and have the lighting the way we want it.
And, most importantly, it's OUR show.
We can read the audience and set the pace accordingly.
We're in control.

On a TV show,
we have to stand on a tape mark that somebody else put there,
and usually I can't hear myself sing
because the monitors are set for the normal human voice.
I don't own a normal human voice.
For one thing, I sing lead in the bass range,
which most TV engineers don't seem to understand.

It's somebody else's show.
Some directors like you to play to the cameras, and some don't.
They never tell you which.
In a show we did with Ralph Emery on TNN,
I was standing on my mark,
singing by the seat of my pants because I couldn't hear myself.
When a camera red light would go on, I'd play to that one,
and the director would immediately switch to another camera.
I played eye tag with the cameras through most of the song,
and never won a round.

Misty is calm on TV.
Her voice can cut through a brass band.
She doesn't care about the sound monitors,
because she can just sing louder.
I have often wanted to hide behind her.
She doesn't concern herself with finding her tape mark on the floor,
but usually gets to it okay,
while I'm like Sherlock Holmes looking for a clue.

To me, the worst was a show we did with Jackie Gleason,
Mike Douglas, and Frank Fontaine,
live from the Miami Beach Auditorium.
We had to show up for rehearsal at about noon.
We had special orchestra charts written for the occasion,
and we'd never heard them before.
While we were rehearsing,
Jackie Gleason and Mike Douglas were sitting in the fifth row,
watching us.
My tension started to build.

Then there was a four or five hour wait until the show started.
Plenty of time to relax, right? Wrong!
Plenty of time to get my panic into high gear!

We were backstage talking to Gleason when he was introduced with a fanfare.
He was so cool!
He went and stood just behind the curtain and seemed to count to a hundred
while the applause gained momentum, then he walked briskly onstage.
He didn't want to step on his applause, and he didn't want it to die down.
His perfect timing told him the exact second to make his appearance.
I was impressed.

Jackie Gleason wasn't anything like Ralph Kramden.
He was intelligent and dignified,
wearing a dark blue suit with a flower in the lapel.

When Misty and I were introduced,
we walked briskly out from behind the curtain,
and she walked right past our mark to a wrong one 
about eight feet farther front.
My panic gong rang. She didn't even notice.
The directors, producers, and camera people had to move fast to find her.
I had no choice but follow her to my doom.
I looked like some dumb rabbit caught in the headlights.

When I go into a REAL panic my voice goes up into Dolly Parton's range.
I have never sung worse, or looked stupider.
Misty and the orchestra sounded great.
The directors and camera crew looked at us with venom,
but I was the only one who noticed.
Misty still thinks the show went nicely, so I'm alone in my grief.

After we did our fiasco,
Jackie and Mike led the applause, and we sat down to talk.
This part was where I hope I redeemed myself
by debating spiritualism with Jackie Gleason for twelve minutes.
I let him win.

We have a videotape of it somewhere around here,
but I've just never felt up to looking for it.
I hate watching myself on TV.

I'd rather eat glass than go through it again.

Copyright © January 11, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 10th, 2013...

Announcing a new song by Jack Blanchard & Michael Warner...



Click this link to listen:
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12099270



January 8th, 2013...



52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

WRITING SERIOUS LYRICS.

I can't tell a songwriter how to write,
but I can describe some of my methods that others may find helpful.

On a serious lyric I try to avoid cleverness.
It sucks the sincerity right out of it.

First I stare out the window a while 
and mentally put myself in a place and situation,
and see where it goes from there.
In my case, most of them are places and situations I've been in.
I set the scene with a few details I call "furniture",
to get the feel of it, then the story develops from that.
I have some examples.

"Dandelions that grow along the highway,
Silver gray they blow away like foam.
Trucks roll by and make the blackbirds fly away.
Seems like there ain't no goin' home."

I was broke and hitchhiking in the rain outside Phenix City, Alabama.
I had a hangover, a new sore tattoo, and no home to go to.
Until then I'd thought I was the happy wanderer.
I was hitching vaguely northward
because I had remnants of a family somewhere up there.

"Spent what I had left in Phenix City.
Nothin' in my pocket but my comb.
The way I look this morning ain't so pretty.
It seems like there ain't no goin' home.
Oh, it seems like there ain't no goin' home."

I had walked away from a couple of relationships,
thinking there would always be another waiting in the wings.
I found you can't depend on that.
These were not perfect relationships,
but on that journey I could have used a partner.

"Over on the hill I see a farmer,
Workin' in his field behind a mule.
There'll be smoke from the chimney of his cabin,
In the evening when the air is turning cool;
And a woman cookin' supper in the kitchen.
That's not for me, you see my freedom's all I own.
Here and there I get my share of lovin',
But it seems like there ain't no goin' home.
Yeah, it seems like there ain't no goin' home."

After a lot of rides to nowhere that left me stranded in desolate places,
I wound up in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania with the flu.
It was cold and all I had for warmth was a fold up plastic raincoat.
The town was having a centennial,
and a bunch of good-natured men, including a sheriff,
wanted to arrest me for not having a beard,
as I was sitting shaking in the Greyhound station.

I had somehow come up with bus fare to Buffalo,
where relatives agreed to take me in,
but the bus driver didn't want to let me on the bus
because of my shaking, and the awful way I looked,
and the wrinkled plastic I was clutching around myself.

But it must have turned out all right because I'm still here,
and I got a song out of it.

You can hear the song here:
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=8081265

(This song is also our current release on WHP Comp. #141.)

Copyright © January 8, 2013 by Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.



January 4th, 2013...

A few years back, Jack wrote a few lyrics that remained just that... lyrics. Until last year.

Enter Michael Warner.

I know very little about Michael (save that he's from somewhere in Victoria, Australia)...
and he plays the guitar. And sings. And also composes. And he's taken three of Jack's
lyrics and set them to music.

And now, the results are here.

And at least one of them is on the new WHP compilation!

Here's the one that started it all... "THE GOODBYE SONG", now on WHP Records
compilation #141.

Click on the picture for the YouTube video.

For slower connections listen to the audio here:
http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12057503  

WHP DOWNLOADS FOR RADIO HERE:
http://www.airplaydirect.com/music/whpvol141/



THE GOODBYE SONG

When I'm gone you'll find that I won't be here anymore.
When I go I'll say goodbye and walk out through the door.
Then you'll see it won't be me that's with you as before.
When I'm gone you'll find that I won't be here anymore.

(SECOND VERSE)
When I'm gone if you're alone you'll know that I'm not here.
When I go if I’m far away you'll know I won't be near.
Then you'll see it won't be me that's with you as before.
When I'm gone you'll find that I won't be here anymore.

(CHORUS)
Goodbye - Goodbye - I think you ought to know...
It doesn't mean I'm going to stay,
It means I'm going to go.
Goodbye - Goodbye - The sun comes up at dawn.
You'll find I won't be here no more,
Honey, when I'm gone."

Lyrics © Jack Blanchard 2001, 2012. Music by Michael Warner ©2012.
Published by Jack Blanchard Songs (BMI). All rights reserved.
Lyrics reprinted by permission.


And here's links to a couple more Blanchard/Warner collaborations...



http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12074403



http://soundclick.com/share.cfm?id=12076075


Enjoy.
YFNW™, Jerry



January 3rd, 2013...

Patti Page passed away at age 85. In the obituary they mentioned "Tennessee Waltz"
and other of her hits, but nothing about her great recording of "Old Cape Cod".
So now I've mentioned it and I feel a little better. She was about to get a Lifetime
Achievement Grammy award. Well deserved, but a little late. - Jack.





52,000 intelligent, good-looking readers.

THE MYSTERIOUS PHONE CALL.

My sister Virginia passed away Easter weekend, 2002,
after a prolonged stay in hospitals and nursing homes.
Much of her suffering during the last few years
was due to horrible healthcare workers, arrogant doctors,
and the wrong medications they prescribed.

Ginny deserved better.
She was in poor health and nearly blind most of her life,
and was the closest thing to a saint I've ever encountered.
She was cheerful and funny even after all her suffering,
and never hurt anyone in her life.

One night in 2005, at 11PM, I got a phone call from Ginny.

The call came in on our private line,
known only to friends and relatives,
and the Caller ID said "BLOCKED NUMBER".
I never pick up on blocked calls, but this time I did.
It was, after all, our private number,
and I thought maybe somebody close to us might be in trouble.

It was Virginia.
I know that voice, probably better than my own.
I was covered with chills and goose pimples from head to foot,
and had to hang on to something to keep from falling.

At first the voice was soft and distant, and I said "Hello?"
Her tone sounded desperate and pleading.
Then I recognized words: "I can't find my ball."

"Who is this?” I asked.
"I've lost my ball", she said a little more emphatically.

"What ball did you lose?” I asked.
I already knew who it was,
and I didn't understand any of this weirdness,
but my reaction was to try and help my kid sister.
The voice on the line started to fade away,
still pleading for help I couldn’t give.

I called our sister Valerie and told her about the call.
We both got chills.

Then Val told me that Ginny had had trouble with one of her hands.
I think it was caused by a stroke.
She was given a ball to squeeze for therapy,
and occasionally the ball would get lost among the bed covers.
Val would enter the hospital room and ask Ginny how she was,
and the reply sometimes was "I've lost my ball".

We're trying to figure it all out,
and have found no easy answers.

Here's one remotely possible conclusion.
We had a lot of trouble with hospital staff,
and threatened to sue them more than once.
We may have gotten an employee fired, and angry at us.

This is pretty far-fetched, but barely possible.
A disgruntled employee could have recorded Ginny's voice,
and is trying to scare us for revenge.
But why would he or she wait three years?
The hospital did have our private phone number.

Today Valerie received a call
from a rest home in Minneola, a nearby town.
She found the number on her Caller ID this morning.
They had left no message.
Could a worker who is holding a grudge be working there?

The easiest explanation is that it was a call from a ghost.
What doesn't seem to fit is this...
Our sister Virginia would be in a better place,
and not still suffering after death.

If I get another blocked number call on our private line,
I am going to pick it up.

Copyright © 2005, 2013 Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by kind permission of the author.




January 1st, 2013...



Last year's New Year's Eve party in our trailer...

On behalf of Jack and Misty, we wish you all a very happy New Year!
Jerry, your friendly neighborhood webmeister.


Oh, one more thing...
As is our custom around here, all the 2012 news will now be found on
our 2012 Old News page. 



Oh, one thing more...



A great big hurkin' round of applause and howdy to our new guestbook hosts,
123Guestbook.com!

(See? Told ya we'd find a replacement!)





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