The Front Porch Boys Days

I moved to Texas in the mid summer of 1976 after having failed to become a doctor or lawyer, scholar, or even a college sophomore much to my parent’s chagrin. My freshman year at Illinois State University just served to underscore how completely lost to music (and alcohol) I had become. Having come from a family of advanced degrees, artists, authors, professors, I became a… bluegrass banjo player. This affliction first struck me watching the Andy Griffith Show somewhere around 1964. The bluegrass band The Dillards portrayed the hillbilly family “the Darlings” (headed by the great character actor Denver Pyle) on this show after the success of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs on the competing show The Beverly Hillbillies. I don’t remember anything about the episode I saw other than that they played the song “Salty Dog Blues” in the jailhouse and their banjo player Douglas Dillard lay sprawled against a chair looking like he was about to fall asleep playing the banjo breaks to the song. It was an earth moving moment for me. 45 years later I can still get goose bumps watching this episode. I owned a banjo within about 48 hours.

A bluegrass banjo player in Northern Illinois in the late 60s had very little to occupy his time. I spent mine mostly dodging the scornful stares of my parents, working day jobs that ran from sporting goods sales to canning factories. My oldest sister moved to Texas with her first husband, and after a couple of visits during which I was able to find a little bluegrass, I moved to. My brother, who had taken a teaching spot at Texas A&M convinced me to have another go at college, and so I settled in College Station, living in a trailer with someone who drank almost as much beer as I did. One day my roommate asked me if I wanted to go hear some live music. We went to a pizza place where noisy A&M cadets and their dates ate pizza while a pale, long faced kid sang and played guitar for tips. I was immediately struck by the fact that this curly haired kid a few years younger than me had absolutely the smoothest voice I’d ever heard. My roommate introduced to the young photojournalism major and aspiring songwriter. His name was Lyle Lovett.

Within a few days I had worked music connections through Lyle to meet with a few other musicians that actually played bluegrass and lived on Church Street in an old house two blocks behind the bar strip near campus. Lyle lived nearby on Old Main, but spent much of his time there. I found the boys were actually a band, “The Front Porch Boys” and although students, were pretty accomplished musicians. The leader, himself an aspiring songwriter asked me if I’d like to join. This kid would later become one of the best of a good lot of Texas singer songwriters, co writing songs with Lyle. His name was Robert Keen, although he goes mostly by Robert Earl Keen today.



We lived, ate, and breathed bluegrass music. It was not at all unusual for us to play 10 or 12 hours a day. Any time two people weren’t at class, the instruments would get picked up. Although this band only lasted about a year and a half, I still see it as the most significant years of my life.

I met and married my first wife who owned a club that we played in, had two kids, divorced, moved to Arlington, got sober, met and married my second wife, had two kids and divorced about 6 years ago. I worked during my child raising years as a technical writer and web developer, but now do music full time. Bryan Duckworth, one of the FP Boys, is my closest friend still, and runs a violin shop in New Braunfels. Lyle won an Emmy, acted in some Robert Altman films, met and married Julia Roberts, and built a rock solid career as a musician. Robert continues to shine as a singer/songwriter.
I see Duckworth about 5 times a year if lucky, but have lost touch with Lyle and Robert. Wives, careers, my own sobriety gained around 1988, intruded on old relationships.

Robert’s parents had a ranch on a fresh water bass creek near LaGrange, Texas. We spent summer weekends there. Duckworth even lived there for a while. We spent as much time fishing as we did making music, but nights would be filled with bonfires, friends, songs. Years later, married to my first wife, long after the Front Porch Days, long after the crystal swimming fishing water August days on Cummins Creek, long after friends parted, listening to a recording of the Country Gentlemen sing the song “Letter To Tom” could take me there, choke me up, and get me to stare out a window.

“I've wandered by the village, Tom. I've sat beneath the tree
Upon the school house playing ground, that sheltered you and me
But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know
That played with us upon the green just fifteen years ago

The river's running just as still. The willows on its side
Are larger that they were, dear Tom. The stream appears less wide
But kneeling down beside the stream, Dear Tom, I startled so
To see how sadly I am changed, since fifteen years ago

But when our time shall come, dear Tom
And we are called to go
I hope they'll lay us where we played
Just fifteen years ago”


This post isn’t very well written. It reads kind of stiff. I think I’m unwilling to spend too much time thinking about it. Just write it, post it, and it’s done. Sorry. It’s an account of things, and nothing more. I’m sure I’ll write about elements of this in the future, but for now, just this terse piece that reads more like an obit than a memoir.

Later.