A timeless (and previously unpublished) encounter with country music's coolest rebel--the redheaded stranger we know and love as Willie Nelson.--Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages
It's long past midnight at the Illinois State Fairground in Springfield. Heavy rain slants down, dousing the day's tangled aromas of corn dog, funnel cake and horse dung. Everything's shut down.
Except for Willie Nelson, that is. He's still out there between the harness-racing track and the band buses where fifty damp, patient souls waiting in line to meet him. He shakes hands, listens, puts an arm round them to pose for pictures, maybe winks and says, "See you on down the road". He's wearing a sleeveless T-shirt. Eventually, someone thinks to hold an umbrella over him. He is 68, after all.
Each brief encounter--and Nelson does this after each of his 150 shows a year--has an intimacy deserving respect. I stand back, but I wonder what they say to that Mount Rushmore face, those shaman eyes.
Read More »from The Rock’s Backpages Flashback: Willie Nelson Hits Springfield
