Falling in love with Joan Baez

It was 1959, and I was about to graduate from the University of Arkansas. That Saturday morning in early October had started like most of my college Saturday mornings. I slept in and at about 9 a.m. when I turned on my radio, I heard the disk jockey rattle, “We’ve got a hot new record for you today from Joan Baez.”

I knew of Joan Baez; she was in my top three along with the Kingston Trio and the Limelighters. She has that unique voice which carries a pure sound that mesmerizes when listening to her sing.

“Here is Joan singing what sounds like a sure hit,” The disk jockey said.

I can’t remember the song, but it was an immediate hit with me, and I kept the radio playing for most of the day. If you wanted to hear a song or a singer again in those days, just stay tuned, and if it was popular, the station would play it again.

When I was in lower Arkansas the week before, I asked Vertis, who I was dating at the time, if she had heard the new song from the Kingston Trio, “Tom Dooley,” as in “Hang down your head Tom Dooley, hang down you head and cry … poor boy you’re bound to die.”

She hadn’t, so we pulled into the parking lot in front of the Rialto Theater and I tuned the radio to KELD. We probably sat there for not much more than 10 minutes when “Tom Dooley” played again, and I smiled as if to say, “Big-deal college boy is with it.” She nodded and said, “Yeah; let’s go to the Dairyette and get a Coke.”

Vertis was more of an Elvis fan. After we married and moved to south Texas, we and our friends Marilyn and George drove to Houston to take in an Elvis show at the Astrodome. It was OK, but at the end when Elvis, standing in a golf cart, made a slow circle of the arena next to the seating, Vertis and Marilyn ran down the aisle to the rail separating the audience from the arena, along with about 1,000 other squealing women. George and I didn’t move, of course.

But back to that Joan Baez day in Fayetteville. The Hogs were playing TCU in Razorback Stadium that afternoon and I had my student ticket. Rain was predicted. I figured I might get wet, but it never crossed my mind not to go. I had been a Hog fan as long as I could remember.

It had only been a few years back when I was in high school, and on a Saturday afternoon, I very clearly recalled when a late-in-the-game touchdown pass against a powerhouse Ole Miss team gave the Hogs a 6-0 win. This 1959 team seemed to be nearly ready to win some big games, but TCU was a heavy favorite. I didn’t get a raincoat and umbrella out because I didn’t have either, and at that point in my life, they didn’t seem necessary.

I kept listening to the radio, and it kept playing Joan’s new album. After hearing one more of her songs, I headed for the stadium. It had started to sprinkle, and I could tell from the lines going into the stadium that some of the fair-weather fans were going to listen to the game on the radio instead of sitting in the rain. Not me.

As the game started, the rain picked up. A wet ball and a gritty Arkansas defense along with a grind-it-out offense made for a low-scoring game. On the pooch kick, the ball was centered directly to Arkansas’ tailback, who on third down, instead of plowing up the middle for a two-yard gain, punted.

As the opposing linebackers got ready to tackle a bull of a tailback by the name of Bobby Burnett, it must have been a shock to see the ball sailing over their heads, and I would imagine the crowd was also in shock. But rain, the pooch kick, and Arkansas’ defense and lack of an offense held the score down.

It was 0-0 at the half, and a lot of the crowd, already a little sparse, headed for the house. The student section mostly evaporated, with some leaving and the rest of us going down to sit in the empty 50-yard-line seats.

It was still 0-0 at the start of the fourth quarter and the rain had become harder. Most of the few fans remaining figured it was going to end scoreless. I know I did. Then Mississippi fumbled at the end of the field, somewhere around the 30-yard line, I think.

It seemed if things went like they had, Arkansas would either fumble or bang into the middle of the line and turn the ball over to Ole Miss. However, a surprise; Arkansas made a first down!

Our hopes were dashed when three more runs up the middle yielded only five yards, and the field goal unit trotted onto the field. I remember sitting there with it raining cats and dogs, thinking that with wet, soggy football, there weren’t two Arkansas fans left in the stadium who would take a bet that the field goal would be good.

The ball was snapped and the sparse crowd groaned. It looked low, short and off-center. There was a pause, then the two officials at the goal line both signaled “good.” We yelled, but when you are that miserable it was more like a groan with a scream. The score was 3-0, and much to everyone’s surprise, it ended that way.

You don’t remember 49-0 games. It’s the nail-biters that flash through your mind.

I remember several more, including being in Austin in the early 1960s and standing up as time ran out on Texas. “That’s three in a row!” I yelled.

And going to College Station to play the Aggies, and being impressed as the Corps marched in, when they embittered me forever. Those worthless Aggies started booing as the Arkansas band played the school anthem. It drowned out the Arkansas band. We whipped their sorry asses, which made me feel better.

But not all my flash memories are positive. I remember being in Austin, late in the fourth quarter with Arkansas ahead 7-3, with four minutes left, when Texas slowly marched 80 yards down the field to score and win 10-7.

What really made it worse was an earlier Arkansas drive that failed on the Texas one-yard line. We went with Texas friends to an after-the-game party, and and one of them stopped by our table and said to me. “My gosh; you look so glum. You’d think we’d lost.”’