JOHNNY CASH
EXCLUSIVE THE MAN IN BLACK’S DAUGHTER SINGS HIS PRAISES
In the last five years of his life, I spent a lot of time with my dad in Tennessee. During that time, he’d wake up and turn on CNN to watch the news as he had his coffee. After a while he’d say, “Let’s go outside and shake this off.” When we’d get out there, he’d just throw his head back to soak in all of the sunshine.
I remember the first time he did that he hollered “Thank you!” and I asked him, “Who are you thanking?” He said, “That bird that was singing to us. You didn’t even notice it, did you?” When I told him that I hadn’t because I’d been looking around, he explained, “That’s why you need to close your eyes.” From then on, we’d go out in the morning, close our eyes, throw our heads back and just listen. I always thought it was so sweet for him to thank the birds for singing, and I cherish that memory.
FAMILY MAN
My father was actually a really sensitive guy, and I think that late in his life [before he died at age 71 in 2003], he was proud of the dad he became. My sisters Rosanne, 63, Cindy, 58, Tara, 56, and I all ended up getting much closer to him in his later years when he quit the road. After all, he had a 50-year career, which is pretty amazing! And his music is timeless. He did love songs, he did songs about life — and I think his music is an important body of work and important part of history.
When we were little, though, he was gone a lot and he and my mother [Johnny’s first wife, Vivian Liberto, whom he divorced in 1968] were having a lot of trouble. But he was always a really good dad, even after we moved with our mom to Ventura, California. He’d pick us up when he traveled to LA, and we’d have a great time. When we’d visit him in the summers, he’d spend every waking moment with us. We spent every day with him on his boat all summer long. And I mean, all summer!
He lived on a lake, so he taught us girls not only to water-ski, but to fish, as fishing was a big part of his life. Part of the deal was that we always had to hook our own worms and take our own fish off the hook. He’d say, “If you’re going to fish, you need to do it right! What if you want to come out here one day and I’m not out here with you?” But as I said, he was a sensitive guy so even though he made us hook our own bait, he always made us apologize to the worm beforehand! And we didn’t ever have to clean the fish we caught. He liked doing that, so that was a blessing.
In the ’70s, he’d rent entire theaters out for us to see movies with him. He was at the top of his game then, and we couldn’t go anywhere if he didn’t rent the whole place out. I remember he once wanted to take Rosanne and I on a two-week trip to
Europe during the school year, so we talked to our teachers. (They allowed it, as long as we did a report.)
I believe his greatest regret was his divorce from my mom because I think he knew it was mostly because of his bad choices. He held a lot of guilt about it and he talked about it quite a bit. Another regret was not joining his older brother Jack [in 1944] when Jack asked him to go to the wood shop with him. [Jack, 15, suffered a horrible injury that day and died a week or so later.] Dad always felt he could have kept Jack from getting hurt if he’d been there.
But one of the greatest lessons he ever taught me was the power of forgiveness. He had this really unbelievable way of just forgiving. If he was mad, he’d come to you and say, “You and I need to talk.” After, he’d just say, “OK, that’s never going to be mentioned again.” And we wouldn’t, which I always thought was quite an accomplishment.
HIS PRIDE & JOY
As for his greatest accomplishment, he would say being married to my stepmom, June Carter Cash, for 40 years and having five kids. [Johnny and June had son John Carter, 48, in 1970.] I know he was really proud of that. And he was great with all his grandchildren. He fawned all over them and loved to kiss their little faces. He loved to have them in his lap, sing to them and make them laugh.
He was actually the funniest person I ever met, which a lot of people don’t know because he always played the straight guy to June! But he had a quick wit and if you were around him, you were laughing a lot. He was definitely happiest after he retired because he could spend a lot more time with his family.
I know he loved the road and he never got sick of it. He just got too sick to perform. He almost fell on stage one night and it scared him. His eyesight had gotten really bad and a lot of people weren’t aware he was blind the last three or four years of his life. He was way too vulnerable to tour anymore.
His music is going to be here forever, though, and he also leaves a legacy of always speaking up against things he felt was unfair. That’s what he taught us to do, and that was a huge part of who he was. He testified before Congress about prison reform in 1972, for example, and I think if he were here right now he’d be speaking out about things so I try to do it for him. It’s kind of up to us kids to do that.
I miss him. I miss being able to go to him when I’ve got something on my mind and need help figuring it out. I miss me and my siblings being able to share our kids with their grandfather. I miss just talking with my dad, having coffee and watching the news together. And having him remind me to thank the birds for singing. I miss it all.
— As told to Katie Bruno
“All your life, you’ll be faced with a choice. You can choose
love or hate. I choose love.”
— Johnny