Willie Nelson's Fabled Friendship

It’s been rough and rocky traveling
But I’m finally standing upright on the ground
After takin’ several readings
I’m surprised to find my mind’s still fairly sound

I guess Nashville was the roughest
But I know I’ve said the same about them all
We received our education
In the cities of the nation, me and Paul

The late drummer Paul English was a monumentally significant person in Willie Nelson’s life. Nelson wrote a song about English called “Me and Paul” (see above), recorded it on two different albums, and now has used the song’s name as the title of a new memoir, Me and Paul: Untold Stories of a Fabled Friendship (Harper Horizon, 256 pp. $29.99).

Reading this book is like listening to an elderly raconteur telling stories about the old days. And you just know that he’s full of it. But it’s still a great deal of fun.

Having said that, the introduction doesn’t inspire confidence in what is to come. David Ritz, Nelson’s co-author (his term is “ghostwriter,” but isn’t a ghostwriter usually uncredited?) says, “Me and Paul is not a straight autobiography.” He elaborates, explaining, “Have I embellished these stories? Yes. Have I, for the sake of drama, expanded the reality on which these stories were based? Yes.” This cavalier attitude regarding the truth is uncomfortably close to the notion of “alternative facts.”

Then Nelson gets into the act, saying, “Storytelling is beautiful because it reimagines a world from way back when and carries that world into the present day.” Again, not a statement which augers well for the veracity of the tales to come.

Does it really matter? I suppose not, but it seems that when stories are related in print, an expectation of something resembling the truth is not unreasonable. Words have a certain gravitas when they appear on the printed page. The only author to successfully pull off a totally bullshit (but rather funny) memoir was comedian Norm Macdonald (Based on a True Story), but he was beyond unique.

English was, if this account is to be believed, a complex character, warm-hearted, generous, and loyal, but also a strong-arm man, gambler, and pimp. By way of explanation, Nelson quotes Bob Dylan’s song “Absolutely Sweet Marie”: “To live outside the law, you must be honest.” But then he stretches credulity by claiming that English was, at one time, on the “Ten Most Unwanted Criminal List,” as if there were actually such a thing. It is in moments like this that Me and Paul takes on the character of a Dan Jenkins novel, something like Semi-Tough if it were set in chicken wire joints up and down Ft. Worth’s Jacksboro Highway.

The book’s first half, which deals with Nelson’s early days as a honky-tonk singer and aspiring songwriter, is the most entertaining. Roaming around Ft. Worth, Nelson and English hang out with saxophonist David “Fathead” Newman, future legend Ray Charles, and soon-to-be assassin Jack Ruby, who owned a few nightclubs where Willie wanted to play. Nelson claims that he flew into Dallas for a meeting with Ruby on the day John Kennedy was killed.

Houston and its surrounding municipalities are well-represented in Me and Paul, but Nelson doesn’t have particularly fond memories of his time in the Bayou City during the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. Pasadena, where Nelson lived in a tiny apartment with his young family, certainly made an impression, though not a good one. “You could choke on the stink,” Nelson recalls. As for the weather, “The summertime season didn’t help. Houston humidity can drive a sane man crazy. You never stop sweating.” OK, that part of the narrative is definitely true. No arguments there.

“Willie, get your ass outta Houston before Houston eats your ass up.”

A number of Houston characters from the era make appearances in this portion of the book, among them Pappy Daily (George Jones’ producer), musicians Paul Buskirk and Freddy Powers (regular performers at bars and pizza parlors around town), and Don Robey (owner of the Duke-Peacock record label and the Bronze Peacock nightclub). Nelson also discusses some early recording sessions at Houston’s Gold Star Studios (later Sugar Hill) which were paid for by English in order to cheer up the struggling young artist.

English was always around to lift Nelson’s spirits, particularly during the early portion of his career, when he needed it. “If you’re not big-time,” English told Nelson, “then Jayne Mansfield doesn’t have big tits. Big-time is nothing but an attitude.” Nelson remembers, “Paul made anyone feel like a winner.” The charming reprobate was also valuable as a dispenser of good advice, urging Nelson to seek his fortune in Nashville by saying, “Willie, get your ass outta Houston before Houston eats your ass up.”

Though English played drums in Nelson’s band for over 50 years, he didn’t join up right away, as he was busy, well, pimping. As English reasoned, “Pleasure always pays. Music doesn’t.” Readers may be surprised to learn that one of English’s best clients was none other than Mr. Babalu himself, Desi Arnaz. “Arrives in a limo,” English is quoted as saying, “Champagne for everyone. Party all night. Switch rooms. Switch girls. Two at a time, three at a time. Turns around, goes back to Hollywood, and a month later, he’s back in Euless.”

English’s career as a pimp may have led to some novel fashion choices. In the late ‘60s, Nelson urged him to try on an opera cape hanging on a rack in Sy Devore’s men’s clothing store in Hollywood. It had red silk lining, and its hem almost reached the floor. This was the first of many capes that English would wear while backing Nelson. “He augmented the image,” Nelson says, “by growing his sideburns a little longer and maintaining a sharp-edged goatee. His black hat, black shirts, and black slacks added to the ominous look. Some people saw it as frightening. I saw it as funny. Women loved it. Paul became a star and dressed like one.”

But there was more to English than his devilish look. “God bless Paul English,” Nelson writes. “God bless Paul for many reasons. First, his devotion. Second, his guts. Third, his vision. He could see the future. Unfortunately, his vision wasn’t perfect. It was fueled by optimism, a quality you gotta love. Being an optimist myself, I went along with Paul’s program, even though, I now admit, his program was outlandish.”

Ultimately, Me and Paul is a somewhat inconsequential book, which represents a missed opportunity. It skims the surface rather than plumbs the depths. Maybe it’s best to view it as a lengthy appendix to Nelson’s autobiography It’s a Long Story: My Life. Certainly, Me and Paul is a book that every Nelson fan will enjoy. Because if there were not a Paul English, there may not have been a Willie Nelson.