"I Can't Remember When He Weren't Around..."

For "men of a certain age", (a dandy TV show by the way), there are very few of life's touchstones that call for a slightly watery display of emotion.

For me, and most boomers of the male persuasion, the first real challenge came in the form of a dog named "Old Yeller". Millions of grade school boys in 1957 were grateful for a darkened theater when that beautiful canine got his ticket punched for the big fire hydrant in the sky. The sniffles were audible and the popcorn was soggy but, damn it, nobody's kid sister saw us cry. The movie "Shane" was a bit of a leaky situation too.

As we moved into our teens it became fairly easy to get through emotional scenes in movies. In the 1960's most guys were far too busy attempting to cop a feel from their date to pay the slightest attention to what was on the screen. (I recall having been at the Corral Drive-In theater in Spencer, Iowa for no fewer than ten showings of the movie "Cheyenne Autumn" and never once saw the film.) I'll catch that one on Netflix one of these days real soon. By the way, I can pretty much guarantee that there is no crying in "Cheyenne Autumn". At least it didn't sound like it.

What got me to thinking of guys "misting up" was something that happened just the other day. For the first time in years I heard Walter Brennan's "Old Rivers". It really isn't a song; it's more of a talk piece with a rinky-tink piano in the background, one of those off the wall hits that happened frequently during the heyday of Top 40 radio. In fact, old Walter had certified gold on his hands in 1962 when "Old Rivers" made it all the way to number 5 on the national charts.

"Old Rivers" is simple, as most true hits are. It reflects on a young man's friendship with an old character he knew long ago. There is one of these guys in every young boy's life. Beaver Cleaver had Gus the fireman and Dennis the Menace had good ol' Mr. Wilson. Usually it's somebody north of 70 who is a bit of a grouch with a heart of gold. Most guys never forget these "sort of" mentors and secretly hope to have some young kid tag along after them when they too reach their dotage.

Most women will recall "Old Rivers" with little fondness. It's one of those songs that they punched away on the car's AM radio when it popped up in 1962, but guys didn't. I'm pretty sure that guys were the reason it made it to number 5, and we'll shed a tear or two when we listen to it when no one is around. (note: If you are a man that doesn't get a little misty when you hear "Old Rivers", well...you were raised by wolves.)

Women have "Steel Magnolias" and roughly a bazillion other movies and sad songs. Just let us have Walter Brennan, (Grandpappy Amos to some), and his classic "Old Rivers".

How old was I when I first seen old rivers?

I can't remember when he weren't around

Well, that old fellow did a heap of work

Spent his whole life walking plowed ground.

He had a one-room shack not far from us
And well, we was about as poor as him
He had one old mule he called Midnight
And I trailed along after them.

He used to plow them rows straight and deep
And I'd come along near behind
A- bustin' clods with my own bare feet
Old Rivers was a friend of mine.

Tha sun'd get high and that mule would work
Till old Rivers'd say "Whoa!"
He'd wipe his brow, lean back on the reins
And talk about a place he was gonna go.

Chorus:
He'd say, one of these days
I'm gonna climb that mountain
Walk up there among the clouds
Where the cotton's high
And the corn's a-growin'
And there ain't no fields to plow

---Instrumental---

I got a letter today from the folks back home and
They're all fine and crops is dry
Down at the end my mam said, "Son
You know old Rivers died."

Just sittin' here now on this new-plowed earth
Trying to find me a little shad
With the sun beating down 'cross the field I see
That mule, old Rivers and me.

Chorus:

Now, one of these days
I'm gonna climb that mountain
Walk up there among the clouds
Where the cotton's hig
And the corn's a-growin'
And there ain't no fields to plow.

With the sun beating down 'cross the field I see
That mule, old Rivers and me....

Walter Brennan