OUT HERE ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT--

On the way back from last year's gig in Paris I struck up an enthusiastic conversation on the plane with a good fellow that was as much show-bizness as was I, though he probably never played a note in his life. A great guy named Jim Wycoff. He does a financial show from WKRC.

The conversation began unexpectedly after I popped off at the poor fellow about grabbing Sarah's seat back. As it turned out, he had every reason to be holding onto something because of a recent hip surgery. I told him to grab whatever he liked after that.

I eat crow better than anyone I know, and after an outpouring of shuck and jive he and I were buzzing for a show-biz moment. When the flight touched down the chat continued to the baggage claim area where we went our separate ways.

The good fellow on the right, my pal Jan Albert, said of this photo
"this is as close to Johnny Cash as I'll probably ever get."

And I'll be damned if I let him get away without a hint of where I might find him ever again. My unfortunate and ever-so-vince outburst perched like a squawking parrot on my shoulder well into the next day. I wanted to send him my new book. Kinda like a peace offering.

I wrote...

Jim,

Getting to you was a journey. Remind me to ask for a business card next time. I'd like to say remind me not to pop off at radio peopleon planes, but if I did I wouldn't so well have gotten your attention.

The grotto, the piano, the guitar, and someone to hold it.

Anyway, got back up on the southern slope of the Rockies in Santa Fe. Sarah and I began looking for a guy named Jim coming back from Paris with his art teaching wife, and a flock of others that included the man's business professor in college. He did some sort of financial program for a radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio. Good enough.

So I wrote my pal, Arthur Bowman (The Bowman Report), and said "I ran into this good fellow on the plane back from Paris. We have a lot in common thanx to modern medicine. So I want to send him the new book."

Arthur got back promptly with a Jim from Cincinnati that did a business show on radio...and TV to boot. Jim Cramer. Sarah and I had seen him on the box before, but for no longer than we had
actually seen you. But, after some research into his background and recalling his somewhat animated approach, we figured it COULDN'T be you. We just didn't see you jumping around over a commodity stock, even if they were paying for it. Nonetheless, I wrote a short note on the off chance he was our Jim.

Let the dance begin.

So from Arthur's hint we found a Jim at a talk radio station. And a little further into the files of the radio station we found you. The "other" Jim that did a business program for a radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Whew!

Please accept this book I will post, 'Sixtyeight Twentyeight. It's about thirty years of playing and writing music from the back-rooms to the barrooms and the ballets with a flat-top box guitar. Though, a subject we much more have in common is dealt with by my first book, ONE MAN'S MUSIC, a lengthy rehab after a near fatal auto collision in Christmas week of 1982...about relearning how to walk, talk, and play the guitar on the way back to the land of the living.

A good effort to have found you, pal. When I'm performing in your area Sarah will let you both know. Otherwise, if you see my name in the paper, c'mon down. I'd like to buy you a beer.

And like I told Jim Cramer,

mind that hip.
vince