HOW WOULD LOUIS L'AMOUR GET ME NEXT TO THAT GIRL?

                         Nothing like this way out in west Texas
                         Galveston Bay is a whole other world
                         My wife's in her room getting over her sunburn
                         How would Louis L'Amour get me next to that girl?  

                                                                     – "Who's the Blonde Stranger?" from Riddles in the Sand


Many’s the time during my rummaging through things Jimmy’s written and said that I’ve come across things that – more likely than not – are nothing other than coincidence. This whole Louis L’Amour episode is a case in point.

For starters, Jimmy’s reference to this writer is probably just that: a reference, rather than any literary allusion. After all, when Jimmy poses the burning question “How would Louis L’Amour get me next to that girl?” in “Who’s the Blonde Stranger?” it’s a safe guess to think that two things are in play. One would be finding a name whose metre fits in with that of the song; the other, a name with some connection to the song’s Texas setting. L’Amour fits those minimal qualifications. Still, there are countless other aspects that almost make one want to attempt to design some sort of six degrees of separation between L’Amour and Jimmy. Perhaps, tomorrow; however, not today.

Born in South Dakota in 1908, Louis Dearborn L’Amour set out upon his nomadic life at the age of fifteen. Stop me if you’ve heard that somewhere before, because it sounds a lot like the start of Don Blanding’s life in Oklahoma a little more than a decade before. So, there might be some case to be made in that connection between those vagabond heroes and Jimmy’s own life. And yet, L’Amour might be nothing other than that metric fit for the song.

Before he ever began any one of his eighty-nine novels or his fourteen collections of short stories, L’Amour was the proverbial “avid reader,” and that whole aspect of his life is chronicled in his wonderful memoir called Education of a Wandering Man. Definitely a book that readers will enjoy, and it can be read online at Google books.

Among L’Amour’s earlier occupations was that of a merchant mariner prior to World War II. Not quite sailing, but that’s the next best thing. And from his wartime experiences in the Pacific, he began to write stories about pilots who commanded flying boats, not unlike Frank Bama, but years earlier. Many of those stories can be found in Vol. 4 of The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour: The Adventure Stories. Several of those were considered for inclusion in The Occasional Margareader, as were some excerpts from Education of a Wandering Man. But they did not provide the best context for Jimmy’s reference in “Who’s the Blonde Stranger?”

By chance, or maybe even by design, the closest thing to a Louis L’Amour story which correlates with Jimmy’s lyrical question can be found in that very same volume of adventure stories, even though it really lacks much invention. The short tale is called “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” and it actually is about a sailor who is trying to find a way to meet a blonde stranger whom he encounters at the landing “the night the fleet sailed for Panama.” Again, most of the story can be read at Google books in the L’Amour volume called Yonderings.

That one came close to being included in The Occasional Margareader, except for the fact that the L’Amour estate wanted more for its licensing than did any other contributor other than Hemingway. And because Hemingway is referenced about as much as L’Amour, neither was literally worth the inclusion at this time. Still, Louis L’Amour ought to be sought out and read on your own.

As a final note, let’s consider the title of this omitted story called “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” Essentially, it’s the same title as a folk song which was popularized in the 1920s by a team of British songsters riding the rails out of London. In a way, it’s a bit like Jimmy and Jerry Jeff riding along and creating their “Railroad Lady,” en route from New Orleans. Similarly, there were lots of amber-colored beverages involved and imbibed. And though the song was written aboard a train, its lyrics make it clearly a sailor’s refrain. Hence, L’Amour’s use for his own sailor’s story of how to get next to a blonde stranger.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it went right to my head
Wherever I may roam
On land or sea or foam
You will always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home.

– Hang by your thumbs and write if you get work

dwd

“I DO THEREFORE ON THE KNEES OF MY HEART, BESEECH YOUR MAJESTY . . .”

           Borrowed this line from a letter Sir Walter

           Raleigh wrote to the Queen of England begging
           forgiveness for some piratical activity. It
           sounded more like a title of a Motown tune, and
           I couldn’t pass it up. I hope Sir Walter didn’t
           turn over in his grave.

JB liner notes for “Down on the Knees of My Heart”                              
on Riddles in the Sand                                         

Elizabeth was no longer on the throne when Raleigh penned that line. The Queen had been dead nearly fifteen years when the thought popped into his mind, and Sir Walter was en route to the executioner's block for his misdeeds in his quest for El Dorado.

Over the course of a lifetime, Raleigh had been imprisoned in the Tower of London at least three times. First, he had married a member of Elizabeth’s court without the Queen’s permission. Then, when Elizabeth died, he was accused of plotting against her successor, King James I; however, he was released to continue his quest. On that second expedition in search of El Dorado, though, his men pillaged a Spanish fortress. So, Sir Walter was brought back to trial, found guilty, and sentenced to death to appease Spain.

In a world lit only by the light of the sun or else by fire, Sir Walter Raleigh wrote down these impassioned words begging King James to spare his life.

“I do therefore on the knees of my heart, beseech your Majesty to take council from your own sweet and merciful disposition, and to remember that I have loved your Majesty now twenty years, for which your Majesty hath yet given me no reward . . . Save me, therefore, most merciful Prince, that I may owe your Majesty my life itself; than which there can be no greater debt. Lend it to me at least, my Sovereign Lord, that I may pay it again for your service when your Majesty shall please. If the law destroy me, your Majesty shall put me out of your power; and I shall have then none to fear, none to reverence but the King of Kings.”

Eloquent as they might be, those words fell upon deaf ears. On 29 October 1618, Sir Walter was beheaded after shouting out to the executioner, “Strike, man. Strike!” His head was then presented to his widow.


In addition to that memorable phrase, Raleigh's situation inspired just as much poetry as it did prose. Renowned as a renaissance poet, Sir Walter wrote one of his best poems, “The Passionate Man’s Pilgrimage” not long before his execution.


Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.

    Blood must be my body’s balmer,
No other balm will there be given,
Whilst my soul, like a white palmer,
Travels to the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
And there I’ll kiss
The bowl of bliss,
And drink my eternal fill
On every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,
But after it will ne’er thirst more;
And by the happy blissful way
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have shook off their gowns of clay,
And go apparelled fresh like me.
I’ll bring them first
To slake their thirst,
And then to taste those nectar suckets,
At the clear wells
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

     And when our bottles and all we
Are fill’d with immortality,
Then the holy paths we’ll travel,
Strew’d with rubies thick as gravel,
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearl bowers.

     From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall
Where no corrupted voices brawl,
No conscience molten into gold,
Nor forg’d accusers bought and sold,
No cause deferr’d, nor vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the king’s attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.
When the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins and sinful fury,
’Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder,
Thou movest salvation even for alms,
Not with a bribed lawyer’s palms.
And this is my eternal plea
To him that made heaven, earth, and sea,
Seeing my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine next noon,
Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head.
Then am I ready, like a palmer fit,
To tread those blest paths which before I writ.

Hang by your thumbs, and write if you get work.

dwd