03/11/10

The SMOKEY GREENE Story

          Both of my grandfathers passed away before I was born.  I am told they were both good fiddlers.  From what I could gather from listening to the older folks, it seems my grandfather Greene might have been the better fiddler, however, his fiddling was done at home for his and his friends entertainment.  I've heard many stories of how my grandfather Meranville more or less supported his family by playing the fiddle at dances and would drive his horse and buggy wagon miles and miles to play for what change could be taken in a collection or a sack of groceries, whatever they would give him.   I have heard him referred to as being lazy, but I know that anyone that makes a living playing music can't do so if he's lazy.  You might not prefer manual labor, but playing music is sure not all fun and games.

          Danby and Tinmouth, Vermont in the early 1900's must have been a rough place to dig a living out of them stony mountains.  The people were as tough as the land they lived on.  My father has told me of Saturday nights in Danby Store, a nickel going to the winners.  (I'm told Dad won a lot of nickels.  He loved to fight, and did until he passed away).  This boxing was done bare fisted.  Dad told me of is father winning a barrel of flour (over 400 lbs.) by picking it up and carrying it five miles before setting it down.  Both of my grandmothers lived to an old age.  They were both beautiful people.  I have fond memories of them.

          On March 10th, 1930, a 10 lb., 11 oz boy, Walter George, was born on the Tom Greene place in Tinmouth, Vermont to Harris and Ethel Greene.  He was third of their five children:  Harris, Jr., Mildred, Walt, Franklin, Annie and a half-brother Henry.

          I don't remember much of the first five or six years of my life.  Mostly moving a lot and it seems like I was always hungry.  A couple of things stand out in my mind.  One is of an old Model T Ford that a neighbor, Albert Jenkins used to have.  He raised hogs and would go to Rutland to the bakeries and buy up the old bread, pies and cakes to feed them.  He would stop by our houses and  let us help ourselves to it.  Old or not, it sure was good.  I can still see that Model T coming down the road tilted to the left.  Albert weighted something over 500 pounds and the springs on the driver's side were worn out.  Another thing that stands out is the smell of a lumber camp.  There's nothing that smells any better than a new camp built out of fresh-sawed pine boards, horses, sawmill  and fresh fallen trees.  It was living in lumber camps that I first remember my brother Henry playing a guitar and singing Cliff Carlyle and Jimmy Rodgers songs.  That used to fascinate me.  I wanted to play and sing just like my big brother.  Around the camp, someone was always playing a mouth organ or a jews-harp.  The die was cast.

          Throughout the 30's, we moved from place to place following logging jobs.  In some of the places we lived, there would be a piano or pump organ which my mother would play.  She could read music so it was always a big thing when someone would bring her a copy of one of the new songs on sheet music.  Dad played the "push pull" accordion (I guess it was called  a concertina).  I  had three uncles that were fiddle players an several older cousins that played guitars, mandolins or banjos.  A cousin, Ron Jackson, was a big favorite of mine.  As a six or seven year old boy, I would sit and listen as long as he would play.  The only trouble was, we didn't get to see him often enough.  My brother Henry and cousin Ron were a big influence on me as a young boy and have remained so throughout my life.  Times were tough, money was scarce, but music was always a part of our life.

          The 30's was the time of the hobo.  I can remember them coming to our house, and no matter how little we had to eat, they were always welcome to share it.  Some of them would have a bite and be on their way.  Others might stay a day or two, doing whatever chores they could to help out, like cutting wood or weeding the garden.  I remember one hobo who was a barber.  That was the only time anyone cut  my hair other than my father until I was 14 years old.

          One place we lived in, Dad walked about fifteen miles to work.  He would leave before I was awake and come home after I had gone to bed.  The only time I saw him was on Sunday.  Us kids always had to walk to school, anywhere from 1 or 2 up to 5 or 6 miles each day (the first time I ever rode in a school bus, I drove it).

          Toys were a very scarce item around our house.  At Christmas we would get an orange and some nuts in our stocking.  One Christmas I remember, my present was a top Dad had whittled out of a thread spool.  Our clothes were hand-me downs or homemade.  At Christmas, Ma would always make us mittens.

          In 1939, our house burned down.  We went to stay for a week or so with an uncle.  That was my first experience with indoor plumbing.  I was scared to death of the flush toilet.

          Somehow we made it through the 30's.  We were poor but everyone we knew was just as poor as we were, so except for sometimes being hungry, we were happy.

          The 40's brought better times for the Greene family.  I remember how happy Dad was when he got a job that paid him fifty cents an hour.  We even got us a radio.  Folks who remember them great old radio shows know what I mean when I say we sure got a lot of enjoyment listening to Amos and Andy, Fibber McGee and Molly, WLS Barn Dance and so many more of them, of which there are too many to mention here.  It was in the early 40's that I first heard the great Yodeling Slim Clark on radio.

          The summer of 1940 and 1941, I spent on the golf courses in Manchester, Vermont caddying.  A caddy was paid $1.00 to carry the golf bag 18 holes and 50 cents for 9 holes.  Sometimes you would carry two bags and make $2.00.  Them bags sure was heavy for a 10 year old boy to tote.  Most of the money I made was turned over to my mother to help support the family.  The summer of 1942 I worked on a farm. I was paid $5.00 a week, room and board.  This was good money for a 12 year old boy.  Most of it, however, was turned over to my mother.  In the winter of 1942, I went to school an hour before the rest of the kids to build a fire in the pot bellied stove used to heat the school.  For this I was paid $50 a week.

          In 1943, my father was taken sick and was unable to work much.  I went to live with an uncle on a farm where I worked for my room and board.  While staying with my uncle I finished my last year of schooling in a one room schoolhouse in Tinmouth, Vermont.  There was about fifteen pupils in all 8 grades.  There was just one other boy and myself that graduated from the 8th grade in 1944.  While going to school in Tinmouth, I walked a little over five miles to and from school.  I didn't mind much except on the real cold days.  In the Spring, I would carry a fish line and hook, cut a willow pole and do a little fishing on the way home.  In the Fall, I would carry a 22 or 410 and hunt small game on the way home.  At the town meeting , someone suggested that I should be furnished a ride.  My uncle jumped  up and said, "It won't hurt that boy to walk".  I have often thought how much a school district could save if there were more people today like my Uncle Harold.

          It was 1944 that I first started teaching myself to play the tenor banjo.

          In the fall of 1944, I went back home to live with my parents who had taken over a farm to run on half's in Rupert, Vermont.  I helped on the farm some and worked in the woods cutting logs with a crosscut saw.  Another fellow and myself was cutting hardwood.  We were paid $5.00 per thousand feet and cold  cut two or three thousand feet a day.  Boy, were we living high on the hog!  I worked at farming, cutting logs, driving skid horse an assortment of odd jobs until I went into the Air Force.

          When I was fifteen I had taught myself to play the banjo, mandolin and guitar well enough so I was invited to a lot of parties and dances.  I also used to play and sing in bar rooms where someone would generally take up a collection.

          In 1946 my family moved back to Danby, Vermont.  It was that year that I first met Yodeling Slim Clark.  I played banjo with him and from then on I wanted to play music for a living.  But - that would not come to be for another fifteen years.

          California was a good place to be in the mid 50's if you liked country music.  There was lots of places to play and lots of musicians to play with.  When I first got to California I sat in with a group every weekend for about six weeks.  They saw they couldn't get rid of me so they started including me as part of the band.  The leader of the group used to book us into places where we would make two or three dollars a piece.  The lead guitar player and steel player asked me to take over the group and book the jobs where we cold make some money.  I liked Murphy, the band leader, and told the boys I wouldn't just take the band away from him.  So they decided to quit, and did.  I told Murphy I was going to form a group and wanted him to play fiddle.  his first reaction was no, but a couple of weeks later he joined us again.  We had the same group except now I was the leader.  We did start making more money, but it was at this time I found out musicians are always broke.  I also found out that the leader of the group not only furnished the PA equipment, transportation, booked the jobs, and arranged the songs, he had to listen to everyone's problems, be a diplomat, give advice to the lovelorn and always have a few extra bucks to lend.  Every night we played I found I was going through 3 or 4 packs of cigarettes, so, I started buying a pack of cigarettes for each member of the band and taking it out of their pay at the end of the night.  they started calling me Smokey and the name stuck.  I used the name "Smokey Greene and the Green Mt. Boys" for a band name from 1955 until the early 70's when a young bluegrass group was formed in Vermont and called themselves the Green Mt. Boys, so I dropped Green Mt. and called the band "The Boys".  Oh yes, I also found that the band leader was also responsible for settling the band member bar tabs.

          I was playing a Jumbo Kay guitar and used to dream of someday owning a Martin.  I would go to the music store and stand and look at them.  One day the store owner asked me why I didn't buy one.  I told him I didn't have the money.  He said to take it home and pay him whatever I could afford each month, so I did.  I was scared stiff to go home and tell Pat that I had gone in debt for $250.00 for a new guitar.  When she saw it, she was as happy as I was.  Every night I played I took my pay to the music store, and I paid if off in about two months.

          In California, we were playing the same circuit as Vern Stovall (wrote "Long Black Limousine") and Cal Smith ("Country Bumpkin").  I also got to meet and work quite a bit with Wayne Raney.  That was a big thrill for me because I had been a big fan of his for many years.  Who could forget Wayne Raney and Lonnie Glosson radio shows out of WCKY in Cincinnati, Ohio.  I also worked quite a bit with a banjo player by the name of Ed Amos.  I remember he told me I was the only guitar player in California that could make a "G" run.  At the time I didn't really know what he was talking about!

          In 1947, with my brother Henry playing bass, his wife Martha playing mandolin and myself playing guitar, I  formed the band.  We didn't  get to  do much playing, except for ourselves and the neighbors.  Now as I think back about it, we were pretty crude.  But they were fun days for me.

          In 1948, I  joined the USAF and started driving the guys in the barracks nuts with my guitar and hillbilly songs.

          The 31st of March 1948, I left home saying nothing to anybody.  I hitch-hiked to Bennington, Vermont and signed up in the USAF.  I was sent to Fort Devins, Mass. the next day where I took a physical and was sworn in.  Three days later I wrote home from San Antonio, Texas.  I couldn't get over the fact that when I left Danby, Vermont there was still snow on the ground, and when I a got to Texas, four days later, corn was waist high.  The reason I left home without saying goodbye is personal so I'll keep it to myself.

          The Air Force trained me to be a radio operator, which was a big help when I eventually got into DJ work.

          The first couple years in the Air Force my music was restricted to the barracks and day room.

          In 1949, I found myself stationed at Grenier Air Force Base, Manchester, NH.  I used to hitchhike home most every weekend to court Patricia Matteson.  On April 8th, 1950, we were married in a small ceremony at Reverend King's home in Rupert, Vermont.  On July 4th, just 3 months after we were married, I was on my way to the Far East to participate in President Truman's police action.  The three months we lived together in Manchester, New Hampshire were a wonderful time.  We lived in what they called a Kitchenette.  I bought an old guitar from a hock shop and it was at this time I first started trying to write songs.  I was learning all of the ET, Hank W., Hank S, Hank T, and Lefty's songs and also singing songs I had learned from listening to the radio in the 40's like some of the Bradley Kinkaid classics.

          When I left the states in July of 1950 my orders read 5th Air Force Korea and I was gung-ho to go to war and see the world.  When our ship docked in Yokahama, Japan, my orders were changed and I was sent to a small radar site on Hokkaido, the northern most island of Japan.  I spent a year on Hokkaido playing the guitar and singing the war away.  I volunteered several times to go to Korea, but my commanding officer was a lot smarter than I was and he turned me down.  I was lucky to have stayed in Japan, but I didn't realize it at the time, until after the war when I found out how many of the boys I went to radio school with didn't make it back.

          In 1951 some guys at our headquarters on the main island (Honsho) had heard about me and arranged to have me transferred to play in a band with them.  It seems that the commanding officer, Col. George H. Southerland, from Louisiana, was a big fan of hillbilly music.  After I transferred to headquarters, I spent many nights entertaining him.  I might mention that went from a private to a Staff Sergeant in about a years time.  The band I played  in worked the E.M. , NCO and officers clubs and picked up quite a lot of extra spending money.  I played mostly the mandolin in this group (wish I'd kept it  up).  I was having so much fun, I re-enlisted.

          In 1952, we entered competition for Air Force country bands in Japan and won first place.  We  then went on to win first place in competition of band from all over the Far East.  The band was scheduled to play in a worldwide competition when I was sent back to the States. I never found out how they made out.

          When I got back to the States, I was stationed in South Carolina for a year where I tried to get into a group to play music, but no one was interested.  So once again I was back to entertaining myself.

          I had listened to  Bluegrass style music most of my life, but it was while I was in South Carolina that I first heard Earl Scruggs using tuners on a five string banjo.  I used to play "Earl's Breakdown" over and over trying to figure out how he was making that sound.  I didn't figure out how he was doing it, but I sure knew I liked it.  It was at this time that Mac Wiseman was recording for DOT records.  I fell in love with his music, and couldn't get enough of it.

          After a year in South Carolina, I was sent to Korea for a year (by this time they were exchanging prisoners).  I couldn't get hooked up with a band so I started playing as a single in the clubs. It was a good training ground for what would come later on.  While I was in Korea, I studied the game of poker.  I bought books and really took the game seriously.  I taught myself to deal cards, which is an art in itself.  I got good enough at the game to send enough money home to Pat to buy a new car.  that was a far cry from when we were kids playing with match sticks.  I played a few  times after Korea, but I never took it seriously again.  Poker is a game of skill, not luck - the same as music.  If you want to be a winner, you've got to be serious about it and play every day.

          In mid 1954 or early 1955, I was sent back to the States and was stationed in Fairfield, California.  It was in California that I headed up my first band.  It was also here that I picked up the name Smokey.

          I have already mentioned playing with Ed Amos in California.  His sister, Betty  Amos, became quite famous and worked for me in my nightclub nearly twenty years later (small world).

          It was in 1956 in California that I made my first phonograph record, a 78 RPM, which included two songs I had written, "Wrong Side Of The Street" and "River Of Blues".  that was my first of quite a few records that sold way under a million.

          I was discharged from the USAF in April of 1957.  I kind of wanted to stay in California, but Pat wouldn't hear of it.  We hadn't been home in almost three years, and I guess she was pretty homesick.  I was confident I as going to become a big country music star no matter where we lived, so we loaded our new Ford pick-up truck and headed for Vermont (boy did I have a big surprise coming).

          When we got back to Vermont, I tried for about six months to find work playing music, but nobody wanted to hire a hillbilly musician.  In order to eat, I took a job in the woods driving a crawler tractor.  When that job was finished up, I decided to draw unemployment and keep trying to find a job playing music.  I went to sign up for unemployment, but when I got to the  unemployment office, I was too proud and didn't go in.  I bought a newspaper and checked out the help wanted ads.  I found a job on a chicken farm in Easton, New York.  I stayed on the chicken farm for over a year and a half.  While I was working on the chicken farm, I got a job Saturday nights playing in a local gin mill.  I  was doing a single  for $10.00 a night.  I was really packin' -em-in.  I quit the farm and tried music full time once again and ended up eating government surplus food.  By now we had two more mouths to feed, so I took a job in a paper mill as a millwright.  I worked for Angel Soft Tissue mills for three years and played music nights.  My music was starting to catch on a little.  I was working six days and playing 4 or 5 nights a week.  I was sleeping in the car on my way home form jobs more than I was sleeping in my bed.  One morning at breakfast, I said to Pat, "I've got to quite the music or the mill.  I just can't stand this pace."  Pat said, "Quit the mill.  You're not happy there and you know you won't be happy doing anything but playing music."  So, once again, I quit my day job, but the music jobs were coming my way now.  I had gotten into radio work and developed a good following.  I was packin'-'em-in everywhere I played.  Places that I had offered to play three years previously for $5.00 were now paying me $50.00 to $75.00 a night.  the money was good, but the work was hard doing a single.  That's when I developed the Smokey Greene  style of guitar playing.  Most of the jobs were 5 hour gigs so I used to stick my guitar up in the microphone and start playing runs form one chord to another to give my voice a rest.  I didn't know at the time I was developing a new style of guitar playing.  In fact, I never  gave it a thought until I started playing with other bluegrass bands.  Quite often the guitar player would come up to me and ask me to show them "that lick".  I started analyzing it so I could slow it down and show them what I was doing.  I don't think there is a half dozen people today that can play that style.

          In 1961, I met a fiddle by the name of Jimmie Hamblin.  We teamed up and worked together for the next ten years.  In the id-sixties we put together what I think was  as good an act as could be found anywhere:  Digger Dan Dutra on banjo, Daddy Dick Richards on upright bass, Jimmie and myself.  We opened a lot of shows for name acts like Ernest Tubb, Hank Thompson, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and most of the acts that worked the WWVA Jamboree.  We more than held our own with these biggies.  I think that we made a mistake by  not branching out and covering a larger area with our music.  We had so much work in the Glens Falls area and we were making a good living, so we got into a rut, playing the same places year after year.  We worked one club every Monday night for eight years.  I could see that I really wasn't getting anywhere is  music, so in 1966, I leased a small nightclub in Thompson, New York.  I used to bring in bluegrass acts like Reno & Harrell, Country Gentlemen, 2nd Generation, Don Stover, Charlie Moore and a host of others.  The club would  normally hold about 75 people, but with the bluegrass acts, I was packing in 150 or more.  I was the only person in the area at that time that was promoting bluegrass.  I started looking for a larger club and in 1970 I found one.  I moved my business to Glens Falls where I had a very successful business featuring country and bluegrass.  I featured a four-hour broadcast from the club each Friday night, live.  Whatever group was booked in for the weekend was stuck with it.  I also did a one hour broadcast from the club at noon on Saturdays.  I was on the air from six a.m. until noon on Saturday and it was quite a tick to sign off at noon at the  station, drive across town and sign on live at the club.  Just one of the tricks of radio.  I would introduce two records, start one, jump and head for the car.  The news man would start the second record and then my recorded theme, do five minutes of news and then introduce me at the club.  Sometimes if I didn't catch the lights just right, I would walk right through the door at the club just as they were announcing me, grab the guitar and start singing.  I never told anyone how I got from the radio station to the club.  I just let them wonder.

          In the mid-sixties, I attended a Bluegrass Festival as a guest of Don Reno and Bill  Harrell.  That gave me the bug.  For the next couple of years, I attended more festivals in Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania.  I thought it would be great to have one of these around home.  I thought a lot of people would attend, and I could make all kinds of money (boy, did I have lesson to learn).  For the next couple  of years Digger Dan Dutra and I  spent quite a lot of time trying to find a place to hold one.  We looked at several places, none of which were adequate.

          In 1971,  "The 2nd Generation" was playing in my club.  They wanted to do a festival and found a place in Corinth to hold it.  They asked me to be their representative, taking care of permits, insurance, garbage, porta-johns, etc.  They  were going to cut me in for 10%.  After attending three town board meetings, I finally got their permission, though some of the board members  were dead set against it.  They associated the word festival with "Woodstock".   The 2nd Generation band broke up.  Since I had the  ground work  done, I went ahead with it and called it the  Smokey Greene Bluegrass  Festival.

          The first year was a howling success in every way but one.  A good crowd showed up, the music was good, the weather was good, and everyone  had a good time.  Everyone was congratulating me for having the first major bluegrass festival in the New York State.  The only bad thing about it was when it came time to pay up.  There just wasn't money enough to go around.  I came up about $1500.00 short.  The Adirondack Bluegrass League gave me $500.  I wrote the rest off and made plans for the second annual festival, which was held in Corinth and was successful in every way.  Don Towers helped me with the second one.  We didn't get rich, but at least we kept our heads above water.

          In 1974, I rented a farm in Fort Ann.  I had visions of building a country music park.  I won't go into all the details, except to say the land deal went bad (everyone told me, "You've got to get it in writing").  It rained on the third annual festival.  I lost  $8,000.00.  Pat and I mortgaged the house, paid off the debts and said goodbye to bluegrass festivals.

          After licking my wounds all  winter, Pete and Shirley Bishop (who didn't want to see the festival  fold) offered me the use of their land for free if I would hold another one.  Well, it was spring, and you've heard of what happens to a young man's fancy.  For the next two years, Pete and Shirley worked their butts off and didn't get anything for it.  Nor did I.  I paid t he bills, divided the money among the bands and hoped for better luck next year.  In '77,  I turned the concession stands over to the Bishop's so they could make something for their efforts.  In '79, after paying everything, I had a thousand dollars left over.  Pete and I were sitting in my camper talking.  I put the stack of bills on thee table and cut it in two like you would cut a deck of cards.  Pete took one pile, I took the other.  We were finally in the black.

          I think it was 1974 or maybe 1975 when I first traveled to Maine to work for Fred Pike and Sam Tidwell.  It was a great experience for me.  I found a whole new and different  audience that seemed to appreciate my brand of country music.  I really needed the lift that the people in Maine gave me.  I might have faded out of the picture if it hadn't been for them.

          One of the biggest thrills for me came in 1977.  I was playing a Sunday afternoon gig when some people approached me and asked me if I would object if they formed a Smokey Greene Fan Club.  I told them I would be honored.  However, I would want the club to be for the fans and not for me.  I still think we should have names it the "Smokey Greene Fun Club".  The fan club has been very successful.  The first day, 85 people signed up ad it has steadily grown and now has a membership of 572 people.  Many people have worked hard to make thee fan club a success, but one person has been the mainstay.  Without her, I probably would have let the club fold.  Shirley Wilson, thanks!!  I love you.  I know, and appreciate, the sacrifices you have made for me.

          In 1977, I also received another great honor in the form of a beautiful plaque, presented to me that reads:  Smokey Greene:  In recognition of his great contributions towards the promotion and preservation of country and bluegrass music.  Through his broadcasting, performing and sponsoring of music festivals, he has shown that he truly has a country heart and a bluegrass soul.  Presented by his many friends and fans at the Smokey Greene 5th Annual Bluegrass Festival, August  20th, 1977.  Along with the plaque, I was presented with an album signed by the great many friends and entertainers with their personal comments.  When I look through this album, it brings back some great memories.

          In 1979, I was presented with a "Coat of Many Colors".  Friends and entertainers from 9 states made patches and sent them to Carolyn DuBay in Cambridge, Maine.  She sewed them together and made a beautiful coat that fills me with pride each time I put it on.  The coat was presented to me in a very touching ceremony at the Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival.  There were very few dry eyes that morning.

          Something that makes me feel real good is having had the chance these past ten years to work with a lot of young talent.  When you stand on stage with two or three musicians that are not even half your age, you get the feeling that your music will never die because there will be someone coming along to carry it on.  I just hope that  I have left a big  enough impression on these young people so that when I retire, I can sit back and listen to another generation playing the music that we love without cluttering it up to the point that it is unrecognizable.

          With this, I'll close The Smokey Greene Story for now.  Stay tuned, I'm sure there is more to come...

KEEP

COUNTRY

IN

COUNTRY

MUSIC!!!