Part IX

In early December (1965) Cash returned to Nashville from California to record what would become the “Happiness Is You” album. He used the visit to sit for an interview by Dixie Deen (later “Miss Dixie,” Tom T. Hall’s wife), a writer for Music City News. Deen was an unabashed supporter of his, and a very close friend of Mother Maybelle’s, so Cash was assured of a friendly audience. He addressed the “bad publicity” and “horrible photos” which had been splashed across newspapers all over the country. Declaring that he was “no better” than anyone else, he also asserted that he was “no worse” either. For the first time, he spoke of recording an album in the Holy Land and answered questions about his four daughters, although Vivian was not mentioned. Nor was June; the time was still not right. He was asked if he was considering moving to Nashville, but he denied any plans. (But within six months, the separation was official, and he moved to an apartment in Madison in the summer of 1966.) By the time the article was published, he had pleaded guilty to illegal possession and was fined $1,000 and given a suspended 30-day jail sentence.

June, meanwhile, returned to her non-Cash days when, in February (1966), Don Law produced her with Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs on the theme from TV’s “Green Acres.” She aimed to keep her recording career alive, even if Cash was distracted from his. After the incongruous “Everybody Loves a Nut” sessions in January, he spent only two days in the studio for the rest of the year. “The One On the Right Is On the Left,” a clever Jack Clement song about the troubles of a politically-minded folk group, reached #2, but subsequent singles tanked. He and June did make their first visit to Israel in the spring, although the album project did not materialize. His failure to participate in the Sara-Maybelle sessions in June was a monumental disappointment to June, and photos and video clips of him at the time showed him to be a walking skeleton. Yet it would have been even worse if she had not been nearby. It had been barely three years since “Ring of Fire” gave his career a rebirth, but by the end of 1966, that seemed very very far away.

On November 8, 1966 the Johnny Cash Show went to Folsom Prison in Repressa, California, about 25 miles east of Sacramento. By this time, Mother Maybelle, Anita and Helen Carter had joined the troupe. In the audience that day was Sara Carter Bayes, who made the two-hour trip from Angel’s Camp with her husband Coy. Sara had never been one to mince words, and this inclination was doubled after Cash had stood her up back in the summer. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was hitting rock bottom, and that she was appalled that her “May” (cousin Maybelle) had been dragged into the mess which was his life. Maybelle and her husband had provided refuge for Cash when he was in Nashville for several years. They, of course, knew of his relationship with their daughter, but they also genuinely loved the man. He would tear up their home, then contritely try to put it back together the next day. Now that he had taken up in a new residence (although in the same neighborhood) he had one less tether to stability.

Two months later the career kickstart Cash needed occurred, and sure enough, there was June right in the middle of it. In January 1967, Cash and June finally went into the studio and recorded the Kingston Trio’s “Jackson,” with Cash taking over John Stewart’s lead. (On the same day Cash recorded Ian Tyson’s “Red Velvet.” He was sure that folk song was going to be a hit. It wasn’t.) They had been singing “Jackson” in concert for a couple of years, and the jaunty tune of the cocksure ladies’ man and his sassy woman was electric. The song would rise to #2 in May, June’s highest chart position to that point. Later in the year, they took Marshall Grant’s “Long Legged Guitar Pickin’ Man” into the top 10 as well. Lucky they did, for Cash had no solo efforts even approaching the top that year. The record company again saw the gold in Cash-Carter collaborations, and made plans for a duet album that spring.

But the pain so achingly recounted in “Ring of Fire” would not abate. June had not truly been happy, had not experienced joy, for at least a decade. Yet she persevered, going out on stage night after night to bring a smile to her audiences’ faces. If she thought that being part of another hit record would make it easier, she was wrong. Cash went berserk on an airplane coming back from a visit to his children and was put off, and later ruined a Cash family reunion. He was a no-show for more and more concert dates, leading to more legal problems, even as his records were being certified gold (“I Walk the Line,” from 1964, made it in July). The record company had no qualms about playing up the Cash-Carter relationship, naming the duet album “Carryin’ On With Johnny Cash and June Carter,” a particularly unnecessary scandal-fanning. It made things even worse by taking out trade ads blaring, “Guess what Johnny Cash and June Carter did last night?” June was horrified.

By October, Cash had had enough. Vivian had finally, tentatively agreed to a divorce (pending negotiations), but June refused to agree to marry a walking dead man. Sensing he had no other options, he crawled into Nickajack Cave, at the base of Lookout Mountain north of Chattanooga, and waited to die. But die he did not. Somewhere deep within himself he realized that life was still worth living. When he emerged, he felt a new sense of purpose. Legend now has it that he walked out into the light and kept ascending, but it wasn’t that easy. He was jailed overnight in Lafayette, Georgia after frightening homeowners by knocking on their doors in a stupor after running out of gas. Two days later, he overturned a tractor and nearly froze to death in Old Hickory Lake. If Brack Dixon, the man who built the house which John purchased earlier that year, had not been nearby to drag him out, the Cash story would have ended right there.

It would later be said that June “saved” Johnny Cash; he himself would be among those who said so. But June would have nothing of it, ever. “I didn’t save Johnny Cash. He saved himself. If he didn’t want to be saved, no power on earth would have done it.” Maybe so, but, like the “old days,” when June’s mere presence made even the rowdiest boys buck up, if only for a short while, it was June who gave Cash the reason to save himself. After the incident at the lake, Cash gave himself over. June brought in her friend, Dr. Nat Winston of the Tennessee Department of Mental Health. Every day, Dr. Winston made the trek out to Hendersonville. Cash’s withdrawal from addiction was harrowing and miserable. But June stayed with him until he came out the other side. And when he did, life changed with breathtaking, astonishing speed.

On January 3, 1968 Vivian Cash signed the divorce papers (on the 11th she married Ventura policeman Dick Distin; they remain married 35 years later). Cash had made a huge financial settlement, but he finally got what he had long wanted. He would barely have time to contemplate what he would do. He stayed in California since he had some dates scheduled. On January 4, in Long Beach, the “new” Johnny Cash brought down the house at a stunningly exciting show unlike anything the concert-goers had expected of him. But the next week was the Big One. Don Law had retired from Columbia, to be replaced by engineer Bob Johnston as Cash’s producer. Law had always been reluctant, even dismissive of the idea of recording a prison show for an album, but Johnston liked it, and, after considerable planning, the officials at Folsom agreed to a January 13 date. So intent on doing it right was Cash that he rented a ballroom in a Sacramento hotel to do two days’ worth of rehearsals, something he almost never did. (On the second day of practice, the night before the shows (there actually were two shows at Folsom which were used for the album) California Gov. Ronald Reagan stopped by the ballroom to greet the performers.)

We know what happened that Saturday. With June by his side and much-changed from his visit a year before, Cash re-introduced himself to the inmates (it was Johnston who suggested that he just go out and say his name). No one knew it at the time, but the world changed that day.

The next month Cash spent several days in Arkansas and Memphis being honored on “Homecoming Day” and “Johnny Cash Day.” Speculation ran rampant that he and June would announce their engagement, but they did not. But on February 22, 1968 they made it public: before a screaming crowd of adoring fans, he proposed on stage in London, Ontario. June Carter had finally found joy.

But work kept them on the road. Finally they made it home to Nashville in time for the Grammy Awards on February 29. The Recording Academy accorded them prime seating, placing them next to Hall of Famer Eddy Arnold and to future Hall of Famers, songwriters Felice and Boudleaux Bryant. It had been nearly 20 years since June, just 19, had recorded the Bryants’ “Country Girl” during that first recording session in New York with Homer and Jethro. In between, June Carter’s life had intersected with all the giants: Hank Williams, Carl Smith, Elvis Presley, Patsy Cline. Now, it was her turn. That night, the girl who took her family from Poor Valley to the stage of the Opry listened as the Grammy for Best Country Vocal Group went to Johnny Cash and June Carter, for “Jackson.” At the podium Cash told the world: “This’ll make a nice wedding present.” The next day, March 1, 1968, in the First United Methodist Church of Franklin, Kentucky, the tears were of happiness, as June married her John.

The future would not bring unadulterated happiness. June would experience great heartache and pain together with love and fame throughout her entire life. But she never gave up, never stopped looking for the best in people. And she never stopped being June Carter, Poor Valley Girl. When she was just a dreaming little girl, she told her sisters, “One day, I will dine with queens.” One could surely make the case that June Carter was never more in the company of royalty than when she sat down and dined alone.