OldSpeak

Johnny Cash: 1932-2003

By Neal Shaffer
September 16, 2003

Those of us who had been paying attention saw it coming. The illness had encroached too far for denial, and Johnny Cash’s death on Sept. 12, 2003, at age 71, was no surprise. And yet, this one’s going to take awhile.

Somewhere deep inside, every American knows we’re losing something. Piece by piece, life by life, our collective identity is changing. There’s a lot to like about what we’re becoming, as surely as there is a lot to hate about what we once were. But that’s not really the point. For if we are not exactly losing our sense of decency, of honesty and of humanity, we are certainly losing our ability to find new ways to appreciate them. The saddest thing about Johnny Cash’s death is knowing that there will never be another like him. Or more accurately, if there is, we won’t know.

Cash’s death strikes deep at the character of our nation, for he gave face to so many of the things we like to think we hold dear, and did so without apology, regret, or venality. When the crop of modern icons grows old, we will have long since forgotten why we cared. It’s the nature of celebrity in these times. That in and of itself is a shame, and it’s one that will have to be dealt with on an individual basis. Cash’s death should not be treated as a matter of celebrity. He should be accorded a different treatment because his relationship with us was different. He came from a different time, and he represented the underdog that, in some sense, we all are. He showed us the inevitability of our mistakes, the right way to atone for them, and the right way to achieve.

Cash gave noble voice to contradiction of the spirit, a condition inextricable from our national character. We are a nation of unfulfilled and corrupted intentions that are nonetheless good, a nation born of rebellion and idealism but unable to resist temptation. Cash was the Man In Black who gave voice to derelicts, drunks, drifters and killers with the kind of empathy that blurs the distinction between confession and conveyance. He was also John R. Cash, born-again Christian and devoted family man who turned his back on 7 years of drug abuse after finding God when all he wanted to do was give up. But the God-fearing family man was there from the start, as evidenced by his focus on traditional folk tunes and hymns. As surely, the Man In Black remained long after the conversion. Indeed, his recent renaissance began with “Delia’s Gone,” a tale of a man who both celebrates and regrets murdering his girlfriend. Johnny Cash never claimed to have all the answers. His life’s work is a testament to the process of figuring out. He was religious without being pious and mistake-prone without being wicked. He understood, and he was one of us. Now, he’s gone.

We don’t honor Johnny Cash’s life by recounting his many achievements, though doing that certainly doesn’t hurt. His life is not defined by the number of songs he composed, by the amount of records he sold, or by his membership in both the Country Music and Rock and Roll halls of fame. But we can honor him. We can honor him by understanding what his life really meant, now more than ever.

We can do it by paying more attention to the downtrodden, whether that state is a matter of economy or of spirit. By paying more attention to the value of independence and integrity in the face of temptation and adversity. By being more willing to call a spade a spade while still resisting the urge to become cynical. By understanding that our humanity is both frail and strong, and embracing both qualities.

The day after Cash died, VH1 re-aired an episode of its Storytellers series featuring Cash and Willie Nelson. Cash played a song called “Drive On”, a first-person tale of a Vietnam veteran who made it back, and his friend who didn’t. Towards the end of the song, Cash forgot some of the lyrics. He recovered a measure later and finished the song. The camera was on his face when he slipped, and in his expression at that moment was all that we need to understand about why it is important to honor and remember Johnny Cash’s life. He knew he had slipped up, and he knew that we knew. But it didn’t matter. It’s a small thing, sure. But that kind of nobility has a currency that shouldn’t be underestimated.

Death is an occasion to reflect, and it’s worth saying that a life is only worth the honesty and the integrity with which it was lived. Johnny Cash shared his life with the world. We shared his shortcomings and we shared his triumphs. His songs are a sacrifice, a gift. He probably wanted us to learn from his mistakes, but he probably also knew that we would only turn to him after we had already made those mistakes for ourselves. When we did, his words were there to comfort us. They still will be, but it’s no longer the same. Johnny Cash was only a man, but he was a very decent man, and we owe it to ourselves to never, ever, forget him.

“And in the dim of yesterday/I can clearly see/That flesh and blood cried out to someone/as it does in me/And there was some old song that said/I love you ‘til I die/Before my time”—“Before My Time”, 2000

DISCLAIMER: THE VIEWS AND OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN OLDSPEAK ARE NOT NECESSARILY THOSE OF THE RUTHERFORD INSTITUTE.