There is a loud clamor of cheering and clapping from the bleachers filled with country music fans as an
introduction is made and fiddles start to play.
The music sounds like a train rolling in. The whistle sounds its warning -- but it's not a whistlem it's Boxcar
Willie. The cheering intensifies. Boxcar imitates several kinds of train whistles, then starts picking his guitar,
stomping his foot and singing his special variety of country music.
He pauses from his song to make jokes, bringing loud bursts of laughter from the audience.
Boxcar, Saturday night's featured entertainment at the Will County Fair at Peotone, is just as entertaining off
stage. He laughs and chats with his audience around his motor home, which carries him from town to town, from
fair to fair.
He likes people to get excited. "What entertainer wouldn't want his audience to catch his heart, or to get
caught up in the spirit of things," he says. "Some nights are just absolutely over the moon."
Willie grew up sharecropping with his father. But he entertained early, performing a radio show when he was 10.
But, he discounts that start, denying any wonder child status. "I don't think that it had anything to do with talent," he
says. The guy that ran the show owned the music store and he just thought, 'well this here is a kid I can probably
sell a guitar to'."
Now Willie plays on different television shows on the Nashville Channel and is a 'big star' on the
Grand-Ole-Opery."
introduction is made and fiddles start to play.
The music sounds like a train rolling in. The whistle sounds its warning -- but it's not a whistlem it's Boxcar
Willie. The cheering intensifies. Boxcar imitates several kinds of train whistles, then starts picking his guitar,
stomping his foot and singing his special variety of country music.
He pauses from his song to make jokes, bringing loud bursts of laughter from the audience.
Boxcar, Saturday night's featured entertainment at the Will County Fair at Peotone, is just as entertaining off
stage. He laughs and chats with his audience around his motor home, which carries him from town to town, from
fair to fair.
He likes people to get excited. "What entertainer wouldn't want his audience to catch his heart, or to get
caught up in the spirit of things," he says. "Some nights are just absolutely over the moon."
Willie grew up sharecropping with his father. But he entertained early, performing a radio show when he was 10.
But, he discounts that start, denying any wonder child status. "I don't think that it had anything to do with talent," he
says. The guy that ran the show owned the music store and he just thought, 'well this here is a kid I can probably
sell a guitar to'."
Now Willie plays on different television shows on the Nashville Channel and is a 'big star' on the
Grand-Ole-Opery."
Story published in the Daily-Journal,
Kankakee, IL Aug. 20, 1986
Kankakee, IL Aug. 20, 1986
He likes to assumed character as a hobo or clown. "The minute you see a clown, you want to get caught up in
a sort of a circus atmosphere."
Boxcar wrote about half the songs he recored. He writes about love, steamboats, rivers, trains.
He writes about "whatever happens to come along," he explaines. He recalls his songs Mister Can You Spare
A Dime, My heart's Deep In the Heart Of Texas, and Let's Get Back To Loving and Hurting, to name a few.
"I have several gold and platinum albums hanging on the walls in my museum," he says, referring to the large
van that also moves the circuit with Boxcar and his band.
All the success he has accquired has come within the last eight years, he says. Eight years ago he had
nothing.
That is when he wrote the song, Cold, Lonely City, Chicago.
"I was in Chicago one night," he says. "Even with eight million people up there, I never felt so alone in all my
life. I was cold and hungry.
"I had a booking to play in Freeport, Illinois. When I got to Chicago, I had $51 in my pocket. I didn't have any
credit cards, then. In order to rent a car, they wanted a $100 deposit. Well, from O'Hare Airport to Freeport, there
must be fifteen toll booths. I went throught the first toll booth, fifteen cents, then the next, and so on.
"Well, pretty soon my dollar was gone. I had to get off that dog-gone toll road and get over to another road. It
was cold, and snowed over. So I finally got back on the toll road. Went right back through the toll booth...
"Why, if they had caught me coming through all those toll booths, they would have locked me up. I had no
money. They might still be looking for whoever rented that car, you know," he said with a laugh.
Growing up in East Texas, Boxcar Willie lived with his family "Right on the Kattie Railroad," he says. "My dad
worked for Kanss-Missouri Railroad call the K-Line. The front porch of our house was about six feet from the track. I
could almost jump from the porch slab to the track."
When he was a kid, he used to hop the trains all the time. That was our way of life. His parents never
reprimanded him from jumping trains, he says. Because "they did it too."
a sort of a circus atmosphere."
Boxcar wrote about half the songs he recored. He writes about love, steamboats, rivers, trains.
He writes about "whatever happens to come along," he explaines. He recalls his songs Mister Can You Spare
A Dime, My heart's Deep In the Heart Of Texas, and Let's Get Back To Loving and Hurting, to name a few.
"I have several gold and platinum albums hanging on the walls in my museum," he says, referring to the large
van that also moves the circuit with Boxcar and his band.
All the success he has accquired has come within the last eight years, he says. Eight years ago he had
nothing.
That is when he wrote the song, Cold, Lonely City, Chicago.
"I was in Chicago one night," he says. "Even with eight million people up there, I never felt so alone in all my
life. I was cold and hungry.
"I had a booking to play in Freeport, Illinois. When I got to Chicago, I had $51 in my pocket. I didn't have any
credit cards, then. In order to rent a car, they wanted a $100 deposit. Well, from O'Hare Airport to Freeport, there
must be fifteen toll booths. I went throught the first toll booth, fifteen cents, then the next, and so on.
"Well, pretty soon my dollar was gone. I had to get off that dog-gone toll road and get over to another road. It
was cold, and snowed over. So I finally got back on the toll road. Went right back through the toll booth...
"Why, if they had caught me coming through all those toll booths, they would have locked me up. I had no
money. They might still be looking for whoever rented that car, you know," he said with a laugh.
Growing up in East Texas, Boxcar Willie lived with his family "Right on the Kattie Railroad," he says. "My dad
worked for Kanss-Missouri Railroad call the K-Line. The front porch of our house was about six feet from the track. I
could almost jump from the porch slab to the track."
When he was a kid, he used to hop the trains all the time. That was our way of life. His parents never
reprimanded him from jumping trains, he says. Because "they did it too."
"It was nine miles from where we lived to town," he says. "The only thing there was a siding, a place where the
freight trains pull off to allow the passenger trains to pass. We had the train schedules, so we knew when they
would be stopping for the passenger trains to pass. So, if we wanted to go to Dallas, we caught the freight train to
Dallas.
There were only about six houses and a cotton gin in the little community near Canton, Texas, where Boxcar
grew up.
"That old train used to come through in the middle of the night," he says. "The engineers had a way of making
that old whistle sound that would make hair stand up on the back of your neck. They could blow that old whistle so
mournful," he says, then he imitates the sound, that really does make hair stand up on the back of your neck.
"From way across town you would hear some old dog howling. Boy, I'm telling you, I'd scrunch down in the
covers. It's an eerie feeling."
Even with the track so close to the house, with the train shaking the hours, Boxcar says, he would sleep right through
it. It was when it didn't come that he was restless.
Boxcar says "it is very easy to be a star. I don't mean that I'm rich, or anything like that. I just make a living
nowadays. I look at my friend, Roy Acuff. He's worth millions of dollars. He's one of the biggest stars in country music
that's ever lived.
His records have sold in the millions through the years. He is the "Grand-Ole-Opry," Boxcar says. "He stops
and talks to everybody that comes by. He has a ball, and I find myself doing the same thing. I love it. It's he easiest
thing in the world."
The small-town crowd at the county fair makes it easy, Boxcar said. He'll stand out and talk with them as much
as they like. His reward, in addition to increased popularity is when he hears a kid say, "Hey, mama, I shook his
hand."
freight trains pull off to allow the passenger trains to pass. We had the train schedules, so we knew when they
would be stopping for the passenger trains to pass. So, if we wanted to go to Dallas, we caught the freight train to
Dallas.
There were only about six houses and a cotton gin in the little community near Canton, Texas, where Boxcar
grew up.
"That old train used to come through in the middle of the night," he says. "The engineers had a way of making
that old whistle sound that would make hair stand up on the back of your neck. They could blow that old whistle so
mournful," he says, then he imitates the sound, that really does make hair stand up on the back of your neck.
"From way across town you would hear some old dog howling. Boy, I'm telling you, I'd scrunch down in the
covers. It's an eerie feeling."
Even with the track so close to the house, with the train shaking the hours, Boxcar says, he would sleep right through
it. It was when it didn't come that he was restless.
Boxcar says "it is very easy to be a star. I don't mean that I'm rich, or anything like that. I just make a living
nowadays. I look at my friend, Roy Acuff. He's worth millions of dollars. He's one of the biggest stars in country music
that's ever lived.
His records have sold in the millions through the years. He is the "Grand-Ole-Opry," Boxcar says. "He stops
and talks to everybody that comes by. He has a ball, and I find myself doing the same thing. I love it. It's he easiest
thing in the world."
The small-town crowd at the county fair makes it easy, Boxcar said. He'll stand out and talk with them as much
as they like. His reward, in addition to increased popularity is when he hears a kid say, "Hey, mama, I shook his
hand."
"Hey," Boxcar Willie calls out on his speaker during his performance at the Kankakee County Fair in Illinois in 1986.
"Is Patricia Lieb in the audience?"
Floods lights turn to the bleachers and scan. In amazement, I stand up. Boxcar knew my friend Carol Schott and I were
there. We had lunch earlier in the day. The three of us had met the year before in another town.
"I'm here." I stand up and suddenly I'm in the spotlight.
"You gonna write about me again?"
"I am."
Well, you need to take my home address and phone number if you need a follow up. Send me a copy."
You know, that show was taped... I wonder where I could
find a copy
"Is Patricia Lieb in the audience?"
Floods lights turn to the bleachers and scan. In amazement, I stand up. Boxcar knew my friend Carol Schott and I were
there. We had lunch earlier in the day. The three of us had met the year before in another town.
"I'm here." I stand up and suddenly I'm in the spotlight.
"You gonna write about me again?"
"I am."
Well, you need to take my home address and phone number if you need a follow up. Send me a copy."
You know, that show was taped... I wonder where I could
find a copy