To Buck Owens, No. 1 was the only spot, No. 2 was for losers
ALVIS EDGAR "BUCK" OWENS
By BILL MACK
Truckers Connection
3/13/2008
After his passing on March 25, 2006, I was interviewed by several people in the media, asking my “true” thoughts about Buck Owens. Many of them had been told Buck and I were close, personal friends; a friendship that began in the early '60s.
Without a single doubt, Alvis Edgar “Buck” Owens was one of the most successful country music acts to bless planet Earth.
He sold millions of recordings and, after struggling during his beginning years in entertainment, managed to play to turn-away crowds all over the globe. He demanded and deserved top billing on all marquees. Even The Beatles considered Buck to be the best.
Buck was recognized as a genuine song-writer. The great soul-singer Ray Charles recorded several of Owens’ musical compositions, referring to him as “A white man with a golden talent.” Ray added, “This man should limit his appearances so he can rest up to write. Every Buck Owens song I’ve recorded has been a winner.”
Buck was also a businessman. He owned radio stations, music publishing firms and one of the most successful night clubs in the world. All of these ventures were huge money-makers. The reason being: Buck could never stand to lose at anything he was involved in. Whether it was a golf ball or a guitar, Buck took it seriously. He could never stand having a guitar-picker out-pick him (few could), and would go into temporary rage should he be out-driven by whomever he had chosen for a round of golf.
This I know personally. I would like to share a bit of the “Buck and Bill” golf relationship with you:
Almost every time Owens was booked in the Fort Worth–Dallas area, it was understood that we would hook up for some golf. While teeing off on the first hole at a golf course in Fort Worth, I happened to hit a very good “drive,” straight down the middle—something very unusual for me. Buck gave me a brief stare of disbelief, making no comment before placing his golf ball on the tee. After taking a few practice swings, he addressed the ball, gripped the club, overpowered his swing, and “topped” the ball, sending it less than a hundred yards into some tough brush on the far side of the fairway. After tossing his club toward the golf cart, he growled at me: “You’ve been taking some lessons. You should have told me.”
I smiled at him and attempted to calm his obvious anger: “Believe me, Buck, my shot was an accident, I haven’t hit a golf ball that far and that straight in years.”
Without added comment, Buck picked up his club, tossed it into the golf bag that was resting on the rear platform of his golf cart and said, “I’m not in the mood for this. I’m going to the hotel, grab a sandwich and get some rest. I should never have decided to play golf today. I’m tired.”
“Want me to go with you?” I asked. “I’ll buy your lunch.”
Before shoving his golf cart into action, he replied: “No, you go ahead and play a round. After all, you’ve been spending some of your hard-earned money on golf lessons.”
As he headed toward the parking lot, he forced a smile and yelled, “I’ll see you later, Pro!”
That night at the Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas where Buck was scheduled to perform, I was backstage, talking with Don Rich and Tom Brumley, talented members of Owens’ band, The Buckaroos, when Buck approached us, accompanied by two beautiful girls and Dewey Groom, the manager of the honky-tonk. He had a huge smile on his face when he grabbed me, gave me a big hug and shouted, “I want you girls to meet th’ best golfer in Dallas!” Then, he went into a spell of loud laughter: “This Bill Mack feller really took me for a ride this mornin’! He took me to th’ golf course and acted like he was a hacker, like me! Then, he proceeded to beat me to death on every hole!”
He failed to tell the beauties and old Dewey that we didn’t complete a single hole, and that he had gone into a fierce rage. Instead, he laughed and continued: “One of these days, I’ll beat him. I’ll get me some of those fancy golf lessons, like he’s been doin’, an’ beat ol’ Bill to death!”
As Buck, Dewey and the girls headed for the backstage dressing rooms, Don Rich, Buck’s tremendous guitar picker, looked at me and laughed, “Bill, you ought to know you don’t out-do Buck. You should have known better than to out-drive him on that golf course.”
I said, “Well, you manage to out-pick him on the guitar. Why does he allow that to happen?”
Don grinned and said, “He doesn’t know I’m out-pickin’ him. Besides that, he pays me to pick. If I couldn’t out-pick him, he’d fire me and hire somebody who could. Then, if he thought the man he hired to take my place was out-pickin’ him, he’d fire him! Buck is confused. He wants th’ best—unless th’ best is better than him.”
I don’t want to frame the impression that Buck Owens was a sore loser, although it’s difficult to ignore that reference, after sharing this bit with you. Perhaps it would be more generous to the image of ol’ Buck to say he was a perfectionist, and couldn’t stand to fizz out while attempting to do his best within his diversified empire. He simply wanted to be recognized as “unbeatable” at whatever he was doing.
I well remember how he would sizzle if one of his recordings went to No. 2 in the Billboard listings of the Top-40 best-selling records in the so-called charts, while a George Jones or Merle Haggard hit was perched at No. 1.
Buck would really lose his cool if the No. 2 spot was as high as his recording would nest before dropping in importance. To him, No. 1 was the only spot. No. 2 was a place for losers!