Five Things You Probably Don't Know About Dwight Yoakam
Dwight David Yoakam was born on October 23, 1956 in Pikeville, KY, to keypunch operator Ruth Ann Tibbs Yoakam and gas station owner David Yoakam. Soon after, his family moved from their Floyd County home to Columbus Ohio. Dwight remained fiercely proud of his Kentucky roots, and he sang of the trip North up U.S. Highway 23 that many Eastern Kentuckians -- like his own parents -- were forced to take in order to find factory jobs.
In honor of Dwight Yoakam's birthday, here are five facts you probably didn't know about the singer and actor:
- Dwight was briefly enrolled at the Ohio State University, but dropped out in order to move to Los Angeles and pursue a career in entertainment. He was later awarded an honorary doctorate degree from Ohio Valley University in Parkersburg, WV.
- He has released four albums that were comprised solely of cover songs, including one album of Buck Owens songs.
- Dwight's acting career includes roles in Slingblade, Panic Room, Wedding Crashers, and Bandidas.
- He owns a food brand known as Bakersfield Biscuits.
- Johnny Cash once said that Yoakam was his favorite country singer.
Happy Birthday, Dwight!
Rose + Ivory Fan Quilt
Every Thursday, I spotlight a Quilt of the Week, featuring one of the stunning quilts my grandmother has made for me through the years. Today's quilt is a fan pattern on a rose and ivory background. I love the delicate hand-stitched fan patterns in the ivory blocks!
The New Appalachia
During a recent trip to my Appalachian hometown, I had a revelation:
Everything looks the same, more or less, but there are some substantial differences.
We attended a ceremony at Alice Lloyd College, where I saw the building that once housed my great-grandmother's office still standing and put to new use.
We visited a fancy, newish restaurant in my home county, where I was delighted to find a delicious menu and a healthy appreciation of our native spirit -- a far cry from the dry county votes of my childhood.
And, as I left the mountains on Sunday morning, I ran across a barn -- formerly, the Appalachian countryside's in-house billboard service for tobacco branding -- advocating smoking cessation.
It's clear, the place that we've been told will never change is changing. It's retaining the best of the old mountain ways while adapting to the times. And, here at HerKentucky, we're thrilled to partake in the best of the new Appalachia. We'll be bringing you our newest city guide, HerAppalachia, on a semi-weekly basis, celebrating our favorite places and events. And we'd love to hear what you're loving about Appalachia lately!
Yellow and Green Grandmother's Flower Garden Quilt
Every Thursday, I show y'all one of the beautiful quilts that my grandmother has made for me over the years. This week's Quilt of the Week is a yellow and green Grandmother's Flower Garden pattern.
I love the interlocking hexagons that form this pattern. It looks deceptively simple, but my granny assures me that it takes a great deal of concentration and precision!
It's easy to see why the Grandmother's Flower Garden has been a favorite for decades.
Route 23
Built in 1926, U.S. Route 23 was conceived as a North-to-South highway spanning from Detroit to Jacksonville. Unlike the sleek, efficient Interstate Highway System that would later come into vogue, U.S. 23 and its contemporaries meander through small towns across the country. It offers few tourist activities, and the scenery is usually pretty modest -- small homes, even smaller post offices, and the errant law office -- but for Eastern Kentucky natives, Route 23 is so much more than a road. It's a symbolic journey to economic improvement, a sentimental drive home, and the birthplace of country music royalty. It's a lesson in industry, and economics. It's the road we take when we run away, and the road on which we inevitably return.
U.S. 23 winds through the heart of Eastern Kentucky, coming in from Virginia at Jenkins and stretching north to Ohio along the river bank in Ashland. This 144-mile stretch traces the journey of Kentucky's coal industry -- from the coal mines in the heart of the region to the tipples and factories in the more industrial Northeast corner of the state.
Near Prestonsburg on U.S. Route 23.
For Appalachia natives, this stretch of road is known mainly as the road to the factories of Ohio and Michigan. To our uncles and grandfathers, it was the road to a better life. Jobs at the Detroit automotive factories lay at the Northern tip of Route 23; my own family history is filled with stories of carloads of young men leaving the hollers and making the trek north. After graduation in the '50s and '60s, few job prospects arose in Appalachia. It was only in researching this piece that I learned that Route 23 was known as a Hillbilly Highway for the escape route it provided young Appalachians seeking a better life. I certainly did know, however, that the lyrics to Floyd County native Dwight Yoakam's 1980s hit "Readin', Rightin', Route 23" rang true to so many of our friends and family.
In the years since Dwight first sang his powerful tribute to Route 23's legacy, the Kentucky portion of the road has been nicknamed the Country Music Highway , since a famous country music singer hails from every county along the stretch. Road signs along each county mark these famous sons and daughters, and a Paintsville museum commemorates their work. The road commemorates the rockabilly sound of Dwight Yoakam, the haunting ballads of Keith Whitley, and the virtuoso performances of Ricky Skaggs. The Queen herself, Loretta Lynn, is honored, as are the Judds. There's even a sign denoting the hometown of singer/actor Billy Ray Cyrus, if that's your thing.
Abandoned farmhouse along US 23, Louisa
Route 23 has remained virtually unchanged for as long as I can remember. It's an old road going through old towns. It isn't the kind of road that attracts golf courses, shopping centers, or subdivisions. It's a slice of old Americana virtually preserved in amber. Recently, however, the stretch of 23 running through Johnson and Lawrence counties was affected by an intense tornado. Homes were tragically destroyed, as were many fields and hillsides. Sections of Route 23 now present heartbreaking scenes -- homes are destroyed and hillsides demolished. Yet, for Eastern Kentuckians, the road has always been about hope. It's the promise of a better future. It's the road to prosperity and better times.
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Stars of the Country Music Highway:
Billy Ray Cyrus — Flatwoods
The Judds — Ashland
Tom T. Hall — Olive Hill
Keith Whitley — Sandy Hook
Ricky Skaggs — Blaine
Hylo Brown — River
Loretta Lynn — Van Lear
Crystal Gayle — Van Lear
Dwight Yoakam — Betsy Layne
Patty Loveless — Elkhorn City
Gary Stewart — Jenkins
On Appalachia
via Amazon.
People from both sides of my family were born, lived, and died here. Neither of my grandfathers ever lived anywhere else. In true mountain tradition, they both gave land to my parents to build their home. When I was young, I couldn't wait to leave Kentucky. Now, as I get older, I value every day when I return. -- Shelby Lee Adams, Salt and Truth.
Yesterday, The New York Times Sunday Review published a series of photographs entitled Of Kentucky, excerpted from the new book Salt and Truth by Shelby Lee Adams, a Hazard-born photographer. As soon as I heard about the project, I immediately got my guard up.
Here it goes again, I thought. Prepare to be embarrassed.
The black and white photos depicted sad-eyed children standing among coonskin hats. Bad tattoos. A freakish funeral. I was immediately ashamed of the labels that I knew many would affix to the work:
Methhead. Skinhead. Inbred. Hillbilly.
And yet, Mr. Adams, a 2010 Guggenheim Fellow, interspersed the photos with earnest statements proclaiming his love of returning to the mountains.
Every few years, it seems, Eastern Kentucky catches the eye of the national media. In the wake of Bobby Kennedy's 1968 "poverty tour", it seems our plight is newsworthy in a very cyclical pattern.
Documentaries, news specials, and even cheesy TV talent shows present the most backward hollers and the most extreme cases of poverty. It's suddenly quite easy to believe that all Appalachians speak in an unintelligible patois, use outhouses and generally live the lives of 14th century peasants.
Predictably, the outcry from so many of my Eastern Kentucky friends and neighbors never changes: "I'm proud to be from Eastern Kentucky," the bumper stickers read. "My child is a doctor/teacher/lawyer/pharmacist. It's not like that at all." Feelings are hurt and pride is bruised. And, some very valid points about success and work ethics and the beauty of the area are raised.
The other Appalachian viewpoint I often hear is one of shame, disdain, and distance. The folks who wanted nothing more than to get out forever. Those who, when they stop to mention the area at all, are quick to note that Eastern Kentucky is a land of poverty, Mountain Dew teeth, and despair.
The thing is, I grew up near Hazard, KY. About 35 miles away, to be exact. My own Appalachian experience has been uniquely filled with culture, education and general celebration of the area. Many of my ancestors were artsy and bookish, a proud array of writers, painters, and educators. My great-grandfather was a high school calculus teacher-- an amazing degree of training in 1920s Appalachia. Other relatives have overcome extreme poverty and hardships to succeed. I grew up among educators; my cousins and I never questioned that we would attend college. My own parents made sure that my brother and I saw more books and museums and battlefields as children than we could possibly count. And yet, that isn't the entirety of my Appalachian experience.
The very things that we've tried so hard to downplay -- the poverty, the drug abuse, the apathy, and the hopelessness -- are very much alive and kicking in the town where I was raised. As much as I want to turn away from Mr. Adams's images, I see folks like his subjects every time I visit the Wal-Mart. I've seen addiction and poverty and utter desperation. I've seen childhood friends and classmates rendered nearly unrecognizable from a lifetime's worth of hard knocks. And, yet, I've seen as just many flourish despite similar circumstances.
As I scan through the photos from Mr. Adams's work, I'm surprised to say that I don't feel shame or hurt. I don't find the photos funny, or charming, or heartwarming. There was a time when I would have been angry at the photographer for capturing and publishing the images, and even more angry at the subjects for consenting.
The truth is, these photos just are.