As many of you will know, the former home of Johnny Cash and wife, June Carter Cash, burned down on Tuesday. I was greatly saddened, for the Cashes were friends of mine, and I have visited that house on several occasions. I met other extraordinary people there, besides the Cashes, including Naomi Judd, Jane Seymour and George Jones. I was always welcomed warmly, and I cherish the memories.
June, smiling and arranging an enormous bouquet of flowers, sent to her in celebration of a CD release–by Garth Brooks. John, sitting in his favorite chair, often in his pajamas, booming out, “Come over here and hug my neck!” when I arrived. In point of fact, I got the worst case of flu of my life from giving John a hello kiss one time. As soon as I got back home, the bug hit me like a freight train, and I spent several hours on my bathroom floor. I joked afterwards that it was worth it–after all, I kissed Johnny Cash!
There were other visits, in other places–I attended John’s last birthday bash, at their fabled place in Jamaica, Cinnamon Hill. Both John and June were funny, smart, generous to a fault, and unfailingly kind.
I’ll miss the house in Hendersonville. But not nearly as much as I miss the wonderful people who lived there, once upon a time.
