Gary P. Nunn - At Home with the Armadillo

This book is a work of creative nonfiction. The events portrayed are from the authors memory and personal experiences.

Published by Greenleaf Book Group Press
Austin, Texas
www.gbgpress.com

Copyright 2018 Gary P. Nunn

All rights reserved.

Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Distributed by Greenleaf Book Group

For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Greenleaf Book Group at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.

Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group
Cover photograph by Valerie Fremin Photography
Back cover photograph by Scott Newton
Flag image Bruce Stanfield; armadillo image Juli Gin.
Used under license from Shutterstock.com

Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.

Print ISBN: 978-1-62634-487-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-62634-488-4

Part of the Tree Neutral program, which offsets the number of trees consumed in the production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as planting trees in direct proportion to the number of trees used: www.treeneutral.com

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

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First Edition

This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, William and Flossie Nunn, whose discipline, guidance, and direction have kept me between the ditches when I swerve and have allowed me to survive this incredible journey.

Contents

Foreword

WHERE DO WE TURN to learn about the bright and energetic artists who carved out the progressive country music scene in Austin, Texas, that came to be known as Redneck Rock?

Look no further! Here is a spotlight on one fine fellow, standing tall in the midst of some of the most daring singers and players of then and now. He broke the mold and dashed into prominence with a sound all his ownsome country, some blues, some rock, and a lot of enthusiasm.

Were speaking of Gary P. Nunn.

A heaping helping of Texas and a bit of Oklahoma brought forth not only an interesting and unique sound, but also one stalwart individual who blossomed into a great writer, songsmith, and Texas music icon.

Yes... early on, Mr. Gary P. Nunn deftly twisted his own form of entertaining storytelling into a strong sonic statement that lives on today. Who can ever forget the unbridled blasphemy of Garys wondrous composition, London Homesick Blues from 1973?

Since then, hes been charging down a curvy, cool path and delivering a splendid string of songs to sing along with.

With Gary P. Nunn continuing to invite us into his ever-emerging brand of blues, country, and rock n roll, we can indulge ourselves in a most rewarding form of entertainment that only GPN can deliver.

Sing it!

Billy F Gibbons
August 22, 2017

Chapter 1

Sonny Boy

THE DAY HAS ARRIVED for my procrastination to end and for me to begin the project I have been contemplating for years. Its hard to know where to start, so Ill just start at the beginning. I intend to just write off the top of my head, see what comes out, and let an editor do his or her job.

I was born on December 4, 1945, in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. The story is that my father, William Ulysses Nunn, drove my mother, Flossie Loraine Crocker Nunn, to the hospital in the school bus, as their 43 model Kaiser was broken down. They forded the iced-over creeks that crossed the countys dirt roads from their home in the small, rural community of Eram, where they were employed in the public school system.

My father was the superintendent. He taught math and science, coached girls basketball and softball, and my mother taught second grade when she didnt have babies to care for. They lived in an apartment inside the schoolhouse, as that was the housing provided for them. I had two older siblings, the oldest being brother Max, who was five years older than me, and sister Judy, who was three years older. Our lives naturally revolved around the school.

My first memories are of my mother in a small room in the schoolhouse. I recall the sunlight shining through an elevated window illuminating the dust and lint suspended in the air. I was sitting on her lap. She was reading a letter aloud to me from my Uncle Robert and Aunt Mary Lou, my dads brother and sister-in-law, announcing the birth of their first child, Tolliea family name borne by my fraternal grandfather who had come down the family line through a connection with a family by the name of Tallifero.

My memories of the five years we spent in Eram are dominated by scenes of basketball games; of school Christmas assemblies where my dad played Santa and every kid got a brown bag of hard candies and Brazil nuts; of me trying unsuccessfully to get a bottle of Grapette or Nehi Red or RC Cola out of the coin-operated pop machine (without inserting any coins!); of boys on their knees in the dirt shooting marbles (shootin doo-gees it was called); of girls playing Jacks and London Bridge Is Falling Down; and of the school playground where students played a game called Work-Up, a baseball-type game played with a softball and few gloves, if any. Breaks from class for recess, lunch, and Schools out were announced with a handheld bell. Almost before the bell quit ringing, boys and girls from first grade through high school would race out to the ball field.

The game of Work-Up started with three batters: In a race to decide who would be first, the first kid to touch home base was the first batter, the second kid was second batter, and the third kid to arrive was the third. The next in line to touch home base was the catcher, then the pitcher, then first base, second base, and so on. Slow pitch softball was the format, so all could playboys and girls, large and small. When a batter struck out or when an out was made, that person had to go to right field, and everyone would move up a positionthe catcher would become the batter and so on. If you caught a fly ball, the batter would exchange positions with you. If you didnt make an out, you got to continue batting. The games would start early, before school, and go till the first bell. First graders and seniors togetherall the kids played happily for twenty-five minutes or so till the hated bell rang. Play would often last till dark for the kids who lived close by and didnt have to ride the school bus.

Of course, I was too young to play with the big kids at Eram because I hadnt started school yet, but thats all I could think about, and I lived for the day when I would be old enough to play. This is where my love of baseball and sports in general began.

IN 1950, WE MOVED to another small country school in a community called Olney, which was near Coalgate. Ada was the nearest town of any size, about forty miles away, and thats where my brother Steve was born. At Olney, we lived in a teacherage that was provided for the superintendents family on the school grounds, which occupied ten acres or so. The teacherage was an old converted Army barracks that became available in the years just following World War II. There were no toilet facilities, and we shared the privy outhouse that was provided for the school. Our living quarters were in the front half of the building, which was divided into three rooms. The front room served as the living room and my parents bedroom. When we had company, my folks would surrender their bed to them and sleep on a quilt pallet on the floora common practice in our family when there was a shortage of beds. Baby brother Steve slept in the room with Mom and Dad. The middle room held the kitchen, dining room, and a back portion, which served as a bedroom for me and my brother and sister. I slept in a metal childs bed. A door at the back of our bedroom led directly into the school cafeteria, where two or three school cooks wearing starched white uniforms and hairnets cooked nutritious home-style meals.