We present an extract from In My Own Words, the new autobiography from Sandy Kelly.
From her magical childhood being reared in a family of travelling entertainers to building a career as a music star, Irish Queen of Country Music Sandy recounts the highs – and lows – of a lifetime in music.
1989, Sandy meets Johnny Cash for the first time…
Checking I had enough copies of my new single 'Crazy’ and of course bios and pictures, in case a fan might be lurking somewhere waiting for an autograph, I headed off towards Cavan. Looking every inch the country star in my Levi’s and Western jacket, I’d finished off the outfit with a pair of steel-tipped cowgirl boots that Harold Bradley had bought for me in Nashville. Off I went in my Toyota Carina to knock on the doors of every pirate radio station I could find to ask them to play ‘Crazy’. I have to admit that although Shay Hennessy, my record boss and friend, practically had to drag me to the studio to record it, I was very proud of it. Frank McNamara had produced it, with the cream of the Irish Concert Orchestra weaving their magical sounds as I sang.
I had been to several stations and this was the last one on my list. The DJ kindly asked me to do an interview before he played the track. As I gathered my bits and pieces to leave, in the distance a phone rang. The DJ answered it. He came back in and said, ‘Sandy, there’s an American guy on the phone for you.’ I said, ‘What? Are you sure?’ I took the phone and cautiously said, ‘Hello.’ A deep American voice replied, ‘Hi, is this Sandy Kelly? I’m Johnny Cash.’ To which I said, ‘No, it’s Dolly Parton. Pull the other one!’ This smart buck taking the mick wasn’t going to catch me out! Again, the voice said, ‘Really, I’m Johnny Cash.’ ‘Yeah’ says I, ‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Again, the reply, ‘I really am Johnny Cash.’
'Johnny Cash called the Cavan pirate station' - Sally Kelly on The Late Late Show
I could feel the ground going from under me. ‘Are you really Johnny Cash?’ ‘Hon, I’ve been trying to tell you that!’ Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I was talking to Johnny Cash, on the phone, from a pirate radio station somewhere in Cavan! The blood drained from the DJ’s face when he heard me say, ‘Sorry, Mr Cash, I thought it was someone messing.’ ‘June and I were travelling in the car, we heard your song and interview, and liked it much. So we’d love for you to come see us tonight at our concert in Omagh.’ Trying desperately to catch my breath to answer, ‘Thank you, Mr Cash. Of course, I’ll be there.’ I’d figure out how I’d do all that later. At this point I could only get out the words ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘thank you’ out of my mouth. I was in shock and the DJ hadn’t moved or uttered a word since he’d realised he had also just been talking to Johnny Cash.
A warrior-like figure emerges, at least ten feet tall (to me), piercing eyes, black hair, long black coat and black leather knee-high boots.
Well, I was all over the place leaving the radio station, a million things going through my head like a hurricane. I sat in the car for a few minutes to pull myself together and make a plan. Time was of the essence, every decision vital. First, I had to find a phone box, call Mike and repeat everything that had just happened to convince myself it wasn’t a dream. I asked him to go to my wardrobe and take out the new black leather skirt suit I’d bought for my first big support tour, with Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter. If there’d been mobile phones then, I’d have rung half the country to tell them I was going to meet Johnny Cash and June Carter. In my head, I practised what I’d say to Johnny when I met him, something interesting, intelligent. What the hell would I say? ‘Nice to meet you, I love your music.’ No. ‘Thank you for inviting me, I’m looking forward to the concert.’ No. ‘I never dreamt I’d ever meet you.’ No. ‘"Walk The Line" is one of my favourites.’ Oh God, no! It was all terrible. I didn’t want to be too cheeky, but I wanted to sound confident. To hell with it, I’d have to wing it. Sure I might not even see him at all, I thought. One thing was for sure, though, I needed to get a photograph because I’d never see him again and who’d believe any of it if I didn’t have a photograph?
I met Mike at a pub near the venue. I changed in the ladies’ and put on some make-up, and then made my way to the stage door. I said nervously to one of the security guards, ‘I’m Sandy Kelly and Johnny Cash invited me to be here tonight.’ To my astonishment, he said, ‘Yes, Mr Cash is expecting you.’ Well, did I ever think I’d hear that sentence coming out of anyone’s mouth! I was brought backstage and could hear the buzz of the fans front of house, finding their seats to await the arrival of their hero, and here was I, waiting outside his dressing room to meet him. ‘Thirty minutes to curtain up!’ All of a sudden I was calm and automatically switched to professional mode, although my body was still flooded with every emotion I possessed. For the moment, though, I was still in control. Just then, I spotted a well-known photographer. I grabbed him and said, ‘You see that door? Johnny Cash will walk out any minute. I’ll line myself up beside him and, as quick as you can, take a picture of the two of us. I’ll never get this chance again.’ ‘Okay’, he says. Big camera, lens and all strategically positioned on his chest, finger on the button ready for action.
The dressing-room door opens, all eyes focus in that direction and I’m facing the door. A warrior-like figure emerges, at least ten feet tall (to me), piercing eyes, black hair, long black coat and black leather knee-high boots. All brought together by a wide belt with a large Native American style silver buckle. As I was scrambling to get my mouth in gear, he held out his hand to grasp mine and said, ‘You must be Sandy Kelly. Waylon told me all about you.’ ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Mr Cash.’ I turned to get lined up for the photo, but Mother of the Divine Jesus, the photographer was stretched out on the floor, the camera still positioned on his chest. He’d fainted at the sight of his idol. The last I saw of him, the security guards were carrying him, camera and all, out the exit door and laying him across the bonnet of a car. But what the hell would I do now to get my picture?
…Pretty soon, the band arrived in with sheets of paper in hand. I was thinking maybe I shouldn’t really be here while they’re practising, so I said, ‘Maybe I’d better go out and get my seat while I still can.’ Johnny let out a big belly laugh and said, ‘Sandy, you won’t be needing a seat. You’ll be on stage singing with me.’
Sandy Kelly, In My Own Words is published by The O'Brien Press
