More On "Reuben James"

Before I post lyrics, I like to make sure I have the correct composer --- so many lyrics sites list the singer as the composer, which is usually very flattering to the singer.

So, I looked up the composer of "Reuben James," and found a Wiki article on the name Reuben James.  Seems there's the fictional one in the song, and another, who was a hero of the Marines' victory in the Barbary Wars.  (Lord, everything old is new again --- just saw a news story about the Navy and Marines training to take on Somali pirates.)

More on that later, maybe.  Right now, I'm interested in the song lyrics, and the fictional Reuben James.

Barry Etris, the man who wrote "Reuben James," is a white Southerner who wrote the song partly as a tribute to his own father, who plowed fields with a mule and was found dead in those self-same fields, the mule's reins still in his hands.

Mr. Etris is a visual artist, as well as an auditory one.  He has sketched his vision of Reuben James, the religious share-cropper in the song.

I have always loved this song ... it was one of the few country songs about a black man that I heard when I was growing up.  It's nice to know more about it.

"Reuben James"

written by Barry Etris

Reuben James,
In my song you’ll live again.
And the phrases that I rhyme
Are just the footsteps out of time
From the time when I knew you,
Reuben James.

Reuben James.
All the folks around Madison County cussed your name.
Just a no ‘count share-cropping colored man
Who would steal anything he can,
And everybody laid the blame
On Reuben James.

Reuben James,
You still walk the furrowed fields of my mind.
The faded shirt, the weathered brow,
The calloused hands upon the plow.
I loved you then, and I love you now,
Reuben James.

Flora Gray,
The gossip of Madison County died with child.
And although your skin was black,
You were the one that didn’t turn your back
On the hungry white child with no name,
Reuben James.

Reuben James,
With your mind on my soul and a Bible in your right hand.
You said, “Turn the other cheek,
There’s a better world a-waiting for the meek.”
In my mind these words remain
From Reuben James.

Reuben James,
You still walk the furrowed fields of my mind.
The faded shirt, the weathered brow,
the calloused hands upon the plow.
I loved you then, and I love you now,
Reuben James.

Reuben James,
One dark cloudy day they brought you from the field.
Until your lonely pine box came,
Just a preacher, me, and the rain
Just to sing one last refrain
For Reuben James.

Reuben James,
You still walk the furrowed fields of my mind.
The faded shirt, the weathered brow,
The calloused hands upon the plow.
I loved you then, and I love you now,
Reuben James.

"The Son Of Hickory Hollow's Tramp"

Written by Dallas Frazier

Oh, the path was deep and wide
From footsteps leading to our cabin.
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp.
And late at night, a hand would knock,
And there would stand a stranger.
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp.

Yeah, the weeds were high, the corn was dry,
When Daddy took to drinking.
Him and Sally Walker, they up and ran away.
Then Momma shed a silent tear,
And promised fourteen children,
"I swear you'll never see a hungry day."

When Momma sacrificed her pride,
The neighbors started talking.
But we were much too young
To understand the things they said.
All we really cared about
Was Momma's chicken dumplings
And a goodnight kiss
Before we went to bed.

Oh, you know, the path was deep and wide
From footsteps leading to our cabin.
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp.
And late at night, a hand would knock
And there would stand a stranger.
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp.

When Daddy left and destitution
Came upon our family,
Not one neighbor volunteered
To lend a helping hand.
So just let 'em gossip all they want ...
She loved us, and she raised us.
The proof is standing here,
A full-grown man.

Last summer, Momma passed away,
And left the ones who loved her.
Each and every one of us is
More than grateful for their birth.
And each Sunday she receives
A big bouquet of fourteen roses,
With a card that reads
"The Greatest Mom on Earth!"

Oh, you know, the path was deep and wide
From footsteps leading to our cabin.
Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp.
And late at night a hand would knock,
And there would stand a stranger.
Yes, I'm the son of Hickory Holler's tramp!