After Johnny Cash died (a mere few months after his wife June did), Tamiko and I were caught by Sarah Vowell on ‘This American Life’ telling ‘The Greatest Love Story of the 20th Century’. You can hear it here as Act III (about 45 minutes in… but you really should listen to the whole episode… it’s ‘This American Life’! what a great way to spend an hour). About halfway through the story (which we heard sitting in our car, waiting for the story to end before we got out) we were leaning on each other’s shoulders. By the end I think we were both getting teary. Sarah Vowell’s story is beautifully done, and I still get choked up hearing it. And of course, June and Johnny Cash’s story and the music and influence they had on country music (and rock, and punk, and folk music… etc. etc.) is not just a great love story, but a story of life, joy, grief and music. My friend Colin sent me and Tamiko a postcard some time later. June and Roseanne are on a big front porch, June holding her autoharp, Roseanne holding her guitar. Both are listening to each other, and a younger boy stands to one side. On the other is an older Johnny Cash, watching and listening to his girls. It’s a beautiful picture that I would like to believe was a chance snapshot of their life. I know that can’t be the truth, but I would like to think it is.

But what probably impresses me most about Johnny Cash and his musical life is what he did over his last decade. In 1994, he sat down in his living room with nothing more then his Martin guitar and recorded an album with rap / metal producer Rick Rubin. The sound is stripped down, yet produced with a bit of a harshness. As his age progressed and health deteriorated, he continued to make recordings for Rubin and American Recordings. The thing about these discs that amaze me is how as Johhny Cash’s voice starts to break and weaken, the music seems to zoom in closer and closer on what it means to be human, and how music is an integral part of our lives. To hear someone taking that music with them as their body begins to fail them, as they move closer and closer to death, takes bravery. A little after June died, Johnny mentioned that she urged him to keep recording as long as he could. Johnny said it was June coming down from heaven to give him the courage to keep singing. It’s hard to explain, but hearing the physical limits of Johnny Cash in his last recordings seems to me to reveal that he isn’t afraid of where he is or where he is going. There is not shame of a warbly and cracking voice in these songs, I can only imagine that there is acceptance that this is what happens to a body that has lived the life that he has. Johnny died about four months after June did, and I’d be surprised if there was any fear at that moment for Johnny, but a sincere and strong belief that he was about to see the love of his life again.

20 years ago on June 15th, Tamiko and I started dating. Unlike June and Johnny, we were lucky to find each other early in our lives. I was explaining to a friend that as far as my memory goes, I can probably think back to about when I was 5 or so. At 35 now, I have about 30 years of memories, and over 20 of those (2/3 of my life so far!) include me and Tamiko as friends, lovers, exes (briefly), husband and wife and parents. I love the story of June and Johnny Cash, and I know that Tamiko and I had the same thought go through our minds when we heard Sarah Vowell’s story… it sure is amazing to find love.