Music + Love = Life James L. Cowles (c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles

L to R--Bob Bush, bass-Ted Harlan, mandolin & vocals-Jim Cowles, guitar and lead vocals-Eddie Hysinger, harps and dobro,-Jim Allen, banjo and vocals.  Photo courtesy of the author. (Click here... to listen to some of the music.)

Some might say, when I was a child, my family was poor, but I have come to realize just how very rich we were. It was 1917 the early twentieth century, when my dad finished his junior year of high school at Edmonton County High School, then decided it would be best for him if he started making a living. Dad quit school, and went to work in a hard rock mine. That was 1917, and he was sixteen years old; very hard work for a young man.

My paternal grandfather, Jesse, his father, was apparently a rather industrious person, who acquired some degree of wealth in his life through real estate. He was thought rather highly of there in his hometown of Brownsville, Kentucky, and was just sixty-five years old when he died. I’ve read his obituary many times, and it brings a smile to my face every time I do. It reads like something you might read in a john d. Rockefeller obituary, only with a country twist; a vocabulary, which is a little humorous. I remember the last line verbatim. It read, “rm. cowles was a very useful citizen.” I’m not sure what the writer was trying to say, but it was most likely the editor of the small bi-weekly Brownsville paper who wrote the obituary. It may have had something to do with my grandfather’s real estate dealings, I’m just not sure, but I am aware of some of his dealings, and I wouldn’t call them high finance, even for the early 1900s. however, In a country town, in the early part of the 20^th century, if you always had a few dollars in your pocket, folks might have thought you were useful. Well, who can argue with that it is certainly is good to be useful.

I know my father looked up to my grandfather, and even though I never met him. I remember dad talking about him with a sense of pride. Grandfather Jesse died in 1939, two years before my birth. All three of my sisters knew him, and I somehow feel I missed an important part of life by not meeting him. I didn’t get to meet mom’s father either. He also died before I was born. She told me he was a farmer, and a musician, playing the fiddle and mandolin; that music thing kinda piqued my interest. That must be where my desire to play and sing came from, but once again, I came along later than my sisters, and thus, I missed out on knowing my grandparents, both paternal and maternal, however, I do still feel very fortunate to be a part of the Cowls/Johnson clan, even though I missed meeting important folks like them. But, based on my investigation, I do not think my musical ability comes from the Cowles side.

When I was a young boy, I was rummaging through our tool drawer at home, and found a used cough drop, one that was about half gone, and I asked dad why it was there. He said, “Jimbo, that was in your grandfather Jesse's mouth when he passed.” My grandfather was visiting my aunt Annie's house in Rhoda (locals pronounced it, “roadie,” which is on the outskirts of Brownsville), when he died, but the cough drop ended up in our tool drawer in Louisville. It was there as long as I can remember, just lying there in the open, so I figured dad kept it as a momento. I guess that speaks to how highly he thought of his father. He had to see it every time he reached in that drawer for a tool. I suppose tributes can be given in many ways, and some are strange.

My father, like his, worked for the l&n railroad, and my grandfather gave my dad two plots of land in highland park, which was a Louisville suburb, close to the l&n yards. Dad built a house on one plot, and the other, which was right next door, he fenced and left open. I remember our neighbor, ted McDonald, renting it as a pasture for his horse. He lived two doors down, and his oversized garage had a horse stall in it. Ted would walk his horse up the alley, and turn him loose next door to our house. It was a big enough lot for the horse to have running room, and for me to try to get to know him, but as I remember, I was mostly afraid of him.

There were many families like ours in highland park, and most had 3 or 4 kids, just like us. I know it was a great place to grow up, with kids galore to play with. I had friends all over the “park,” because most everyone went to the local elementary school, James Russell Lowell. That time in life was all about community, with no such thing as busing. It’s sad to think blacks and whites were separated back then. We could have been so much further along if we hadn’t experienced such terrible racial divide. I would say more about this, but I get angry at otherwise good people, who thought we should be separated. That in a nutshell, is why I favored busing. After all, we are all god’s children.

Back to the music trail. My aunt Clyde and uncle Wilbur lived in highland park, only about four blocks from our house. She was mom’s sister, and she played mandolin, and she and uncle Wilbur often had music parties on weekends. My parents never went, nor would they let us attend. I suspect it was my mother’s decision to keep us away, as I think she was intent on having her children become more sophisticated; after all, she and dad had moved from the country to the city, and there was now a need to move in different circles. Mom was in charge of all that, and although she moved into it quietly, there was a certain insistence, directionally, that we could not ignore. She saw to it that my sisters had a piano, and my oldest sister, Mary, the first child in the family, had the privilege of taking piano lessons, and learning to read music. Dorothy had no desire to play piano, but she had a beautiful voice. Gloria, the youngest sister, and the one to whom I was closer, decided she could learn to play piano by herself, and she did. She could play circles around Mary, and the “boogie woogie” was just her style. she learned to read music much later In life, but she still played the boogie boogie better than anyone I knew. By the time I learned to walk, my sisters had me singing with them. I loved singers like Vaughn Monroe, and Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and I learned many of their songs from the sheet music my sisters bought at the local five & dime. We had stacks of it on top of the piano, and in the seat as well.

Mom wanted me to learn piano in the worst way, but I thought it was a sissy thing, and I resisted. I wish I had listened to her. At any rate, when a program at school made the promise to teach 4^th graders to play piano, mom enrolled me. On the first day of this special class, everyone was issued a folding cardboard keyboard. We were told to take it home, and practice various keys and fingering, and they taught us various chords, and where to place our fingers, all with no piano. When I brought the keyboard home, mom asked what it was, and I told her it was a practice board. She was reluctant to question the process, but I knew it puzzled her. Let me tell you, children should never be subjected to such a stupid way of learning music. A real musician needs an instrument to play, if they ever hope to learn to play. Imagine playing a cardboard keyboard… no!

After a few discussions with mom, in the presence of dad, who didn’t say a word, mom and and I, er, in truth, it was all mom’s decision, decided I would !earn to play a brass instument instead of the piano. I remembered seeing Harry James play on a neighbor’s tv, and I immediately said I wanted to play trumpet. Dad raised an eyebrow, and I know he was thinking of the cost of an instrument, calculating it in his head. He had final say on finances, but he often gave in to mom’s quiet pressure. Anyway, it was settled. Dad and I would board the bus the coming weekend, and head down to the music center, in downtown Louisville. I imagined this was going to be another conflict with dad9o, and I was ready. Seems dad had called ahead and talked with the owner, and although I did not hear the conversation, I knew dad would be comparing prices. I can’t remember the owner’s name, but when dad and I arrived, he began telling me that I should play anything but trumpet; still, I had set my jaw, and I was ready to fight. My resistance did not impress either of them, so the first instrument was a clarinet. The owner told me how to blow into it and make a sound. I squeaked around with it for awhile, then made a face and said, “no way!” there was a short discussion about a saxophone, which I quickly nixed. “trumpet,” I said. The trombone was next. “trumpet!” I had both dad and the owner on the ropes, when the owner said, “okay, look young man. for some reason you think I am against you, but listen, I am actually trying to help you. look, if you play trumpet, and want to go in a band, you are going to compete with a scad of people playing trumpet.” He was right, and I knew it. Every boy wanted to play trumpet.

Finally, this guy says, “what if I could show you an instrument that sounds exactly like a trumpet, except it has a more mellow sound? He brought out a cornet, and I fell in love with it. “he said, most bands have a separate section for this instrument, because it is designed to have a sweeter sound than a trumpet, and is a good solo instrument. He had me, but he continued, “and sense there are fewer of them, the band director will try to make a place for you. If you play it really well, you could sit first chair, and be the cornet leader.” I liked the sound of that, and with lessons and playing in the junior high band, before I got high school, I was prepared to lead the cornet section in the male high band, and that’s exactly what happened. When I was a junior and senior, I led a full squadron of cornets in the male high military band. I had made that my goal when I first heard those words, and I made it!

I did have a dilemma. I liked to sing, and it was impossible to do that and play the cornet at the same time, and I was suddenly in conflict, especially when this guy named, Elvis, came along. I thought about joining the male high choir, but I loved the cornet. What's more, why had I shunned the guitar? Elvis had one, and that, his voice, and his gyrations, equaled a chick magnet. I could deal with it. Unfortunately, life got in the way, and I did not learn to play guitar until I was thirty-nine. 

I also have to thank my pal, Ronnie Dee for convincing our friend, Ed Adams to let me become a part of the “riverfront ramblers,” a local folk group, where I sang tenor for many years. Unfortunately, we lost our leader to suicide, and the group broke up. By that time, we had become mostly a trio, and a pretty darn good one, if I say so myself. It gave me a taste of musical success I loved and needed, and when ed passed, I missed it. Ronnie and I continued spending the first weekend in December, with one of my fellow employees, and his parents, Gramps and Muggins. Every year, for many years, Ronnie and I, and sometimes our wives, left on a Friday, heading for a little town in North Carolina, with the famous name of Bonneville, named after Daniel, before he discovered his surname should have an “e” on the end. there, In the big house on the front of the property, we had a Saturday evening “gathering” of local folks, and Ronnie and I were the out-of-town entertainment. It was a wonderful evening of shared music, later to be continued in an honest to goodness log cabin, built by Gramps, from several old cabins he had moved to his property. There, we would sit in front of a large stone fireplace, sharing folk music. The singing and playing could often continue into early morning hours, with Ronnie and I doing most of it. What a time we had, but it still wasn’t enough for me. I needed more music in my life.

Lucky for me, I ran into a friend, John Gage, when we both visited another musician in the hospital. He told me he had rented the old Kentucky theater in downtown, Louisville, for one dollar a year. It was a deal made by john and his girlfriend, with the owner. The owner did not like seeing the old theater sitting empty, and saw a chance to support local theater, including a show John had once hosted called, “Kentucky home front,” a recording session of the Revion's folk musicians, which was later played on several public radio stations. I jumped at the chance to help him, and was led into a new and wonderful world of great traditional musicians, including john, of course.

I soon became the business manager for Kentucky home front, and after a while, we began filling the old theater the second Saturday of every month, and recording two, one hour shows, to later be played on public radio. More importantly, I met many musicians from the area, and at a potluck dinner one evening, I met several guys who played various folk instruments, and soon we were playing and singing familiar tunes. Before that evening was over, we were talking about forming our own band, all we needed was a name. not surprising, it was, “potluck,” and our banjo player, Kyle Ellison, thought of it, and since we had met at a potluck dinner, It was perfect. He tacked on “ramblers,” which I resisted at first; I was concerned about somehow dishonoring my former band members (the riverfront ramblers), by using the ramblers name, but the other band members liked the name, so I went with it, and it is now history.

I doubt the potluck ramblers were much different than any other band started by friendship. The difference might be that it propelled a life-long hobby to a different level. After personally investing in amplifiers, mics, speakers, etc., etc., the potluck ramblers began a 20-year journey that took us to more than 100 venues within a 75-mile radius of Louisville. Many, many festivals, wineries, private parties, pizzeria, bistros, bars, etc., a lot of repeats, and more fun than a bunch of friends should be allowed. It also led to another band, a spin-off intended to help us get festival gigs associated with, bourbon, the famous Kentucky drink; and it worked. I was privileged to be the lead singer for both the “bourbon barrel boys,” and the “potluck ramblers,” and thanks to our friend, John Gage, several appearances on Kentucky home front, and thus, public radio.

I am grateful for the many musician friendships Kentucky home front led me to, and I love the personal friendships of my close band mates. Unfortunately, COVID led our band to the end of a wonderful trail. That, and health ailments of age have sidelined me, but I have encouraged my band members to continue playing, and they have. I have sold all of my equipment to our regular bass player, bob bush, on a greatly discounted basis, and he and his brother have made good use of it. that makes me very happy. as i write this, i am thinking of musician friends who have passed on, and how much they have meant to me as I’ve continued on my journey. My advice to front porch, or back porch musicians is to just go out there and perform with friends, and above all, have fun.

If you are a wanna be musician, no matter your age, everyone can learn, and should learn to play an instrument. If you are willing to spend just a few minutes a day to learn something new, do it. If you want to make the process easier, play with others, and sing. That last thing I said is most important. Play, and sing together. Share the love… the formula is a simple one. Music + love = life.