The "Nudie Suit" story | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Horse Trading

MENTIONED THAT I HAD CHECKED INTO IT, and all I could figure out is that maybe Hank's wife wanted the suits back. For a Hank Museum or something.

Of course I was a bit stunned. I mean, the suits were my trademark, but they had always been Hank's, too. I'd seen a music video recently of Hank and Junior Brown, which featured a couple of Nudie Suits. I told this to Mac. He said "He gave them all away. He doesn't know where they are."

I said maybe we could work something out. A trade. "Mac. You're a famous horse-trader. You could work this out for us."

His reply? "Horses. Yes. White ones. I have five of them. Are you going to the Dallas guitar show this year?"

I went home that evening. I slept, but not a lot. Around four in the morning, I was thinking about Awad and that dream about giving the money to the old man. Suddenly, I felt great. Come to think of it, I've felt great ever since.

The next day, I took the suit to Mac and told him to give it to Hank.

Turns out Mac's a pretty nice guy. He's a country singer, performs at the Grand Ol' Opry, and loves Hank Williams. He wears Nudie suits when he plays out. He gave me a CD of him singing Hank Williams tunes. On the CD, he plays Hank's actual guitars. Sounds good. Looks really good.

When I went back to the hotel, I told Jim Cara what I had done. He said I was like Jesus or something. Then he figured maybe that I had an angle and I'd get some kind of reward. Grin. Wink. I told him that the only reason I had done it was to kick the Forum Team's butt.

I had a run of great luck. Our hotel room had been paid for, I guess by Miller Freeman. I tried to take a cab across town that evening, but the hotel insisted I take a limo. The next day, the hotel's ATM was broken. I checked out and there was a $9 refund, which they gave me in cash -- exactly what I needed to make it to the airport and still have some money left for lunch. I took a cab to the airport. The cab driver, Amat or Ajak -- sadly I only remember that he was Armenian and his name was only two letters from "Awad" -- asked what I was carrying in the big Keel case. I told my story. He said I was like Elvis.

Amat, the cab driver, had been interested in playing guitar when he was in high school. His dad had said that if he got good grades, he could have a guitar. He couldn't get the grades. My parents and I had made the same deal, and I got my first good guitar that way. I said, "Amat, I'm you. You're me."

Amat and I stopped for lunch at In-n-Out Burgers on the way to the airport, and he paid for my lunch. I told him he was like Elvis.

As of this writing, my favorite music is Mac Yasuda's Tribute to Hank Williams.