Fiddlin' John Carson and friends These poems, stories, songs, quote, and art have been gathered from all over the world, partly via FIDDLE-L, an online list for fiddlers and those who love fiddle music. dhebert@crocker.com

The Mountain Whippoorwill (Or, How Hill-Billy Jim Won the Great Fiddlers' Prize) by Stephen Vincent Benet Up in the mountains, it's lonesome all the time, (Sof' win' slewin' thu' the sweet-potato vine.) Up in the mountains, it's lonesome for a child, (Whippoorwills a-callin' when the sap runs wild.) Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog, Everythin's as lazy as an old houn' dog. Born in the mountains, never raised a pet, Don't want nuthin' an' never got it yet. Born in the mountains, lonesome-born, Raised runnin' ragged thu' the cockleburrs and corn. Never knew my pappy, mebbe never should. Think he was a fiddle made of mountain laurel-wood. Never had a mammy to teach me pretty-please. Think she was a whippoorwill, a-skittin' thu' the trees. Never had a brother ner a whole pair of pants, But when I start to fiddle, why, yuh got to start to dance! Listen to my fiddle -- Kingdom Come -- Kingdom Come! Hear the frogs a-chunkin' "Jug o' rum, Jug o' rum!" Hear that mountain whippoorwill be lonesome in the air, An' I'll tell yuh how I travelled to the Essex County Fair. Essex County has a mighty pretty fair, All the smarty fiddlers from the South come there. Elbows flyin' as they rosin up the bow For the First Prize Contest in the Georgia Fiddlers' Show. Old Dan Wheeling, with his whiskers in his ears, King-pin fiddler for nearly twenty years. Big Tom Sargent, with his blue wall-eye, An' Little Jimmy Weezer that can make a fiddle cry. All sittin' roun', spittin' high an' struttin' proud, (Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh better bug yore eyes!) Tun-a-tun-a-tunin' while the jedges told the crowd Them that got the mostest claps'd win the bestest prize. Everybody waitin' for the first tweedle-dee, When in comes a-stumblin' -- hill-billy me! Bowed right pretty to the jedges an' the rest, Took a silver dollar from a hole inside my vest, Plunked it on the table an' said, "There's my callin' card! An' anyone that licks me -- well, he's got to fiddle hard!" Old Dan Wheeling, he was laughin' fit to holler, Little Jimmy Weezer said, "There's one dead dollar!" Big Tom Sargent had a yaller-toothy grin, But I tucked my little whippoorwill spang underneath my chin, An' petted it an' tuned it till the jedges said, "Begin!" Big Tom Sargent was the first in line; He could fiddle all the bugs off a sweet-potato vine. He could fiddle down a possum from a mile-high tree, He could fiddle up a whale from the bottom of the sea. Yuh could hear hands spankin' till they spanked each other raw, When he finished variations on "Turkey in the Straw." Little Jimmy Weezer was the next to play; He could fiddle all night, he could fiddle all day. He could fiddle chills, he could fiddle fever, He could make a fiddle rustle like a lowland river. He could make a fiddle croon like a lovin' woman. An' they clapped like thunder when he'd finished strummin'. Then came the ruck of the bob-tailed fiddlers, The let's-go-easies, the fair-to-middlers. They got their claps an' they lost their bicker, An' they all settled back for some more corn-licker. An' the crowd was tired of their no-count squealing, When out in the center steps Old Dan Wheeling. He fiddled high and he fiddled low, (Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh got to spread yore wings!) He fiddled and fiddled with a cherrrywood bow, (Old Dan Wheeling's got bee-honey in his strings). He fiddled a wind by the lonesome moon, He fiddled a most almighty tune. He started fiddling like a ghost. He ended fiddling like a host. He fiddled north an' he fiddled south, He fiddled the heart right out of yore mouth. He fiddled here an' he fiddled there. He fiddled salvation everywhere. When he was finished, the crowd cut loose, (Whippoorwill, they's rain on yore breast.) An' I sat there wonderin' "What's the use?" (Whippoorwill, fly home to yore nest.) But I stood up pert an' I took my bow, An' my fiddle went to my shoulder, so. An' -- they wasn't no crowd to get me fazed -- But I was alone where I was raised. Up in the mountains, so still it makes yuh skeered. Where God lies sleepin' in his big white beard. An' I heard the sound of the squirrel in the pine, An' I heard the earth a-breathin' thu' the long night-time. They've fiddled the rose, and they've fiddled the thorn, But they haven't fiddled the mountain-corn. They've fiddled sinful an' fiddled moral, But they haven't fiddled the breshwood-laurel. They've fiddled loud, and they've fiddled still, But they haven't fiddled the whippoorwill. I started off with a dump-diddle-dump, (Oh, hell's broke loose in Georgia!) Skunk-cabbage growin' by the bee-gum stump. (Whippoorwill, yo're singin' now!) My mother was a whippoorwill pert, My father, he was lazy, But I'm hell broke loose in a new store shirt To fiddle all Georgia crazy. Swing yore partners -- up an' down the middle! Sashay now -- oh, listen to that fiddle! Flapjacks flippin' on a red-hot griddle, An' hell's broke loose, Hell's broke loose, Fire on the mountains -- snakes in the grass. Satan's here a-bilin' -- oh, Lordy, let him pass! Go down Moses, set my people free; Pop goes the weasel thu' the old Red Sea! Jonah sittin' on a hickory-bough, Up jumps a whale -- an' where's yore prophet now? Rabbit in the pea-patch, possum in the pot, Try an' stop my fiddle, now my fiddle's gettin' hot! Whippoorwill, singin' thu' the mountain hush, Whippoorwill, shoutin' from the burnin' bush, Whippoorwill, cryin' in the stable-door, Sing tonight as yuh never sang before! Hell's broke loose like a stompin' mountain-shoat, Sing till yuh bust the gold in yore throat! Hell's broke loose for forty miles aroun' Bound to stop yore music if yuh don['t sing it down. Sing on the mountains, little whippoorwill, Sing to the valleys, an' slap 'em with a hill, For I'm struttin' high as an eagle's quill, An' hell's broke loose, Hell's broke loose, Hell's broke loose in Georgia! They wasn't a sound when I stopped bowin', (Whippoorwill, yuh can sing no more.) But, somewhere or other, the dawn was growin', (Oh, mountain whippoorwill!) An' I thought, "I've fiddled all night an' lost, Yo're a good hill-billy, but yuh've been bossed." So I went to congratulate old man Dan, -- But he put his fiddle into my han' -- An' then the noise of the crowd began! Poet Stephen Vincent Benet read a 1920's article in the Literary Digest describing the Atlanta Fiddlers' Convention the year a young Lowe Stokes had defeated Fiddlin' John Carson for the Fiddling Championship. In Carson's own youth, he beat Tenn. Gov. Bob Taylor in a contest (see below). Carson, in a sense, plays both parts in this tale, which was later reworked into "The Devil Went Down To Georgia". Gene Wiggins, in "Fiddlin' Georgia Crazy: Fiddlin' John Carson, His Real World, and the World of His Songs" (University of Illinois Press, 1989), quotes two accounts of a contest between Bob Taylor and a young John Carson, while Taylor was Governor of Tennessee (1887-91, or later again in 1897-99). "It was in an old-timers' fiddling contest in Memphis. John and Bob both were there. The judges gave it to Bob, who was then governor of the state. Stepping to the front of the stage, Fiddlin' Bob, in a touching speech, told the audience that he believed the judges had given him the prize only because he was the governor. He said he could never hope to play like Fiddlin' John, and he resigned the prize in the latter's favor." (attributed to Collier: "Fiddlin' John On Broadway") ".....Young Carson was declared winner and thereafter became known as Fiddlin' John, while Governor Taylor was so delighted with the young fellow's playing that right there on the spot, he bestowed his fiddle on the proud victor." (attributed to Radio Digest 11/7/1925 and reprinted in Mark Wilson's notes to Rounder LP 1003 Fiddlin' John Carson) Wiggins says that the Taylor vs. Taylor campaign (1886) was so friendly that it was called "The War of the Roses". Bob Taylor won that but Alf also got elected to the office at another time. They not only debated each other on the campaign trail, but fiddled it out against each other as well. Alf made some 78's. In "The Devil Went Down To Georgia", the character Johnny outfiddles the Devil and the Devil hands him his fiddle of gold. So the John Carson-Bob Taylor story is possibly part of the inspiration. This would imply that the wily Carson inspired both characters in the Charlie Daniels hit - because "Devil Went Down To Georgia" has roots in Steven Vincent Benet's "Mountain Whipporwill" poem, ("And hell broke loose, hell broke loose, hell broke loose in Georgia") which Benet wrote after reading a Literary Digest account of a Lowe Stokes victory at the Atlanta Fiddlers' Convention c. 1920, with the vanquished "Old Dan Wheeler" character being the Carson figure. Fiddlin' John Carson, born in 1876, suddenly in 1922 had the only regularly-scheduled 10pm radio program in the country (truly "the Johnny Carson of his era"). The signal carried into 38 states, Canada and Cuba, and only after that did John's recording career begin. From the vantage point of 1876, magical indeed. Thanks to Jeremy Raven for the historical notes about this poem.