I ask her for cool water,
She gave me – Gasoline –
Ooo-ooh, aw-huhh, oh no…
That lyric, originally created and recorded by Tommy Johnson in 1929, caught my ear nearly a half-century later on the Smithsonian Mall. Tommy Johnson was long dead, but a fellow Mississippian (raised near Tunica) perpetuated that classic plaint “Cool Water.” The gentleman in question, Houston Stackhouse, sang it with higher, more mournful howls. “Stack,” as we folk fest ‘ice mules’ knew him, smiled beatifically as we refreshed his sodas and sandwiches, whilst he reclined in an ample canvas director’s chair.
My job as busser and changer of the tape cassettes to Welby Smith’s Norelco recorder was slippin’ into jeopardy on this steamy July afternoon in 1974. I venerated Mister Stack for his close ties with Robert Johnson back in the 1930s, not to mention his bottleneck chops in the manner of the recently departed guitarist Robert Nighthawk.
Besides, ‘Stack’ shared a birth month with my musical Mom – Ruth Bessam, she having seen her first light of day May 30, 1910. Mr. Stackhouse passed away in 1980, but he loved my portrait of him, I learned.
