SITIN SAM'S SPICE

Jelly Roll and Prison – Epi. 27

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Jelly Roll in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 27 Notes:

In the beginning there was the word, and the word was all Jason had, because everything, including his drink of choice, was taken away. But, the word, was all he needed. The emotional, and heart wrenching story of a man who realized that the only way to survive was to save himself. In doing so, he saved the rest of us too. 

Transcript of Podcast Episode:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

In the beginning there was the word. And the word was all Jason had. He thought about that as he looked at the cage beyond his cage and the man in the middle of it. The man named Craig who was bound to that small space, unable to escape. It reminded him of all the cages he’d spent time in. More than forty of them over the years. Cages of all sorts.

And the tears came to his eyes as the past flowed back to him. He was determined to never return to those cages again. Right now, this room was windowless. Just like the windowless room he once spent six months in. The air here wasn’t much better either. It was stifling and hot. The smell was a bit better. But, not much could be worse than that other smell. It was a smell he could never forget, despite how hard he tried.

Back then, the solitude could do nothing to kill the words in his head, even if it could kill his spirit. And that’s what the cage was meant to do. Kill his spirit. It was a room of brick from floor to ceiling. He was given no contact with others. It was only Jason and the words in his head. For 23 hours a day. Every day. For six months.

He was young, but he felt old then. His first time in jail was at the age of 14. By 16 he was doing 8 for robbing someone. A big boy prison at that point. Not juvie. He’d been in and out of that for two years at this point, and the judge thought enough was enough. The judge thought this was how to punish a 16 year old boy, because he was still a boy. Not old enough  yet to go to war. Not old enough to buy cigarettes or vote. Barely old enough to drive.

But, he was old enough to do 8 years in a prison capable of handing maximum security criminals. A maximum security facility has extra measures in place to prevent the convicted from harming others. It’s where those convicted or murder, treason, or kidnapping go. 

And there was Jason. A 16 year old boy. Surely young enough for another form of reform, but he was told he wasn’t worth it. Told his life was nothing. And he believed it to. This was his life. This would always be his life. 

He would be a drug dealer. A criminal. His friends would die around him on the streets. He’d mix his drink of choice with lines of coke. Someday he’d likely die on the streets.

And a system much larger than him had failed him. After all, he was a product of the environment. An environment that the US government was determined to eradicate with its war on drugs. 

Only they lost the war. And no one speaks of that. The drugs poured in. We failed to educate. We pushed addiction groups to the basements of churches and gave them cheap coffee out of styrofoam cups because all our money was going to stopping crime and locking up people. We were lancing off the tumor, not healing the body from making the tumor in the first place. 

We let the dollars win. Corrupt capitalism, baby. Isn’t it a great thing? We put our money in reactive, not proactive measures. And people like Jason are on the other side of the scope, wondering why the gun is aimed at them. Wondering what they did to deserve this. Wondering why they didn’t get a chance at the American Dream because of substance abuse and addiction. He needed someone to save him, and no one came.

Drugs destroy families. They hook mothers like Jasons’ and twist them up so much that they walk away from their families. Like Jason’s mother did.  And, when addictions ruins their lives and drives them to the streets to commit crimes, they lock up the offenders. Brush them under the carpet before they’re legal adults. 

Put them in a place with at 23/1 schedule. 23 hours of confinement. 1 hour outside the cage. And while the system might have failed Jason, like it failed many others, it couldn’t stop Jason. 

So, Jason got out of the slammer at the age of 17, after one year, on probation. But, he found himself back in cuffs again. Dealing drugs was the only thing he knew. Dealing drugs gave him money. Dealing drugs was his profession. And his profession meant carrying a gun and doing things that were “just business…” in the business of selling drugs. 

And they could take away his freedom. They could take away his drink of choice. But, they couldn’t take away the words in his head. There were always so many words. Words filled with depression. Words of addiction. Words looking for hope. Words that found no outlet but the expression inside his head. 

And Jason was okay with that. Until everything changed. Jason was in his cell, like every other day. He nodded to the passing guard. The guard looked at him. The guard paused for a brief second. 

“Hey, you had a kid today.” He said.

The news caught him off guard. “What?” He was gripping the bars of his cell now. His palms sweating.

“Yeh, yeh…you had a child.”

“Well, what’s her name?”

“Hell if I know.” Then the guard moved on. 

Hell if I know. He was a father to a daughter he didn’t see born and he didn’t even know her name. He was 23 and determined, in that moment, to turn is life around. To make his life mean something more than drugs and violence and alcohol…even though he had no clue how and that was all he’d ever known. 

He looked for help in the places people look when all the usual ways have failed. He took up the Bible. He took up the Koran. He read them because he wanted to be saved and he couldn’t count on the system to save him. The system was trying to kill him. The system was trying to make him into a product of it’s failed drug war and it’s focus on reacting to, not preventing, the problems that plagued so many. 

Jason realized he needed to “take up his cross” if he was going to save his life. No one was going to do it for him. He would have to do it for himself. And perhaps he could use his words, the words that continually flowed out of him through all the years in prison. 

He paid for some ink with a pack of cigarettes and marked himself with that reminder to take up his cross. Jason marked himself so he’d never forget that the responsibility to survive was his and no one was going to help him. No one was in his corner. 

Everyone had abandoned him through their rules, and their policies, and their laws, which were meant to punish and not help. To hurt, not heal. A year went by and he was 24 now. He was up for probation again, and got out. When he walked out of that maximum security prison, he was determined to never end up there again. He wanted to be something other than a sinner. 

It was years after his release now, but he remembered the first time he visited this cage. It was shortly after his release. He’d seen Craig in the cage, much like he was in the cage now. He’d heard Craig’s words and he’d cried because words can change lives, and Craig’s words changed his. 

As he sat there and listened to the words of Craig, only a few feet away from him, he resolved to help others feel the way he was feeling now. To inspire others to feel something. To help them change their lives. Because words can change lives. He was living, breathing proof of that. And he would share that message with others through his words. 

Like he had just done tonight, in that cage Craig was now standing in. 

For 98 years this cage has changed the world in a different way. In ways filled with love, not fear and punishment. Through words. Through inspiration. Through music. 

And when Craig beckoned Jason to join him in the cage he shared his story. 

The story of coming there fresh out of prison, sitting in the seven row, and hearing Craig share the words in a piece he called “Almost Home.”

A piece that struck Jason to his core and lit in him the gift and motivation to change the world.  

So, Jason joined Craig and they shared those words with those gathered. They shared their music. Because music can change lives. Like it had for Jason. 

You see, Jason wrote hundreds of songs when he was in prison. The songs poured out of him. The words about his battle with depression and addiction. The words of a man coming from a broken family that never stood a chance because no one offered him a hand. The man that realized he would have to bear his own cross because no one was going to help him.

Now, the man that became a musical legend and reshaped our perspective for genres. 

And he looked at Craig and they sang the final words together:

“Man I wish you’d just left me alone

I was almost home.”

Almost home is a song about an encounter between the narrator and a homeless man, who is dreaming about better times. Jason, spent most of his life dreaming about a way out. Dreaming about better times. Dreaming about the system doing more for him than punishing him. That’s why he cried that night, many years ago, when he was fresh out of prison and his life was a mess. That’s why this song, over a decade later, meant so much to perform. 

Craig Morgan stepped away from his cage, the small wooden circle on the stage of the Grand Ole’ Opry, and returned moments later with a hand written, framed, and signed version of the song as a gift to Jason. 

And Jason Deford, better known as Jelly Roll, for the second time tonight, cried.

Because Jelly Roll had come a long way. He’d been through some shit. But, like his nickname, given to him by his mother because he was overweight as a child, he wore it all with a badge of honor. A badge in his music that made him relatable to everyone, because everyone dreams of a way out of something. 

Jelly Roll is a musician blending the genres of rap, country and rock. With the cross inked on to his right check, just below his eye, he looks more rapper than country singer. But, he’s someone more that both of those identities. He’s…someone more like a prophet in the way his words have healed and helped. In the way he visits juvenile delinquency facilities to try helping other kids escape or avoid the unfair shake the system gave him. 

Jelly Roll…

A man, who most definitely became more than just the son of a sinner, even if he still preferred his drink of choice,

Jameson Irish Whiskey, now and again. 

Anyway… I’ll drink to that. 

Episode 26 – Interview with Bayfield Winery

Podcast

In this episode I was joined by Phil from ⁠Bayfield Winery and Blue Ox Cider⁠ in Bayfield, WI. This episode is a follow up to episode 24. It does contain spoilers for that episode, so if you haven’t listened to that one yet, start there.

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 26 Bayfield Winery Details:

In this episode we cover a wide range of topics, from the 100 year old farmhouse turned tasting room to the fruit loop area in Wisconsin. We talked about co-ferments and why it’s important that you don’t have to wear a hazmat suit when you’re tending to your fruit. 

Show Notes:

Bayfield Winery and Blue Ox Cider⁠ ⁠

⁠Bayfield Winery Tasting Room⁠

⁠Art and Science 2023 Emergence Co-Ferment Wine

Episode 25 – Nursery Rhymes and Treason

Podcast

Podcast Summary:

“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.

Episode 25 Notes:

Sep was a legendary man, but his wit and critique of politics led him to a jail cell and a life changing experience. His experience has shaped the lives of millions today too, and gave us a story, about a drink, that many of us already know.

Transcript of Podcast:

*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.

Uncle Nate went to see his nephew Sep in jail. He hoped that he could help him. He hoped that he could get him out. He was 57 then. An old man. But, not so old and not so forgotten that he didn’t have sway. After all, Sep was in jail because of art, and it was art that Nathanial Hawthorne had spent his whole life creating.

He’d created many famous works as a novelist and short story writer. They were different than the works Sep created. But, Sep was younger. He was of a different generation. He’d come of age during the civil war. Saw blood. Saw death. Saw people killing each other because of race and hate. 

And the charges against Sep were steep. If he was guilty he would die. That was the way it went when you were accused of treason. The country was divided. Risks couldn’t be taken. So, Uncle Nate knew that it was foolish for Sep to do what he’d done. But, he also knew that Sep was still honing his craft. Still finding his voice. He just hoped that his voice wouldn’t put him in front of a firing squad.

For Sep, things had started out innocent enough. He had wrote a song, like many of his other songs. A commentary. A light hearted song. A song as a critique of the times. After all, what good was the freedom of speech if you could speak, out when you had something to say. So, Sep spoke. 

And he was surprised to hear how many listened. At this point he’d published ballads under the name Alice Hawthorne. He published so many and with such skill that they became famous as Hawthornes Ballads.

He published under other pen names too. Male pen names. Some songs he sold to the highest bitter, because an artist had to make a living. But, Sep had many ways of making a living. 

He was a self taught musician. A teacher. A performer. And a publisher. In short, Sep was vertically integrated.

Vertical integration. It’s a business concept where you own every step along the production line. If you’re making tires. You own the rubber tree plantation. You own the rubber manufacturing facility. You own the tire shop that sells the rubber tires.

It’s a way to provide security for your business. And a way to create multiple revenue streams, while also decreasing your expenses. 

So Sep wrote the musical notes for a piece. Sep wrote the lyrics. Sep performed the music. Sep published the music. This also meant that Sep could publish whatever the heck he wanted. 

And he did just that. He chose to writ some very interesting songs. He choose to write a ton of drinking songs, because this was Philadelphia and he was German. He chose, to be prolific. 

Sep wrote over 200 instruction books on 23 different instruments… all of which he’d taught himself how to play. 

Sep, also, at this time 1862, had written almost 1,000 songs. Many of which you know. But, this song, the song that got him court martialed and tossed in jail for treason, you probably don’t know. 

He wrote a song about a general. General George McClellan. A general Abraham Lincoln had just fired. General George was also a well liked man. And Sep’s song sold 80,000 copies in two days. 

He hadn’t expected it. But, he wasn’t unhappy about it either. Others, were not as happy. And they threw him in jail on treason charges. Which carried a penalty of death. Which brought his uncle Nathanial Hawthorne out of his home and trying to talk some sense into those that brought charges against him. 

Sep was eventually released, but he had to compromise. He felt dirty about it. He felt like Tom, who was no doubt the one that had ratted him out for the song, was hiding around the next street corner trash talking his good name. 

But, Sep wasn’t ready to die. Sep had more music to write. So, he promised to destroy any remaining copies of the song and forget all about it. That was in 1862. He left something behind in that jail. A part of him. And when he went back to writing music, which he most surely went back to writing music. He wrote some very famous works, and at least one work, about a drink, that you likely haven’t heard of.

Two years later he wrote a popular drinking song you’ve surely heard of. It was called “Oh where oh where, has my little dog gone.”

You probably know the lyrics. Or heard some version of the nursery rhythm. 

Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone

Oh where oh where, can he be.

His ears cut short and his tail cut long

Oh where oh where, is he.

Buuuuttt, what you probably don’t know is the rest of the verses of this song. Because this song was not a nursery song for little boys and girls. 

This song…was a drinking song. And that’s why the next three versus were cut out. Because they are most definitely not appropriate for innocent ears. 

A sausage is good, bologna of course

Oh where, oh where, can he be

They make them with dog and they make them with horse

I guest they makes them with me.

There is also the slightly unhinged original version of ten little Indians. You might have remembered this song from childhood. A fun, nursery rhyme to help you count to ten. Or, you might not, because I’m pretty sure it’s been deemed inappropriate as a song today, because it’s about Native Americans and the term Indians is used. 

But, that’s actually not the inappropriate part of the song, and since I’m a native to America, I was born here after all, I’ll share the original version of the song with you. It’s the version made as another drinking song, about the indigenous people of North America… which Christopher Columbus originally called Indians because he thought he’d reached The West Indies. 

I think you might find, that the piece was written in satire, especially with the way the word Indian is pronounced. And if you don’t… I honestly don’t care. This is a podcast about history, society and culture. I’m not arrogant enough to think I should, one hundred and sixty years removed from context, pass judgment on something. I’m here because there is a whole world out there of things that have happened in the past that are very fascinating. And this is one of them. So, the original version.

Here we go. A one. A Two. A one, two, three.

Ten little Injuns standin’ in a line, One toddled home and then there were nine; 

Nine little Injuns swingin’ on a gate, One tumbled off and then there were eight. 

One little, two little, three little, four little, five little Injun boys, Six little, seven little, eight little, nine little, ten little Injun boys. 

Eight little Injuns gayest under heav’n. One went to sleep and then there were seven; 

Seven little Injuns cuttin’ up their tricks, One broke his neck and then there were six. 

Six little Injuns all alive, One kicked the bucket and then there were five; 

Five little Injuns on a cellar door, One tumbled in and then there were four. 

Four little Injuns up on a spree, One got fuddled and then there were three; 

Three little Injuns out on a canoe, One tumbled overboard and then there were two. 

Two little Injuns foolin’ with a gun, One shot t’other and then there was one; 

One little Injun livin’ all alone, He got married and then there were none

These two songs were common songs written by Sep. It was the satire, fun drinking type of song he wrote. And there was one more that he wrote, about a drink, which is why I’m telling this story at all. 

Because he wrote about a man named Tom. Tom was a slippery figure. Tom was a scoundrel. Tom liked to talk mean behind everyone’s back. Tom thought he was better than other poeple. Tom thought he was elevated. Tom thought he was funny. Tom judged people, like you’d might be judging me now. 

Or, like you might be judging the songs above. I’m not saying you’re a scoundrel. Or, a slippery figure. I’m just telling you how Tom was.

Tom liked to talk about other people to his friends. Tom liked to spread rumors. 

So, Sep got his friends over at the publishing house W. H. Boner and Co. to publish a little diddy about him. That was what Sep did. That was how Sep ended up in jail on treason charges.

But, this time, no one disagreed with the song. It was another drinking song, about a man, everyone hated. And it goes like this. 

Verse 1:

Tom is my name, I beg leave to state. 

You’ve heard of me, I dare suppose. 

Quite often here of late.

Chorus:

I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere. 

But rather hard to find

Don’t attempt to look me up, unless you’re well inclined.

Verse 2:

I count myself a gentleman, or something of the sort

Tho’ many may seem inclined to take me as a common sport

I’m willing to apologize, and reach my hand to all

Who are inclined to wait on me and give a friendly call

Chorus:

I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere. 

But rather hard to find

Don’t attempt to look me up, unless you’re well inclined.

Verse 3:

I’ll tell you how it is my friends and you will all agree

Some wretches without heart or soul, are fooling you and me

So let us keep our tempers straight, and take the joke as fair

We’ll get along much better boys, in acting on the square

It was a beautiful piece about a scoundrel of a man. Tom. But, Tom had more of a story to tell.

You see, Tom was not a man at all. Tom was a joke. And nothing more. 

A prank one played on a friend at the bar that’d go something like this. 

“Hey did you hear what Tom said about you?”

Friend, takes a sip. “No, what?”

“Well, Tom said you’re a no good, dirty playing, cheat. And he’s right outside. Just around the corner.”

At which point your infuriated friend will slam down his drink, head outside and look around the corner at the end of the block. Of course tom isn’t there, becuase tom is just a prank. A couple friends throwing back some drinks and messing with each other. 

But, a bartender saw the opportunity. So he took Tom, and he made him into a drink. 

Gin. Lemon. Sugar. And club soda.

And he called the drink, after the devilish prankster himself. 

Tom Collins. 

And Sep Winner… well, he would go on to write almost 1,500 songs over his lifetime. One of his popular songs, Listen to the Mockingbird,” about a lost lover and written under the name of Alice Hawthorne (The Hawthorne name taken from his mom’s brother and famous author Nathaniel Hawthorne) that sold over 15 million copies. In 1855.

Sep’s hard work and sense of humor would pay off. In the year 1970 he was inducted into the Songwriters hall of fame for his prolific contributions to music.

And Tom Collins, well Tom Collins got a permanent song and a drink named after him.

Anyway… I’ll drink to that.