Eddie Jones, 1924-2009
Former Nashville Banner editor and civic leader Eddie Jones, the man who kept the city's secrets, died on Sunday. He was 85.

Jones had a hand in nearly every facet of civic life. He spent 20 years at the Chamber of Commerce, worked as press secretary for the late Gov. Frank Clement and was a leading force behind the construction of the Nashville Convention Center.

But Bruce Dobie, the Scene's former editor/publisher and a Banner political reporter, gives a greater sense of the man and his measure than any recitation of career titles:

"In 1983 (I think) I got a call from the Nashville Banner's city editor, Bill Hance.

" 'Eddie Jones wants to tell you some stuff. He says he's never met you, so go see him right now.' "

"We had been writing what I thought were some halfway decent stories about the downtown convention center (the one we have now), which had stalled on takeoff and was a hole in the ground on Lower Broadway. But all was not right. Even when I would write a tough story that could stand on its own, the story would come out of the editing process like a screaming Mimi. Most of the blows would rain down on former Mayor Richard Fulton, whose mention would arrive on schedule in the second paragraph or so.

" 'I used to work at the Banner years ago,' Eddie said that afternoon when I met him for the first time in the Chamber's downtown offices. He was in a suit and tie, buttoned up. There were those big, clunky, black glasses. And the thing I remember most: a silver cigarette case on a nearby table. He would pop it open, take big drags.

" 'I've been reading your stories,' Eddie said. 'But you know this is not about the convention center.'

"It was one of those moments when the sky cracks a little, and suddenly you understand, or hope you might.

" 'Well, what's up?' I asked.

" 'Irby just doesn't like Fulton,' Eddie said—Irby being my publisher Irby Simpkins. 'Irby's taking it out on him any way he can. But I'm not sure what caused it. Got any clues?'

"I had to confess I had no clue what was up, and it made me uncomfortable to appear so ignorant. But Eddie didn't really seem to care. He wasn't acting like the typical Chamber head—he hadn't pulled out the easel and the charts. He was instead way deep into the politics, stage-managing a group of civic players into accomplishing something. Easing the Fulton-Simpkins rupture, in which I was throwing mud balls, certainly would help him. When the conversation ended, he thanked me, and I thanked him, and that started a series of conversations I had with Eddie for the next two-and-a-half decades....

"For years at the Nashville Scene, I would pick up the phone (always in the morning) and hear him drawl out: 'This is your Downtown Bureau,' and then he'd tell me everything going on in his cluster of friends. And I say cluster, because it was small yet incredibly strong, a relic of a simpler, more closed Southern city that was dominated by a tight clique of businessmen, the Sam Flemings and Bill Weavers and Pat Wilsons and Nelson Andrews and Andy Benedicts. Eddie crossed worlds, dipping into the media and political circles (for crying out loud, he even knew some Democrats) that these businessmen did not often cross, but as he told me once of his West Nashville business friends, 'I really loved these guys.'

"Eddie was their consigliere. As he told me later, what was perhaps the most intriguing professional endeavor of his life here had no title, though it should have read: 'Executive Director, Watauga.' Watauga was the secret group of two dozen or so Nashville businessmen whose stated aim was to help the city, which sort of required that they run it as well. When I asked Eddie to help me report a story on Watauga, he let me have all the Watauga documents he had. After all, he was responsible for the files....

"I'm sure Eddie had a few enemies, but I can't name them. The man could tell a joke. When he would say the letter 's,' it always came out as a whistle. I'm sure Eddie had an agenda, but I never really saw it, because he was just so plain honorable about everything.... His britches were always hitched up just south of his chin about six inches. A helluva lot of people woke up to learn Eddie Jones had died today, and just got sadder than they thought they'd ever be."
—CALEB HANNAN

Shoot the messenger
I've never been quite sure what to make of Toby Keith. On the one hand, his whole redneck shtick and uber-patriotic songs like "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue" make me want to gag. But then he's got Willie Nelson's seal of approval, which makes me think, "If Willie likes him, he can't be all bad."

But his tirade against Tennessean music writer Peter Cooper in the press room at the Academy of Country Music Awards Sunday sealed the deal: Toby Keith is a thin-skinned, petulant brat.

As CMT News reported Monday, Keith is furious at Cooper for his piece about Ethan Hawke's Rolling Stone story on Kris Kristofferson. Hawke made reference to "one of country music's brightest stars" who "at that moment in time...had a monster radio hit about bombing America's enemies back into the Stone Age." According to Hawke, said star asked Kris Kristofferson not to play any political music during a concert taping in New York City celebrating Willie Nelson's 70th birthday, after which Kristofferson chewed out said star in front of everyone.

All Cooper did was point out the obvious. "Wonder what 'star' this could be," Cooper wrote. "The only clue Hawke offers is this: 'At that moment in time, the Star had a monster radio hit about bombing America's enemies back into the Stone Age.' Let's see... big country star, hit song about military aggression, friends with Willie Nelson. I wish Hawke could have given us something to go on here. Like, 'Does a bunch of truck commercials,' or 'Often refers to himself as "Big Dog Daddy," ' or 'Name rhymes with "Moby Teeth." '

"Anyway, according to Hawke, former Army officer Kristofferson took offense, stepped forward and growled, 'You ever worn your country's uniform?'

"Mr. Teeth replied, 'What?' and Kristofferson said, 'Don't what me, boy! You heard the question. You just don't like the answer. I asked, "Have you ever served your country?" The answer is, "No, you have not." ' "

Now, all Cooper did is relate what the Rolling Stone article said. He carefully said, "...according to Hawke, former Army officer Kristofferson took offense...," pointing out that it was Hawke's contention, not irrefutable fact. Sure, he had a little fun with the Moby Teeth thing, but jeez, he's a music journalist. His job is to discuss music news and, when possible, be entertaining. And what he wrote was damn funny—except, evidently, to one reader.

"You from The Tennessean?" Keith said, as reported on Hollywood Grind. "You wrote that article? You thought that was funny, calling me Moby Teeth? You better watch yourself.

"You thought you could dance around it, funny ha-ha, but it was me. Who else wrote a song about bombing enemies? Who else does car commercials?.... You think Ethan Hawke knows me? You think Ethan Hawke can sing a chorus to one of my 25 No. 1's? Or one of my 62 million spins? Doubt it! So you took the story and you Moby Teethed it and took it to another level....

"You think Kris Kristofferson motherfucked me? Kris Kristofferson said that shit didn't happen. He emailed Rolling Stone and said that shit didn't happen. And you still wrote your story?

"Who supersized the story? You take credit for that? You and Ethan Hawke are guilty. He doesn't know me, that dick didn't call me, ask me what I thought.

"I'm struggling being here with you in the room.... You ran it and took it to supersize French fries and now you have to answer for it....

"You've never shit in your fucking ass like you have right now. Do you want to ask me another question?"

"You could hear a pin drop," a witness told Hollywood Grind. "It looked like Toby was going to knock the crap out of Cooper, who looked horrified!"

For the record, Kristofferson did in fact send a note to both Rolling Stone and The Tennessean, though he didn't say, "that shit didn't happen." What he actually said was, "I have to say, though, I have no memory of talking so tough to anyone at Willie's birthday party—least of all to Toby Keith, (if that's who the nameless star is), for whom I have nothing but admiration and respect."

Notice that he didn't deny that it happened, just said he has no memory of it. Sounds kind of like he's trying to get Keith off the hook because Kristofferson said some stuff he regretted, no? And maybe he knows that his friend's tough-guy image would be harmed if people knew he actually called Toby Keith "boy" and pointed out the hypocrisy of his faux patriotic shtick.

And what better way for Keith to reclaim his tough-guy image than by shouting down a reporter in front of his peers?

Only Hawke, Keith, Kristofferson, Nelson and the other bystanders will ever know what really happened. And for the record, Rolling Stone stands behind the story. The moral? Don't chew out a respected reporter (who's certainly given you plenty of positive press) in front of a crowd just to show how tough you are, as it makes you look like a pathetic whiner. Sir.
—JACK SILVERMAN

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