by Randy Willis

You Can Say That Again

In 1996, I negotiated a deal with HighTone Records for Johnny Rodriguez. Johnny was living at my Austin home then. Johnny had several demands.

The primary one was that his Mercury Records producers from his heyday would produce the CD. Jerry Kennedy and Roy Dea agreed and produced “You Can Say That Again.” All six of Johnny Rodriguez’s Billboard #1 records were produced by them.

HighTone had one main requirement: no re-records. They wanted Johnny to record songs by more contemporary songwriters. These included Lucinda Williams’s “Big Red Sun Blues.” Other songs were Dave Alvin’s “Every Night About This Time” and Robert Earl Keen’s “Corpus Christi Bay.” HighTone was not only a country label but also an Americana label.

Johnny opened a letter from Roy Dea. Roy Dea headed production. We reviewed the production sheet over coffee at my kitchen table.

At the bottom, at Johnny’s request, were these typed words. They were to go on the CD: “To the memory of Happy Shahan, who did much for me. I shall miss him every day for the rest of my life.” Happy died earlier that year, and it was still on Johnny’s mind.

Now, that tribute to Happy Shahan was new to me. I had no clue he wanted those words on the CD. When I read it, I asked Johnny who else he was thankful for. I attached the first page of his list. He wrote this page himself. It is placed over the sheet detailing Roy Dea’s production. Note that he circled God. The additional pages are in my book. So don’t be discouraged if you’re not on the first page.

I circled my name in red in this article because, as he neared the bottom of the first page, I said, “What about me?”

Johnny said, “Oh,” and wrote “Willis,” which he never once called me as a joke, and smiled. Yeah, that smile we all know and miss.

That statement about Happy Shahan never made the back cover. Not enough room, I suppose, but I never asked.

During the 1990s, Johnny and I would hang out at a country music nightclub called New West in Austin.

During the 1990s, Johnny and I would hang out at a country music nightclub called New West in Austin. We became good friends with their DJ, Lisa Byrd. Lisa played an LP entitled “After the Rain” by Johnny until it wore out.

The LP included a song entitled “Mexico Rain.” The song is a waltz. Their crowd loved to three-step to the music when Lisa spun the record.

However, a problem arose: the LP, “After the Rain,” was beginning to skip. They could no longer play the album. It was before technology became available to convert vinyl albums to digital. Today, any twelve-year-old can do that. Perhaps younger.

I called Roy Dea. “Hey Roy, can you cut a side that was released on Epic on Johnny.

“I thought the contract said, no re-records,” Roy said.

“I know, but they will never catch it. It was never singled.” I could tell he was hesitant.

I told Lisa Byrd, “No can do.”

That was true until the last day of production. Roy Dea called me, “Hey Randy, I got that song on the CD for you.”

I was pleased, so was Lisa. But during all of this, I failed to mention any of it to Johnny. In his first interview, an astute reporter asked Johnny, “HighTone press release states, ‘You Can Say That Again ‘ would have all new music. But it has a song you recorded before, “Mexico Rain.”

Without missing a beat, Johnny responded: “I decided to make an exception.”

I never ceased to be amazed by how fast he could “think on his feet.” He saved my “behind” that day. And never asked me about the inclusion of Mexico Rain afterward.

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During Lisa Byrd’s time as a DJ at New West, she became like a little sister to Johnny and me. She hung out with us often. And she never tolerated, shall I say, any of our less-than-best behavior. I mean, not once. Well, perhaps once.

We decided to have dinner at the Top of the Marc on West Sixth Street. As Lisa turned onto 6th Street, Johnny became “less than charming.” She pulled over to the curb and said, “Get out.” He knew she was serious and did.

He looked at me and said, “Are you coming?”

“Not me; I’ll meet you there.” Neither one of us ever was less than charming again around Lisa. And that’s why we loved her. She demanded respect. We both respected her and trusted her.

Lisa Byrd, Johnny Rodriguez, and Randy Willis. Johnny had just sung something funny.

Johnny and Lisa are on my back deck overlooking Wells Branch, which flows into Walnut Creek in Austin. Their last photo together. She would soon be in Heaven.

In time, Lisa became very ill. While working at New West, she got headaches from the cigarette smoke. She took Tylenol and chased the tablets down with alcohol. At the time, no warning labels advised against that.

In 2010, while sitting around a fire in my backyard with Johnny, I received a call from Lisa’s daughter, Brittany. Lisa had just died of liver disease. As Johnny and I looked at each other in disbelief, we both began to weep. She was only 47.

How strange it was that we were together and alone when we received the news of our friend’s death. Or was that the providence of the Lord? I think so. He did too.

Lisa, like many of my friends, wanted to meet Willie. I never did that. But Lisa was like a sister to me. So, I invited her to the Ben Willie Darrell benefit for East Austin kids. Lisa brought two friends. Look at Willie’s smile. When Lisa was in a room, everyone smiled. She probably said something funny. I took this photo of Lisa at the Four Seasons Hotel, 98 Jacinto Boulevard, Austin, at her request.

Coach Darrell Royal, Johnny, and I with the legendary baseball player Johnny Bench. Four Seasons Hotel, Austin, Texas, The Ben Willie Darrell East Austin Youth Classic.

Four Seasons Hotel, Austin, Texas, The Ben Willie Darrell East Austin Youth Classic.

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“Many today have just enough religion to inoculate them from knowing Christ.” —Randy Willis

✯ Vaya con Dios, Johnny, Happy, Coach Royal, Jerry, Roy, & Lisa. I miss ya’ll. ✯