Tom & Johnny: Two Hats One Truth

There were two men in black. One stomped his boot on a plywood board in Canada. The other sang about shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die. Neither of them wore capes. Neither of them saved the world. But they both tried to tell the truth, which is harder.

Stompin’ Tom Connors was Canadian. That means he apologized to the microphone before he sang into it. He sang about potatoes, hockey, and towns with names like “Timbuctoo Junction” and “Moose Jaw.” He refused to perform outside Canada, which is like refusing to eat anything that wasn’t grown in your backyard. Admirable. Also insane.

Johnny Cash was American. That means he wore black because he had sins to confess and a voice like a gravel truck backing into a church. He sang about prisons, trains, God, and guilt. He performed in penitentiaries, which is like singing lullabies to wolves. Admirable. Also insane.

Both men were mythmakers. Not the kind who build empires. The kind who build railroads. You know, those long metal things that stitch together countries like Frankenstein’s monster. In Canada, it was the CPR; a polite, stubborn miracle that connected fishing villages to wheat fields. In America, it was the Union Pacific; a loud, fast, manifest-destiny machine that ran on ambition and whiskey.