First up were issues with Columbia executive Dave Kapralik, Lieberson’s second-in-command, which had gotten under his skin. Pressure had been maintained on the Columbia executives regarding when and how Cash’s albums were to be released for maximum exposure, and Kapralik was now throwing roadblocks up in front of the plan. They had clashed in particular over “The Big Battle,” a Civil War–era song Johnny had recorded in March, which covered the topic of war in a way he felt passionate about.
“Summarized below are some ruminative thoughts, plus some new developments,” Saul said as Betty typed. He began to pace. “One. Kapralik — he told me in Nashville, and then again in New York, that he would check with Law regarding ‘The Battle’ after Don was discharged from hospital. Now he tells me that only Don Law is responsible for your releases and that, as far as he knows, no artist has final say as to when a release should be made or, for that matter, what release will be made. Apparently it is a mutual situation.”
He paused, recalling Kapralik’s tone.
“He rather snottily advised that it takes at least sixteen weeks from the time material is complete to get an album on the market. He spoke in a spooky fashion,” he said, waving his hands around, trailing smoke. “Condescendingly — and got me mad. I’m afraid I expressed my anger. Suggested you could and would write a sequel to ‘Ride This Train’ for Carnegie Hall if Columbia would record at the Hall. Told him this was my idea and wasn’t a prerequisite to your doing the sequel. However, it might give you the impetus nevertheless to do so. He replied by saying that you shouldn’t need any encouragement to come up with additional material. I got madder. So much for Kapralik.”
Saul stubbed out the cigarette in his desk ashtray and ran a hand across his dark, wavy hair, which he had recently cut quite short. Dressed in his trademark black, he had taken to wearing short sleeves to better deal with the heat in California. It was nothing like the chilly, snowy winters he was used to in London.
I’ll call Don Law in Johnny’s presence, thought Saul, divining how he might approach the issue differently. Johnny’s producer at Columbia and head of their country music division, Law seemed to be providing little direction for his client, preferring to let Johnny do just as he pleased, rather than take the reins and offer guidance. Saul lit another cigarette as Betty blinked, fingers hovering above the typewriter keys. He will have to go, he thought, making a mental note. Next on the agenda: Carnegie Hall.
“Two. Will write Lieberson about plans for Carnegie, plus giant Johnny Cash ‘thank you’ Caribou Cocktail Party in New York. Plans for this party have jelled in my mind, and I am sure it will set the industry on its musical ear. I’ll fill you in next week and see if you concur,” said Saul. It put him in a better mood to think about plans for the pre-Carnegie party, the aftermath of which he felt certain would reverberate in their circles for some time. Finished with business, he decided to remind Johnny of some personal issues they had discussed during their many long car rides between LAX airport and Casitas Springs. Though he was clearheaded at the time, Johnny often had a hard time recalling these conversations.
“I’m so pleased with your new attitude toward our future plans, but after doing some extensive reading on other artists I have come to the overpowering conclusion that an artist, to properly flourish and prosper, absolutely must be concerned with self-discipline, and even more concerned with the need to grow and mature with the passage of time.” Saul scratched his jaw, thinking. He began to tread the carpet again. “This, in my opinion, calls for an honest appraisal of what the artist really wants. If he is truly ambitious and admits it, then it means work, concentration and a level head. I sincerely believe that you are capable of great things — far in excess of what you have accomplished up to date — providing you keep a level head and an even perspective. Forgive me for lecturing and preaching, but this is how I feel.”
“See you soon. Happy New Year,” said Saul. He nodded at Betty, and a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “Sign it, ‘Preacher Holiff.’”28
This reflective tone continued upon his return to Los Angeles after the Vegas trip, where he spent New Year’s Eve alone in his motel room ruminating on all that had come to pass in the last few months, and all that would shortly come to pass. He often missed his girlfriend, the kind, insightful secretary Barbara Robinson. She was beautiful, too — refined, with a wide smile, a long, slim neck, and tidy chestnut hair. The poem she had written about him, which he had forwarded to Johnny, was titled “Mister 17,” and was inspired by his obsession with the number seventeen. Though he knew better than to engage in such superstitions, the number seemed to recur as a prominent “thing” in his life. “You’re a practical sort of fellow / Who believes in Logic only / While astrology and tea-cup reading’s / Balm for the lonely,” she had written. “But isn’t it peculiar / That you never fail to notice / Any time the number 17 / Might come within your focus?”29
The intimacy of her overture had touched him, and it was clever. He liked that. As his management of Cash expanded, he sought Barbara’s assistance and opinions in many areas of the business, and she was already becoming near-indispensable to him in that capacity.
It was back in November of 1957 that Barbara had traded her hometown of Winnipeg for London, Ontario, and worked her way into a job at the London Free Press. It was the city’s daily paper, and she served as the personal secretary to their dynamic advertising director, Charles Fenn. For years, Saul had visited the newspaper’s offices to purchase ads — first for his clothing store and then later to promote Sol’s Square Boy and his rock ’n’ roll shows. Not long after Barbara’s arrival, Saul immediately noticed her, though he wasn’t certain she had noticed him back. In fact, he had first seen her outside of the newspaper office, in a booth at the nearby Greek restaurant where the newspaper staff took their coffee breaks. As she laughed with the other secretaries, Saul sidled up to owner Victor Mahas to ask if he knew who “that woman” was. Feeling protective, Mahas looked Saul up and down and shook his head no, though she was in fact a friend. As Saul departed, he hoped he would get another chance.
A short while later, Barbara was in her office — a windowless cube on the upper floor near the copy services section — immersed in the discussion of an advertising contract with one of the newspaper’s part-time temps. A shadow crossed the page they were focused on. She glanced up just in time to see a man pass by the open door of her office.
“Who was that?” Barbara asked her co-worker.
“I can’t remember his name. I think he’s a tailor?” She shrugged.
Hours later, Barbara was bent over her desk at work when she heard a voice behind her.
“So, what kind of music do you like?”
Startled, she looked around. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. It was the man, the one who had passed by earlier. She thought for a moment. No “hello”? No introduction? And that’s a funny question for a tailor to ask.
“Well, I like pretty well anything, except country music and rock and roll,” she said with a smile. At this, he laughed.
“Don’t you know who I am?” he said. A smile lingered around the edges of his mouth.
“No, I haven’t seen you until today.” The question made her nervous. Executives’ secretaries were supposed to know everything and everybody.
“My name’s Saul Holiff. I promote concerts in the area,” he said, hands in his pockets. “They’re usually country music or rock ’n’ roll.”
“I guess that’s why I’ve never met you before,” she said, and then allowed herself to laugh.
Just before the end of the day, the phone rang. It was Saul, calling to ask if she would like to come over to his apartment and listen to the new hi-fi equipment he had just got installed. A music lover herself, she had heard about the advances in sound that this new technology had promised. Curious, she accepted.
Little did she know that this was not the first time she had encountered Saul, either.