Ticket 2 Ride

Kris Kristofferson died at age 88. Although his last years were spent in retirement, he lived the lives of several men: films, concerts, albums, larger than one life.

I remember first hearing my older sister and dad discussing Kristofferson in the early 1970s, who was this guy? I had heard talk describing him as some prophet-like songwriter, dazzling the ladies and a smile that hinted at trouble. Who was this guy?

Country music was not my thing, but he didn’t look like the slicked-back crooners and cowboys with twangy guitars. Kristofferson seemed anti-country establishment. Anything anti-establishment was okay in my book. It wasn’t long after that when I saw the film, Cisco Pike (1972), where Kristofferson played a musician selling grass on the side. He became a leading man and then character actor with over 100 acting roles to his credit. I always felt his film career overshadowed his music career. He played a lot of flawed characters, that type of role seemed more interesting, and perhaps closer to the man.

Even his outlaw characters had a charm and a wry view of the situation. He starred in some major motion pictures and some forgettable ones. In some, he had only a few scenes, carving out a memorable character, before moving on to the next project. The same could be said for his music. He wrote from his soul, his view of life, songs that others would cover. He knew his voice had limited range and a roughness that belied his own difficult road. For a stretch, he churned out the product, cashed the checks and headed back out on the road.

Issues with alcohol, drugs, infidelity and other incidents were 1970s tabloid fodder, but he survived and lived a quieter, more sanguine life, in large part to his third wife, who he married in 1983.

Kris Kristofferson was a study in contrasts. An Army captain and Rhodes Scholar, a struggling songwriter working as a recording studio janitor, two turbulent marriages before a 40-plus year union, a rebel to the country establishment and later a representative for classic country, a leading man who preferred playing the bad boys, a tough guy and a kind heart.

By the time I saw him in concert, he was pushing 80 on a solo tour and traveling by bus. He was kind enough afterwards to meet a few fans, sign a few autographs and chat for a moment. The voice, rough but friendly. The eyes, penetrating, yet kind. Bigger than life, but a common man. That’s my strongest memory of him.

In the latter part of his life, his music once again took center stage. His release of new music had slowed, but his visibility had not. As an elder statesman, Kristofferson was honored with awards and was a featured guest at many events: From a rebel to the very establishment he had to crack gain admittance. I told you be was a man of contrasts.

Rest in peace, Kris.