[Deathwatch] Al Ragle, FYI editor-in-chief, 54

[Deathwatch Central <cdw@slick.org>]

This was sent to me by a reader - apologies if the profession is
ill-fitting. -Ed.

Al Ragle
August 8, 1948 - June 8, 2003

Big Al has left the building.

With friends at his side, Al Ragle passed away Sunday afternoon, June
8th, from complications arising from cholangitis and hepatitis C.

Only 54 when he left us, Al had packed a lot of living into his first
40 years and was one of the bestknown and best-liked figures in the
glory days of the Austin music scene.

Al grew up in Highland Park/Dallas and after graduating from Highland
Park High in the late 1960’s, he moved to San Francisco, where he
worked for several years in the record industry. Returning to Texas in
1973, he moved to Austin in 1974 for a brief stint as singer-songwriter
Billy Joe Shaver’s manager, a job not unlike rodeo bullriding but with
slightly fewer bruises. Over the succeeding years, Al was a fixture in
Austin music circles, working at a number of live music venues,
including The Continental Club, The Backstage, Willie’s Austin Opry
House, La Zona Rosa, The Backyard and Hut’s, where he was the sound
engineer. Over the years, Al also worked at a number of record stores,
including Sound Warehouse, Inner Sanctum, Music Mania and, until late
last year, Antone’s Records. He also worked on the road with Paul Ray
and the Cobras and, later, with the Marcia Ball Band.

Most recently he ran Realiza Records, Eliza Gilkyson’s label, and as in
years past he was involved in the production of Willie’s upcoming 4th
of July Picnic.

Al was all about the music. He loved rock, blues, gospel and jazz, and
he was a walking encyclopedia of artists, albums, songs and styles. At
one point, he owned more than 10,000 vinyl LP’s, and when they were all
lost in a fire, he shrugged it off and started a new collection. In
recent years, his DoWop.com website was a valuable resource for music
fans, and each day Al put out a “this day in history” report to several
hundred loyal readers, listing classic record releases and musician
births and deaths for the date, with his insights on the distinctive
contributions of both music icons and lesserknown side players to the
milieu of American music. Not long after he turned 40, Al abruptly gave
up alcohol, a life-changing experience for someone in the Austin music
scene. After five years, sensing he needed some help to avoid slipping
back into the nightlife, Al joined AA, where he met Bill W., through
whom he made many more friends who were with him to the end.

Four years ago, Al reconnected with Nancy Gilkyson, a friend from his
early San Francisco days, and they moved to a little ranch on Onion
Creek, where Al tried to teach an expanding menagerie of rescued dogs,
cats and horses to dance in the second line. It was clear to all that
these last few years with Nancy were the happiest years of our
gregarious friend’s life.

The smart money says St. Peter had a back-stage pass waiting for him
and that Al has cleared the stage of harps and made room for some real
music.

While Al is jamming with Professor Longhair, Satchmo and Stevie Ray,
those of us he left behind will gather soon for a musical celebration
of Al's life in Austin.

Al is survived by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Leon Ragle, Sr.,
former Dallas residents now residing in Fort Worth, Texas; a sister and
brother-in-law, Betty Ragle LaRue and R. Michael LaRue of Fort Worth;
and a niece, Cathy Shropshire White of Jacksonville, Florida -- and by
hundreds of people who knew and loved him.

Save us all some good seats, Al.

----------

 My day usually begins with a quick skim of the Statesman. Last
Wednesday, I left home with the paper unread, so I missed Al Ragle's
obituary. He had died on June 8.

I had heard Al was very sick. Later, when I ran into him, he seemed to
be doing OK, though the quiet intensity was dissipated. What I missed
most was the humor. There was a time when it seemed as though Al was in
on some huge joke that the rest of us were stumbling around the edges
of, that he knew to laugh was to love and to live. He had a huge
appetite for life, for experience, which, as with so many others, led
him down some rather torturous alleys. He often stumbled, sometimes
fell, but always got up to keep going.

I met Al when he was working at Inner Sanctum Records. For an
improbably long time, it was not just the hippest record store in town
but the music scene headquarters. Musicians, music writers, collectors,
club bookers, fanzine creators, and general riffraff hung out there. If
you wanted to know what was happening, who was coming, who would be
sitting in with whom, you hit Inner Sanctum. The store, owned by Joe
Bryson (check out Condo Joe in the Classifieds), came into its own
during the great progressive-country scare of the mid-Seventies (as
Steven Fromholz references it), when it was managed by Cowboy James
Cooper. Amazingly, it maintained its cutting-edge status through the
punk and New Wave scenes, all paralleled by Austin blues. This may seem
like some serious mileage, but it was no transition at all in Austin,
where you'd catch Mohawked kids at blues show and wizened cowboys
listening to the Clash. The folks you saw early in the evening at
Raul's, you ran into later at Soap Creek Saloon, finishing the evening
with them at Antone's.

Richard Dorsett, who worked at the store, was among the first people I
met when I moved here in the summer of '76. If he couldn't get a date,
he'd call me at the last minute and see if I wanted to join him for
Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes, the Dictators, or the Ramones
sharing a bill with the Runaways at the Armadillo World Headquarters.
He also made me listen to music, lots of music. I was resistant to punk
at first. The breakthrough was the Modern Lovers album, which after
listening to a number of times I "got" one day in one of those
professor Henry Higgins moments that found Steve Swartz and me dancing
around the house to "Roadrunner." The Sex Pistols, X-Ray Spex, and so
many others soon followed (I'm bound to be screwing up some chronology
here). I remember the day I walked in as they were listening to this
new guy, Elvis Costello. As always, at first I thought they had to be
kidding. "Elvis?!"

Everyone who worked there had far-ranging, eclectic tastes and
encyclopedic knowledge. Not only would they force records on you, but
they would sometimes pull one out of your stack, saying, "You're not
buying that!"

Al usually had a wry smile, as though he couldn't quite believe the
lunatics got to run the asylum. He sure knew music, though. He had
worked in the record business in San Francisco, had managed Billy Joe
Shaver (which at that time was like herding wild, dangerous, rabid
cats). Over the years, he worked at any number of clubs and quite a few
record stores. Sanctum employee Neil Ruttenberg -- musician (F-Systems,
Radio Fre Europe), deejay (the Rev. Neil X on KUT-FM), and filmmaker --
became one of my best friends, and Steve Goodwin was also close. Al and
I would talk and compare notes, and he'd recommend music, but we were
never really that tight.

Neil decided to make a movie and asked if I would produce it. The
experience cemented our friendship. Neil wrote and directed "Mask of
Sarnath," a 20-minute horror film that was a finalist in the Student
Academy Awards. Al was his roommate at this time. Typically, he seemed
bemused at our goings-on. His room was strewn with clothes,
record-company swag, and Kentucky Fried Chicken boxes. Often,
half-full, they would stay in the same place for weeks. I'd cook
spaghetti for the crew, their kitchen being a really scary place. The
first time I cooked, I was stunned to learn they didn't have any salt.

Student productions were shot over many weeks. As with most productions
at the time, stopping by Raul's each night was how you found out if and
where the shoot would be the next day. Getting everybody together was
never easy, and the UT equipment broke as often as it worked. Neil
screwed up a day's shooting because of his previous night's amorous
activities, so I told him no more sex the evening before we worked. Al
loved this. We'd sit around, and he'd play me jazz, blues, and obscure
New Orleans cuts while I babysat Neil's desires.

Throughout the shoot, Al was in and out. He seemed entertained but was
rarely there. Off working with bands or at clubs, he came in very late
and left shortly after he woke, which was usually late afternoon. After
Neil moved to L.A., I ran into Al a lot. Regularly going out to the
clubs, I was visiting the world where he lived and thrived. Over the
last years I ran into him less and less.

As an old boheme and always a blowhard, I'm talking more about my
memories than about Al. For as much time as we spent together, we
didn't know each other all that well. Al was one of those almost unsung
heroes who helped craft the Austin music scene into what it was and
what it is. No lofty, hands-off pronouncements of what was good or not
good for the scene, of what would affect it and what wouldn't. Instead,
a real passion for an astonishing range of music accompanied by a deep
knowledge and discerning taste. Al wasn't that unique in his
generation; early on, no one was getting rich, and the city didn't
notice the scene, much less make the embarrassing assertion that we
were the "Live Music Capital of the World." If there wasn't any money
to be made in music, these guys worked day jobs just to get by and stay
involved.

Al's lifeblood was music; he ate, drank, slept, knew, and breathed it.
No overly suburban tidiness, no homogenized, sanitized, Martinized
packaging. Al nurtured and supported the music every way he could. Some
he learned from, many he taught -- certainly he turned me on to more
than my share.

Al Ragle is best remembered in the swirling, smoky club air, grinning,
hanging with his friends, soaking in the music through every pore and
every sense. This is the statue of the folks who homesteaded this
scene, there being nary a white-shirted real estate speculator or
career-driven politician among them. Sure, some of those folks attended
the clubs and bragged on Austin music, but they were simply witnessing
the results of the passion, taste, love, and knowledge of those who
committed their lives to music. Maybe they could have done something
else, but almost none of them tried; they couldn't imagine anything
more absorbing, life-affirming, and renewing. Hats off, then, and more
than a few moments of silence for the passing of Al Ragle. His life
benefited us all, and even those who don't know it should be grateful.