Sometimes Life, Like Love, is Hotter than a Pepper Sprout

I’ve never felt old enough to write a book of memoirs—until now, that is, since I’ll be 75 by the time this issue is mailed. And what would I call it? I considered: Out of Appalachia...and Back, but thought it and a dozen other titles didn’t sound enticing enough. Then Russ Cheatham, a writer friend, suggested Hotter Than a Pepper Sprout, a line from my song, “Jackson,” as recorded by Johnny Cash and June Carter. I argued that it sounded crass and commercial, not to mention egotistical. But Russ said, “It’s also catchy—one of the most recognizable lines in country music. It won a Grammy for Cash and Carter and, hey hoss, it will give you a springboard into your songwriting career.” For now, since I can’t think of anything better, I’ll use it as a working title. I’ve written chapters on how I went from picking coal in West Virginia to picking my brain in an office on Broadway, dropping a lot of names, but George Brosi and his staff of Berea College students chose the following segments from my Appalachian beginnings. There are no pepper sprouts here, but I bow to their wisdom and authority. Every writer needs a good editor.