Blaine Martin

Blaine Martin, the former pub owner and hell raiser of San Angelo, died in his sleep last Saturday night.

We've been in our own midst of family crises — I took Shannon to the emergency room last night because she was having shortness of breath and swelling of the hands and feet, probably in reaction to some new medication she's taking (she's doing better now) — so it really hasn't sunk in that ol' Blaine is gone.

The obituary said that he was 53, which surprised me. I had thought he was half a decade older than that. If you didn't know Blaine, you missed out on one of the truest Texas characters I've ever met — and that's no small group.

I'm guessing he stood a little less than 6 feet tall and was barrel-chested and stout. But his voice — deep and alternately booming and raspy, sort of like Johnny Cash with a bad attitude and a bad cold — and his demeanor made him the biggest man in the room. (Well, short of Rod The Doorman, anyway).

He was a former carnival worker, an entrepreneur, a self-made businessman, a promoter … all with an 8th-grade education and a childhood he wouldn't talk about, at least not to me. But don't let the education fool you, he was sharp as a box of razor blades and as quotable as any man alive. Someone out there is bound to have a collection of his "pronouncements" and I hope they turn 'em in to a little book. (Call me if you need some help!)

As a bar owner, he didn't dissuade anyone from thinking that he opened his own bar because he was banned from all the others in town. And that wasn't entirely false. His self-named pub, next door to the newspaper, quickly was home base for me on my second tour of San Angelo.

Blaine was the kind of guy you wanted to see there in the afternoon because you knew that meant a free round of drinks and some funny stories. Blaine was also the kind of guy you didn't always want to see there when you got off work at 11 p.m. because you knew that meant he had been at the whiskey and coke for quite some time and you were in for an unpredictable ride.

(I've been thinking about spending a week on this blog talking about the most amazing things I've seen in a bar, and Blaine accounts for two of the Top 5, at least. Maybe in a few weeks we'll get to that.)

There's little question Blaine had lived through some hard times, had some bad habits and had a more than a few regrettable moments. But, at his core, there was a good man, I believe, who shone a little more brightly some times than others.

Certainly, I'd be willing to bet that Blaine did more to benefit the community of San Angelo than almost all of his detractors. His San Angelo Picnics were a huge financial boost to the town, a fine time for music fans, a showcase for up-and-coming artists and a blessing to the organizations that they raised funds for. And the smaller events — a fish fry for the Adult Literacy Council comes to mind — were common as well.

What shouldn't be underrated, either, is how Blaine put San Angelo — a town described as "not on the way to anywhere" — on the map when it came to Texas music. For a bright, wonderful time, perhaps 2000-2004, San Angelo was one of the premier outposts for a new generation of Americana and old-school country music fans.

The boost and the respect that Blaine gave to Johnny Bush alone is worthy of admiration.

There's a habit among people and media to tear down the living and sanctify the dead. Well, Blaine would be the first to tell you he was no saint. But I'll skip the conjecture on what caused his death and I'll skip the bad times, because it's rude to get into all that before the service has even been held.

Maybe, when I'm not so damn tired, I'll try to write a more poetic and more complete remembrance of this complex man. There's so many stories to tell. Did I mention that he said he gave Willie Nelson a basket full of 70 joints on Willie's 70th birthday? It seems like an outlandish tale, but with Blaine ...

Right now, I'll just remember the guy who greeted me like a hero when I showed up in San Angelo in 1999, who brought Billy Joe and Eddy Shaver to the pub and gave us Rusty Weir on the Riverstage. I'll remember the guy who knew that closing time didn't apply to us journalists on Sept. 11, 2001 and who shared a tequila shot with me on the morning, morning, that I told him I was moving to Austin.

Rest in peace, Blaine.

Comments

[Bill]

Ah yes, he was very quotable. I've told the story recently after learning he was gone, but it still is worth repeating.

The very first time I met Blaine, Bret had walked us over to the bar from his place a few minutes away. Later that night when we stepped outside for a few minutes (can't remember why), we were talking to Blaine when suddenly a drunk stumbles out of the bar, trips and falls hard on the pavement. As he walked and swerved down the sidewalk, Blaine just turned around and said, "Looks like another satisfied customer." He was. We were. Good times.

[Lee Nichols]

I only set foot in Blaine's once, but it was one of the best nights I'd ever had.

[Darren]

Blaine on the grand opening of Graham Central Station: "I'd rather slam my dick in the door than drink a quarter beer."

Blaine on hospitality: "Hey Scotty we need some drinks. (points around the table) Get him a beer, him a beer, him whatever he's drinking, her a beer, F*/#* that guy, him a beer, him a beer..."

A Blaine joke: "Know why fish are so skinny? They eat fish, right?"

Blaine on Robert Earl: "Road Goes on Forever, right? What the f(*& has he done lately, got it?"

Blaine on Cory Morrow: "Hey I'm low maintenance, you got it? He ain't, right? Let Graham's deal with him."

Blaine on business: "You wanna sell a man a quarter bag, you show him a quarter bag. You don't pull a pound of dope out of your trunk, got it?" (This was the ending of a very long story involving Blaine and the former owner of a pound of dope outside the Sherwood Lounge one night.)

Blaine on Blaine: a salesman came in one morning, "are you Mr. Martin?"

"I don't much like being called that, how bout you get the f(*^ out of here. I look like a 'Mr. Martin' to you?"

Blaine on honesty: the preacher was going on and on about what a fine outstanding man, father, and citizen was the deceased. We all knew he wasn't. Most of us kept it to ourselves. Blaine piped up in the middle of the service: "I don't think they're talking about the same son of a bitch I know." He said it quietly, but quietly for Blaine is a relative term.

Blaine on me: "Only son of a bitch I know sounds more like me than I do."

Blaine on Johnny Rodriguez: "Only son of a bitch I know walks around with a cutoff straw in his front pocket."

Blaine on Johnny Rodriguez: "Whaddya mean, who? He's got 15 number one hits, right."

Blaine on public relations: Once Aaron Stevens and I went to Blaine's at 7am to try to get him to go on a bar crawl with us. He declined but bought us a round to get started.

About 12 hours later, we stumbled into a place called the "Sharp End" in the black part of town. They didn't do anything to us, but we didn't feel very welcome. (The fact that we had absolutely no business being in there was moot.)

We went back to Blaine's, and when he asked about our crawl, I nonchalantly remarked that "I'd never had to back out of a bar before". I didn't mean anything by it - I just wanted to get a laugh.

Fast forward 3 hours. We're playing onstage and Blaine stumbles up and takes the mic away from me - not a rare occurence nor anything out of the ordinary.

"Shut up! All of you, just shut up!" (Also not a rare occurence nor anything out of the ordinary.)

"Hey, ya'll shut up, this nigger got something to say to Darren."

Just like that.

And in the doorway was a dude in a green and red suit they called Cat Daddy with his purple hat in his hand. He came up and told me and Aaron that he was truly sorry about the mistreatment we received and we were welcome in his bar any time. And he'd buy the first round. And he had something for us.

Then Blaine and Cat Daddy and about half the bar went out to the back porch and talked like old friends for an hour or so.

I have some mixed feelings about that incident, most revolving around the fact that it never should have happened. But I learned one thing - nobody messed with a friend of Blaine's.

I'll send you more as I remember them.