When the reviews came out in November, two themes were common: a widespread suspicion that this would be Cash’s final album and special praise for the title track. In England, Mojo magazine declared, “If this is Cash’s last album, then what a magnificent way he has chosen to say goodbye.” England’s Uncut found it to be “probably the most consistent of the Rubin-produced albums.”
Even in a Rolling Stone preview of the album three months before its release, the focus was on “The Man Comes Around.” While the article mentioned “Hurt” and the other cuts in passing, it contained this quote by Marty Stuart about “The Man Comes Around”: “It’s the most strangely marvelous, wonderful, gothic, mysterious, Christian thing that only God and Johnny Cash could create together.”
Pitchfork, a fiercely independent Internet publication known for championing innovation and daring, especially in young indie rock, made the strongest case for the album’s title track: “The Cash-penned ‘The Man Comes Around’ is an epic tale of apocalypse, interpreting Revelations with uplifting exuberance. Restraint, resignation, and a hope of peace pervade the prophetic imagery. Truly, the subdued fury and beauty of this track reduces everything that follows. The immediate question posed is: if this man can still write and perform works of this caliber, why is he resorting to the words and music of others?”
The Village Voice’s Robert Christgau, one of the nation’s most probing and influential rock critics, also singled out “The Man Comes Around,” writing, “First and best comes the newly written title tune, a look at death as cold as ‘Under Ben Bulben.’” The Los Angeles Times called the song “a judgment-day tale as stark as anything else Cash has written.”
With the expectation level that had been raised by American III: Solitary Man and the heavy press attention, The Man Comes Around got off to the fastest sales start of any of the Rubin-produced albums. After two months, sales had reached nearly 120,000 copies. But then, in the absence of a hit single or video, sales dropped after Christmas to just 6,000 a week—and stayed at or below that level through January.
Rubin saw the “Hurt” video as his last chance to recapture the public’s attention. Knowing that MTV and other primary video music channels took their lead in programming from what radio was playing, on January 14 he took a copy of the video to Kevin Weatherly, the general manager of KROQ-FM in Los Angeles. If the influential station played the record, Rubin knew other stations around the country would follow, and that would make MTV at least consider showing it.
Weatherly, a master at spotting potential hits, was touched by the video and played the record immediately on the station. He wanted to test it on his young rock audience. The radio request lines lit up. Rubin was thrilled. As expected, MTV followed the station’s lead, and the response was impressive enough for the channel to keep showing the video.
In Nashville, CMT’s editorial director, Chet Flippo, praised the video: “Music videos come and go, but the stunning video for Johnny Cash’s Hurt is one that will endure for a long, long time. Visually arresting, artistically captivating, emotionally devastating—it’s the kind of drama to which great music videos aspire. It’s a gripping testimony to Cash’s career and to the magnitude of his stature both as an artist and a man. Along the way, it graphically demonstrates his elevation to worldwide icon.”
This video-driven excitement spread to the retail music world. The album sales, which had totaled only 6,800 copies the week ending February 2, suddenly leaped to 13,300 the following week, according to Nielsen SoundScan. It then jumped to 18,100 the following week, then 21,000, before hitting a peak of 26,500 the week ending March 9. By the end of June, sales for The Man Comes Around were over 400,000. It was on its way to becoming the first Cash solo album since San Quentin to top the 1 million sales mark.
But the impact of the video went far deeper than sales. For millions of young music fans, Cash became as beloved and respected a figure as he had been in the days of his prison albums and his TV show. His legacy was stronger than ever. His old drummer W. S. Holland was amazed by the resurgence. “It sounds odd just saying it, but you know Johnny Cash may be remembered someday more for that video than any of his records.”
The video exposure also redirected attention to Cash’s recording of “Hurt.” Seeing him sing the song made it easier for young rock fans to notice the changes he’d made in the original—not just altering the line “I wear this crown of shit” to “I wear this crown of thorns,” but the way he had made the song into a parable. In its first decade the album eventually sold nearly 2 million copies in the United States alone. No one seemed more moved than the song’s writer, Trent Reznor, who admitted he had mixed feelings about Cash’s recording such a personal song. After seeing the video, however, he was so touched he cried. “It really, really made sense, and I thought what a powerful piece of art,” he said. “I never got to meet Johnny, but I’m happy I contributed the way I did. It felt like a warm hug.”
When most people watched the “Hurt” video the first few times, their attention was directed solely at Cash, who seemed on the edge of death as he sat at the piano and dinner table with trembling hands and a nearly vacant stare. Even when one finally started paying attention to June on the stairs, the sadness and uncertainty on her face appeared to be a reflection of the prospect of facing life without him.
What neither Rubin nor Romanek knew at the time was that June’s anxiety and anguish were the result of news she’d received from her doctor the day before. She had a serious leak in a heart valve.
Because of all the time she had spent in hospitals, June dreaded going back. She told several close friends that she’d had a premonition of dying if she ever did. The news of another operation was akin to a death sentence. As she stood on the stairs in such despair, she was likely thinking not so much what she would do without John as what John would do without her.
Chapter 36
The Final Days
I
RATHER THAN AGGRESSIVELY ADDRESS her own deteriorating condition, June spent the final months of her life trying to ease her husband’s burdens. She asked, “What can I do for you, John?” so often that it became a mantra. She wasn’t alone. Everyone around the couple focused, as they had for years, on his endless needs. Anyway, June and her sisters had all had reputations as hypochondriacs; they seemed to be in a continual contest to prove who had the worst ailment.
“June fell through the cracks,” says Mark Stielper. “I do not believe that she purposely didn’t take care of herself. It’s just that all eyes—including hers—were elsewhere. We all thought her maladies were, in comparison, minor, and that it was a case of ‘June being June,’ i.e., being dramatic.”
Cash knew about his wife’s heart valve problem, but he didn’t press her about getting it taken care of; he thought of her as invincible. Meanwhile, he wanted to get back into the studio to finish recording the gospel album he had started the previous summer. For much of the time, though, he seemed to be barely hanging on. When he and June got back from Jamaica just after Christmas, he went into Baptist Hospital for an operation to deal with an ulcer on his foot. He was released just after New Year’s, but returned to the hospital almost immediately after a fall at the house. He remained there for three weeks. No sooner had he gotten back home than he fell again and reentered the hospital, and was there the day the “Hurt” video aired on January 31, 2003.
But to everyone’s surprise, he found the strength to resume work on the album for two days the first week in March. Because he was having an elevator installed in his house, he and June had moved across the street to the smaller single-story house where his parents had lived during their final years. Ferguson set up recording equipment there, and Cash recorded four songs, including “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” an old spiritual which warned that all sinners eventually have to answer to God, and Kristofferson’s “Jesus Was a Capricorn.”
Progress was stopped on March 15 when he was rushed back to the hospital, where he was placed on
a ventilator again. June canceled her plans to fly to Spokane to appear on a bill with George Jones, a rare performance she had been eagerly anticipating. With family gathered around, Cash again rallied and was cheered by all the awards coming his way. The country music world had finally embraced him again. CMT, the country music cable channel, named an award after him, the Johnny Cash Visionary Award, designed to recognize “extraordinary musical vision, innovative and groundbreaking music videos and pioneering initiatives in entertainment.” Cash didn’t dwell on how Nashville had resisted almost all of his own “pioneering initiatives.” He was grateful for the recognition.
On March 28 in a CMT special, Cash was named one of the most important male artists in the history of country music. Watching the telecast from Cash’s hospital room, Mark Stielper figured either Cash or Hank Williams would end up at number one. And his prediction of a two-man race looked likely as the countdown ran through the heart of the list.
Resting in bed, Cash heard many of his heroes and contemporaries named: Gene Autry was number thirty-eight, his beloved Jimmie Rodgers number thirty-three, Elvis Presley number fifteen, Merle Haggard number six, Waylon Jennings number five, Willie Nelson number four, and George Jones number three. That left just Williams and Cash.
Stielper let out a victory yelp when Hank Williams’s photo came up on the screen, tipping off his selection as number two, making Cash number one.
Johnny Cash’s legacy had not just been restored by this latest series of albums; it had been enhanced.
“Well,” he joked, “if I’m that important, I better get out of this bed and get back to work.”
Cash’s sister Louise died a week after the telecast, but he was still too weak to attend her funeral. Similarly, Cash had to watch from home on April 7 when he was honored with a special achievement award during CMT’s new Flameworthy Video Music Awards ceremony. Though visibly ill herself, June accepted the award for him.
Rick Rubin, who watched the telecast with Cash at the house, was worried about his friend’s continued deterioration. A few months earlier Rubin had told Cash about Dr. Gene Scott, a controversial TV evangelist in Los Angeles whose sermons came across as a wildly colorful mix of profound biblical scholarship and semi-crazed ranting. What had particularly interested Rubin was Scott’s claim that he had defeated prostate cancer without surgery by taking communion daily. Cash was intrigued by the account. When Rubin, who was born into a Jewish family but never actively practiced the religion, mentioned he had never taken communion, Cash said they should do it together sometime.
During the Flameworthy telecast, Cash recalled the conversation and led Rubin through a brief ceremony. Cash spoke a few words and then both men shared some crackers and grape juice, in lieu of the wafer and wine. Eager to do everything he could to help Cash battle his health problems, Rubin suggested they continue the practice daily over the phone. Cash would go through the actual ceremony, while Rubin would just visualize the taking of the wafer and wine. They would share communion in that way almost every day for the rest of Cash’s life.
The end for June came quickly.
There was no way to ignore her needs on April 11, when she was finding it difficult even to breathe. She was taken to Baptist Hospital and placed in the intensive care unit, where she told visitors that she didn’t have long to live. Like John, however, she was strong, and her doctors allowed her to go home after a few days while they planned her treatment.
Trying to tell himself that things would be okay, Cash went into the studio a few days later to record “Help Me,” the Larry Gatlin song that Cash had first heard in Reverend Jimmie Snow’s church. In one of his most memorable vocal performances, Cash conveyed the tenderness of the song in every line, struggling all the time to find enough breath to keep going.
I never thought I needed help before,
I thought that I could do things by myself.
Now I know I just can’t take it anymore.
With a humble heart, on bended knee,
I’m beggin’ You, please, for help.
Hearing the recording for the first time in California, Rubin was moved. “I couldn’t believe how great the record was,” he says. “It was so heartfelt. It was less a ‘song’ than someone spilling his guts. I kept thinking, ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ It was one of the most chilling moments I ever had listening to music.”
Cash wanted to continue recording after the “Help Me” session, but his energy gave out the second day and he had to quit early.
On Monday, April 28, June suffered another setback.
As it happened, John Carter arrived at the house just in time to see his mother being helped into her Lincoln Town Car for a trip to the hospital. As the vehicle passed him on the way out of the driveway, June was so weak that she could only mouth the words, “I love you.”
On Wednesday, May 7, doctors proceeded with the heart valve replacement and told the family that the operation went well. John Carter visited June in the coronary care unit, but she couldn’t speak because her mouth was covered by an oxygen mask. She smiled faintly and reached out to hold her son’s hand. John Carter tried to assure her that she’d be fine, but something in her eyes told him she didn’t believe him—as if she was saying, “No, son, I won’t be leaving here alive.”
In the early morning hours of May 9, June suffered a coronary arrest. Her heart stopped for several minutes, perhaps as many as fifteen. She sank into a coma and was placed on life support. Then she was declared brain dead. John Carter entered her room to find his dad already there, sitting on a chair next to June.
II
As John’s and June’s children came together at the hospital, June still on life support, there was a sense of genuine grief. Rather than resenting June for the breakup of their parents’ marriage, John’s daughters had grown to appreciate what she meant to their father.
“I hate what happened to my mother, but I came to see over the years that Dad had a friend, a lover, and they grew closer and closer the older they got,” Cindy says. “It was a wonderful love story.”
Mark Stielper agrees. “John and June did have a happy ending to their love story,” he says. “Each doted on the other as they closed out the world around them and quietly allowed peace to reign. I heard John say to her many times ‘We saw it all, didn’t we, baby.’ Whereas at one time he meant that ruefully, it became a valedictory.”
It had been a hard few weeks for Rosanne—the death of her aunt Louise adding to worry about John and June. During this period she wrote a song, “Black Cadillac,” that she later described as a “postcard from the future.” The song was triggered by Louise’s death, but she came to realize it was actually about her father. Key lines go:
Now it’s a lonely world
Guess it always was
Minus you and minus blood
My blood.
Though June’s neurologist told Cash that there was no way his wife was “coming back from this,” he refused to accept it. Rosanne and the others took turns wheeling him into June’s room several times a day so he could sit with her.
After much urging from the children, Cash accepted the inevitable; he allowed the doctors to take June off life support. But that wasn’t the end.
To add to the heartache, June’s pacemaker kept her heart beating for another three days. That may have been the hardest period, John Carter says. “We stayed there, praying and hoping. But we knew she was already gone.” The final days were “beyond terrible,” Rosanne says. “It made me go home and rewrite my living will afterward.”
As they waited for the end, John, the children, and friends, including Ted Rollins, sang hymns. Recalls Rollins, “It was very emotional and peaceful at the same time. It was unbelievable to be a part of that…and [hear him] say his good-byes and gently touching her and saying how much he loved her.”
On Thursday, May 15, at 5:04 p.m., as Cash and the others sang “Oh Come, Angel Band,” June Carter Cash died. She was seventy-three.
Rubin spoke to Cash at the hospital by phone shortly afterward and found him shattered. “He talked about all the pain he had gone through in his life, but nothing to compare with this,” the producer says. “I didn’t know if he was going to make it past this. I’m not talking about making more records; I’m talking about his life.”
Trying to find some way to give Cash hope, Rubin asked, “Do you think you can find anywhere in you the faith to get through this?”
There was something about the word “faith” that changed Cash’s demeanor, Rubin says. In a loud, clear, strong voice, Cash said, “My faith is unshakable!”
“It was like a whole other Johnny Cash again,” Rubin adds. “I suddenly felt everything was going to be all right.”
The news announcement noted that the funeral—set for two p.m. Sunday the eighteenth at the First Baptist Church of Hendersonville—would be private. But Cash wanted to open the service to the public, and Lou Robin sent out a statement: “Thanks to June’s friends, fans and loved ones for the outpouring of love at this terrible time. I love you all.”
Knowing how much his mother loved flowers, John Carter suggested the funeral notice read, “In lieu of donations, send flowers.”
When Sunday arrived, more than 1,500 mourners watched as Cash was rolled into the church in his wheelchair. For most of the mourners, it was the first time they had seen him in that condition.
Rosanne led a parade of speakers. “My daddy has lost his dearest companion…and his soul mate. If being a wife were a corporation, June would have been a CEO. It was her most treasured role.” Rosanne humorously recalled the time June picked up the phone and had the “nicest” half-hour phone conversation with someone, only to say afterward that the caller had dialed the wrong number. The incident symbolized to Rosanne June’s generosity and upbeat spirit. John’s oldest daughter also said she loved June for the way she’d accepted all of her children without ever using the term “stepdaughter.” “She always said, ‘I have seven children.’” Music was provided by a variety of artists, including Emmylou Harris, the Gatlin Brothers, Sheryl Crow, and some of the Carter clan members.