The lines in his face look like a road map to hard times. The lines in his songs speak of hard times for common folks like him.
I made those observations talking to Merle Haggard back when he was only 48. Those keen blue eyes had seen enough for three lifetimes by then — a mostly fatherless childhood, several years in reform school, nearly three years in a state penitentiary and three marriages that ended in divorce.
By the last time I'd talked to Hag, via phone in 2011, the bad times were pretty much over. OK, he was on Wife No. 5 by then, but the greatest songwriter in country music — and arguably the greatest songwriter about American life — was enjoying a well-deserved rebirth.
A pillar of country music, Hag was also receiving widespread recognition beyond the world of three chords and the truth. He was touring with the Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan, earning Kennedy Center Honors with Oprah Winfrey and Paul McCartney, and landing in the California Hall of Fame with Barbra Streisand and Serena Williams.
"Merle Haggard has always been as deep as deep gets," Dylan told Rolling Stone in 2009. "Totally himself. Herculean. Even too big for Mount Rushmore. No superficiality about him whatsoever."
Haggard, who died Wednesday of double pneumonia on his 79th birthday, was real — and the real deal. He was straightforward, smart, aware, thoughtful, funny, poetic, no-nonsense and as easy to talk to as your next-door neighbor.
When I asked him to recommend something in pop culture to the readers of the Star Tribune, he contemplated for a minute and then said "the Bible," touting a televangelist he watched regularly. "When you become 74 years old," the singer said, "the next big event might be your funeral. So I'm trying to make some preparation."
Not that Hag walked the straight and narrow. No quote encapsulated the man better than his answer to a question about how he, as a well-known pot smoker, felt about the legalization of medical marijuana in California, where he lives. "There's no way I'm going to smoke somethin' that's legal, so I quit," he said, perhaps tongue-in-cheek. "But I think it's like onions: You ought to be able to grow it if you want it."