My favorite Johnny Cash story -- when I was in college, my roommate was dating a woman (he later married her) who was in the Oberlin Conservatory Of Music, a concert pianist. In fact, her last name was Paganini (yes, THAT Paganini). Anyway, she had been raised on classical music and even as a Junior in college, had really never heard much pop music. We were living in Oberlin for the summer, and one day out of sheer boredom, I went to the Oberlin public library fundraising record sale. I purchased (on a whim) for 10 cents a vinyl copy in mint condition of Johnny Cash Live At San Quentin (along with about 20 other LPs, including the first Neu! album... huh?!?). Keep in mind, this was before Johnny's revival, pre- Rick Rubin hipness... this guy's career was as dead as a doornail. But hey, I obught almost everything that I didn't already own and wasn't Liberace or a crusty classical record. Anyway, we spent the entire fucking summer playing that LP. The three of us memorized every line of every song and every bit of offstage patter and even what the prisoners were yelling. I don't think I've ever been more proud than the moment when Ms. Paganini purchased her first pop CD -- the old two-fer CD of Cash at Folsom Prison and San Quentin. The guy just transcended everything, even to someone who had no clue what the music meant -- you got him and his wife, stories about spending the night in jail for picking flowers, A Boy Named Sue, jokes about popping pills and drinking, TWO versions back to back of the same song! And throughout it all, I felt like this was the greatest man in the world, greater than the pope or Muhammad Ali or Morrissey or my dad or anyone. He made me feel like more of a pussy and a weakling than anyone ever has, but I loved him for it. Rest in peace, J.R. Cash. There'll be peace in the valley tonight.