Feb. 2, 2003

The road was dusty and deserted, without a car in sight. Gentle, rolling hills stretched out in every direction. I looked around, leaned against a barbed wire fence to peer at a lone sign. I supposed it made sense, with a posted population of three, that I wouldn’t see anyone on this back Texas highway. Still, I was in search of a visual image to go with a musical memory from years ago. I was close enough, and there was no reason to pass by without at least looking around.

I turned down the side road and drove until I came to two buildings, one on each side of the road, both protected by the shade of tall trees. A dozen or so Harleys were parked to the right and a few cars were nosed into a makeshift parking lot on the left. I found a place for my own vehicle among them.

It is said that time stands still in some places and Luckenbach, Texas is without a doubt one of those places. As I approached the smaller of the two buildings, a faint murmur of voices reached my ears, followed by the soft twang of a guitar string. Then another murmur, then another twang. A few bikers leaned against the building, near an open door that was bordered by weathered, metal advertising signs. A large trash can was half filled with beer cans. A man and a woman played with a dog near an outdoor campfire. A few others sat on a picnic table, many with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. There was one thing these people all had in common: carefree, peaceful expressions.

I entered the small building and found it more crowded than I expected based on the empty road I’d just followed. It was a small room, the back of a building used for a general store in front and gathering place in back. A wood stove glowed with warmth in the center of the room. A bar and counter formed an “L’ along the side and back walls. In the small remaining space, chairs had been pulled into a semi-circle. There, the guitars twanged away as people came and went, some joining in to make music, others sitting on benches or leaning against walls to listen. I found a space near the doorway, eased my back against the wood and blended in with the crowd.

“Everybody is somebody in Luckenbach,” the legendary town proclaims, and so I became somebody for the afternoon, listening to home-spun tunes and watching the mix of locals and tourists. It was magical.

Originally named Grape Creek, Luckenbach came into existence in 1849 when Minna Engel opened the General Store-Post Office-Bar. She was the daughter of a German preacher by the name of Carl Albert Luckenbach, after whom the town was eventually renamed. Operating as a community trading post for many years, this peaceful hamlet was one of very few towns that never broke the peace treaty with the neighboring Comanche Indians.

In 1970 the town was sold to Hondo Crouch, a popular humorist and folk hero. Signs of the well-loved Hondo were everywhere, from the red, white, and blue draped statue in front to portraits and signs on the walls. Adding special events in what’s now referred to as “The Best Little Dance Hall in Texas,” Hondo helped give Luckenbach a special place on the Texas map. Whatever fame he didn’t establish, Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings achieved when they recorded the town’s namesake song following the death of Hondo Crouch in 1976.

I wandered into the store and found an eclectic combination of artifacts and merchandise. Choices available for purchase ranged from the standard mugs and stickers to an upside-down armadillo basket – the handle, a bottle of beer, carefully poised between the creature’s four paws. One cool black T-shirt pictured “Marge, Sheriff of Luckenbach,” on the front. I recognized her from behind the bar in the back room. I purchased a couple guitar picks with the Luckenbach label. Seemed as fitting a souvenir as any. I knew the armadillo wasn’t coming home with me.

As much as I hated to leave the live music and atmosphere of the little store and bar, I headed over to the Dance Hall, empty but open to the public. Like many of these old buildings, the vacant spaces around the rough wood tables, dance floor and raised stage didn’t prevent me from imagining the scenes of many gatherings that had taken place over the years – the Mud Dauber Festival, Texas Independence Celebration and the Hell-Hath-No-Fury Ladies State Chili Championship. With a red, white, and blue Texas backdrop on the stage and neon beer lights around the walls, the space spoke of good times.

“Have you been here when Willie’s here?” asked a black-leather-clad man who was eager to have his picture taken against one of the rustic walls. With a friendly grin—and a girlfriend standing nearby—this local resident informed me with pride that he was working as an extra in the nearby filming of “The Alamo.”

I admitted I’d never been there at all, much less along with Willie. But I could easily picture the beloved country singer there, beneath the stately oaks, around the outdoor fire ring, or on a folding chair near the old wood stove inside.

Luckenbach has managed to retain its backwoods charm while still pulling its commercial marketability together – not an easy feat. If an afternoon of laid-back music while popping down a few Lone Stars isn’t enough, the Dancehall is for rent for special occasions. Heck, the whole town is for rent – all ten acres of it. Both their brochure and website claim they can even get Willie. For the right price, I imagine. All party details are handled by the “Luckenbach Texas Party Perfesshunals,” including cake, florist, caterer, security, parking, invitation, and custom merchandise. Maybe if I stuck around long enough, I could even make the upcoming “Luckenbach’s 150th Texas Birthday Party – For the 5th Danged Time.”

Of course, as always happens, I had to step out of this time warp eventually and hit the road. But Luckenbach turned out to be a place where the passage of time really does seem to pause, where people are greeted with true Texas hospitality, and where armadillo races, washer pitchin’, and moseyin’ are considered official activities. You just can’t beat that.