Tucker “Tick” Burden (1937-2019) came from an old Texas family, of Scottish descent. The patriarch Charles Owen Burden (1776-1834) came to America in 1800 at the age of 24, at a time of high confidence after defeating the great British Empire. His son, Edward Burden (1802-1836), produced Tick’s great-great-grandfather who retained the name whereas his brother, Henry Baxter Bowden (1829-1863), altered it to Bowden so that he would avoid the obvious negative association with the name Burden.
This created a schism among the family with the Burdens (the smaller branch) hardly socializing with the Bowdens.
Tick grew up in relative comfort, his father Albert Burden (1910-1986) having had a successful career as a cattle agent, not raising them himself but arranging auctions and large stock sales in North Central Texas.
However, from an early age, Tick was a dreamer and ne’er-do-well. As soon as he could Tick ran off, working only when he had to at various menial jobs: day laborer, miner, even an itinerant gambler for a short while. He enlisted in the army to avoid criminal charges but then deserted four months later.
He went north and got involved with a bootlegger, learning how to distill moonshine in the process, which came in handy. However, he missed Texas and made his way back south, getting a job in a tavern outside of Dallas on Highway 80.
The owner, Henrietta Tate (1916-2008), was a widow woman with a daughter, Alma Tate (1940-1978), a few years younger than Tick, who was around 30 by this time. Tick must have appeared dashing to the young and inexperienced girl who fell for him, and gave herself to him, getting herself pregnant. As soon as Tick heard the girl’s naive romantic dreams of running off, he did what he always did when he found himself facing consequences he would rather not, run.
Tick’s story is told in two parts, the second half of the song tells in straight-forward fashion Tick’s life up to the point of him abandoning Alma. The first half describes Tick on the road (presumably after he runs from the Tates), experiencing some cryptic dreams and ending up at a cemetery, either physically at Alma’s grave or dreaming he was.
LOCATION: Texas; Oklahoma, Missouri, Illinois
PERIOD: 1950s-1980s
DRAMATIS PERSONAE: Tucker “Tick” Burden (1937-2019); Henrietta Tate (1916-2008); Alma Tate (1940-1978).
TICK BURDEN’S DREAM
(F. D. Leone, Jr.)
My name is Tick Burden, got a hobo soul;
Cutting’ and running has taken a toll.
One did love me, but I chose a train to ride;
Been ten years since that one died.
Grey moon above me, skirted by a cloud;
I trudge through the’ mist, and overgrown ground.
Come to a bridge, crawl underneath;
A storm gathers darkly; I go to sleep.
Seven gray sisters, all in a row;
Whisper foreign words, I do not know.
When I awake the rain has stopped;
The air is electric, humid and hot.
Thunder shakes the ground, lightning zigzags;
On my tongue I can taste something like brass.
Seven grey sisters, all dressed in blue;
The dream nags at me like a pebble in my shoe.
I’m standing at a grave, among ancient headstones,
Praying for forgiveness from one who is gone.
The living carry death, until the final surrender;
The void is not a curse, the dead do not remember.
Toppled markers look like melted candle wax;
I sit bolt upright as a tree limb snaps.
Somewhere in the dark, a banjo and fiddle;
Haunted midnight music, the hour of the devil.
I look up the slope to a wet yellow sedge,
And see a grove where went I can lay my head.
I dream of a black snake coiled at my feet;
Three eggs in its belly; my journey’s almost complete.
The seven blue sisters appear to glow,
Phantoms dancing like ghoulish scarecrows;
Chanting strange curses with crooked fingers raised,
They mock me with their laughter; I run from this place.
He ran to Oklahoma and then Missouri,
Crossed to Illinois on a Mississippi ferry.
A bootlegger in Chicago and Detroit;
Sold moonshine whiskey in a Negro juke joint.
A gambler, prospector, hired out on day labor;
Enlisted in the army; deserted four months later.
Lived on cheap food, endless coffee, and cigarettes;
His clothes smelled of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat.
Late summer sun, August turns to September,
Cooling days fade like coal fire embers.
A job at a tavern out on old Highway 80,
Run by a widow, a Dallas Jew lady.
That’s when he met Henrietta and Alma Tate;
The violent summer of 1968.
Alma was the daughter, an only child, like he;
She left scented notes in the hollow of a tree.
His idea of love came from a magazine;
Alma’s eyes followed him, but he had never seen.
One night she gave herself for him to cherish;
Then spoke suddenly and wildly of marriage.
She pleaded that they could run off together;
Dreamed of a life far away from her mother;
Spoke of the child in her belly and there placed his hand;
A cold fear gripped him; and so, Tick Burden ran.
The grade crested where the northbound freights slowed,
To a crawling gait so that a man could grab ahold.
Tick reached for a boxcar and held the ladder fast;
In an icy rain the gray sisters stood as he passed.
His name was Tick Burden, a vagabond;
Seen most of this country and places beyond.
Slept uncertain under willow and pin oak,
Came and went like autumn woodsmoke.
© 2024 Frank David Leone, Jr./Highway 80 Music (ASCAP). The songs and stories on the Highway 80 Stories website are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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