After CMC, Lou Robin ’53 went on to promote some of the biggest names in show business. Among the most cherished of his clients was Johnny Cash, with whom he traveled the world as friend and manager, and later, as collaborator, on telling the singer’s life story. By Alissa Sandford
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While the legend of Johnny Cash continues with the critically acclaimed Walk the Line, to one CMCer, the singer always will be identified by the stories that occurred out of the public eye: like the time Cash sent a color TV to inmates at San Quentin, or exchanged poetry with friend Muhammad Ali before a fight in New Orleans. Or, notes Lou Robin ’53, Cash’s longtime promoter and manager, the time the recording artist, driving to an interview, picked up a hitchhiker needing to get to Nashville for a prosthetic leg. “John got him a motel room and room service, and arranged for a ride to the hospital the next day,” Robin remembers. “Those were the things he’d do, that no one ever knew about.” Robin was a fixture both personally and professionally in Cash’s life, a role that continues today as manager of business affairs for the family estate and the Johnny Cash name. In his autobiography, the legendary singer noted that, “Lou is like family. He’s traveled the world with me and has seen every kind of scam and trick and trouble the music business has to offer.” Their unlikely meeting followed a chain of events that began at Claremont Men’s College. With buddies Ted Chanock ’52, Dave Arbuckle ’53, Alan Tinkley ’54, and other classmates, Robin organized a sell-out concert with the legendary Duke Ellington in 1952. The following year, as student body VP, Robin formed a social committee with fellow CMCers to book campus social functions, including a concert by the notable George Shearing Quintet. Embraced by the acoustics of the relatively unused Mabel Shaw Bridges Music Auditorium, the concerts—benefiting various College coffers—were a resounding success. “We were pioneers,” Robin says, sounding amused. “President George Benson, Dean W. Bayard Taylor, and Dean Stuart Briggs had great foresight in developing CMC in the crucial years that we were there. Accordingly,” Robin notes, “they just tolerated our activities, as long as it didn’t cost the administration anything.” In the glow of these successes, Robin hatched a more ambitious plan in 1957, calling upon many of those same friends including Ken Raphael ’53, Bob Bacon ’53, Jud Brandreth ’55, Walter Wentz (CGU), Ed Bulmahn (POM), and Tinkley, to form a business, Concerts Incorporated—a part-time venture while everyone was otherwise employed. Their bread and butter would be advising other colleges and universities on hosting their own jazz concerts. And while they did so with modest success, continuing also to book acts at CMC, the fellowship discovered that promotions outside of a college required a level of capital and time they couldn’t afford. Their first major concert, in Pasadena, was a sobering loss, claiming half of their shoe-string investment. Ultimately, Robin, Tinkley, and the partners were left to refine the dream. Clients to come would include Garland, Brubeck, Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Joplin, Hendrix, Streisand, and yes, Cash, to name but a few. But in 1961, it became evident that the business couldn’t support more than two people full-time, and Robin and Tinkley forged on alone. The life spent promoting concerts was a nomadic one, and Robin regretfully produces evidence of its sacrifices, including a failed first marriage. “It was tough for my wife to raise two children through the 1960s,” he says. “It fell apart.” With those sons now leading successful television production careers (eldest, Mike, worked on L.A. Law and NYPD Blue before going into business for himself on Nip/Tuck and The Closer, while youngest, Steve, joined Ally McBeal and now Boston Legal), neither desired their father’s work. “Regretfully, I was gone for half their lives,” Robin recalls over lunch with his wife, Karen, whom he married in 1972. “They didn’t want to travel like I did. I don’t blame them, and I never tried to influence them otherwise.” The first major victory for Robin and Tinkley et al. as promoters came in 1959. Following a sell-out performance of the Kingston Trio with Ray Conniff and his orchestra at the Hollywood Bowl, the men quit their day jobs to present the Trio and others fulltime. Tinkley took up offices in the Bay Area, and the added visibility nabbed business with the era’s folk artists and other budding talents. “We brought Bill Cosby to Australia three times,” Robin says, “That was a lot of fun: Just Bill and the microphone.” Reflecting today in his Westlake Village office, Robin knits these and other stories into a tapestry of show business lore, including the fateful juncture with Johnny Cash, who graces the lion’s share of memorabilia on Robin’s walls. Copies of the singer’s autobiographies and music re-released in addition to the Walk the Line platform are abundant, as well as binders accounting for the more than 5,000 concerts Robin and Tinkley promoted. Overseeing the Cash business leaves little time for anything except representing friend of 40 years, Hawaiian singer Don Ho. But the phone on this particular day rings with inquiries about rumors of a Cash property sale. Karen Robin, who gave up a high-end handbag manufacturing business to manage the office, recalls how Cash was nervous about performing, even to his last night onstage. “He would stand in the wings, very unsure of who he was,” she says. “He felt that until the audience affirmed him, ‘Johnny Cash’ was just a name.” Robin recalls a night the singer faced a crowd of 11,000 in Czechoslovakia. Seconds before heading onstage, Cash turned to Robin: “What if they don’t know the music?” he asked. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough,” Robin kidded. “That’s how unsure he was,” Robin says. “And of course the crowd went wild.” Cash became a client of Robin’s and Tinkley’s in 1969, when they booked him for a second performance at San Quentin. Having circled the globe for thousands of gigs, nothing prepared Robin for hearing the prison’s third metal door slam behind him upon entering the facility. “You knew you couldn’t turn around and run. “I was standing in the back of the mess hall with about 1,000 guys, and there was a fork with food in it, sticking in the ceiling above my head.” When Cash’s manager retired a few years later, Robin and Tinkley took his place. And together, as Cash wrote, they “toured the world.” “His music was loved everywhere,” Robin says, “even behind the Iron Curtain.” The long road to translating the singer’s life to the screen began when the Cashes guest-starred on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, directed by James Keach, who was eager to tell their story. After running the idea past Cash, the first of many options for the rags-to-riches story was developed. Ultimately, Twentieth Century Fox signed on, as did director James Mangold, who—with Keach—interviewed the Cashes on tape for about 12 hours. The Cashes also blessed the casting of Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon to portray them. The death of June Carter Cash in May 2003 and Johnny Cash four months later brought increased poignancy to the film, and renewed dedication to the importance of telling their story fairly and accurately, Robin says. His role as associate producer included representing the family’s interests in the film. “The goal was to keep the movie accurate. We didn’t want some Hollywood extravaganza,” Robin says. With Walk the Line’s multiple Oscar nominations, the Robins may attend the March ceremonies. But the real victory, Robin says, is the discovery by a new generation of his friend and client. “We all wanted to do something that the Cashes would be pleased with. And we just figure that maybe they’re up there looking down at us, smiling.” Back to Table of Contents
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