I'm a musician, NOT a politician, but I am a Christian 1st, and an American 2nd, and in all seriousness (which is rare for me), I desperately urge everyone to hit your knees every day and thank God for the men and women around the world fighting and dying to preserve our freedom.  (John 15:13)  Greater love hath no man than this...That a man lay down his life for his friend.  Bet.    

Cam was born in Odessa, Texas and raised on The Gulf Coast of Texas.  Deep-seeded roots of music and religion brought Cam to the stage at the tender age of 5 years old to sing solo in church for the first time.  He was involved in all of the church choirs and school choirs throughout his life, getting a great deal of exposure to many different accomplished choir directors due to the frequency of job transfers that Amoco oil company required of his Dad.  The job transfer roulette wheel stopped in Lubbock, Texas back in 1991, and Cam and his family still call Lubbock home.  In 1992, Cam put together a local country band and they decided to use the name, "Outta Control" , and they played in and around Lubbock, Texas for the next four years.  Cam Damron and Outta Control developed quite a loyal following, and soon enough. found themselves working five nights a week as the house band at a local rough and tumble place known as, "Jigger's Up" .   They played every dance hall in every small town and big city from Houston, Texas to Clovis, New Mexico from the fall of 1992 to the summer of 1996.  In that time Cam Damron and Outta Control played many street festivals like the Fourth on Broadway in Lubbock, to the Golden Yamboree in Gilmer, and Longview, Texas.  Cam Damron and Outta Control played the Tin Hall in Houston and Fannie's in Cypress, and many other venues along the way.  In 1996, Cam received the opportunity to play his music on a much larger scale and went on the road with Rodeoactive, originally out of Nashville, Tennessee.  The road gave him the opportunity to play in venues from the Silver Star Casino in Philadelphia, Mississippi, and Tooly's in Phoenix, Arizona to the Green T in Pocatello, Idaho, and the Calgary Stampede Rodeo in Calgary, Alberta.  Presently Cam is touring nationally with his band Bottomline.  Bottomline has been together since 2001 and has been touring since 2003 steadily burning up the highways to get to your town.  Cam has had the chance to open up for many top acts throughout the years such as; Cross Canadian Ragweed, Tracy Byrd, Gary Allan, Tracy Lawrence, Mark Chesnutt, Diamond Rio, Ricochet, Jo Dee Messina, Steve Wariner, and Pat Green, as well as legends such as; Earl Thomas Conley, opened for and played acoustic briefly with Gary Stewart, Johnny Paycheck, Freddy Fender, and Waylon Jennings.  Cam has also done extensive studio work with the likes of Lloyd Maines and Steve Meador (played drums for Clapton) cutting his first CD project titled Left Behind, among many other projects.  Cam was, no doubt, born to play and sing, and that is what he plans to do, so, if there is a club or dancehall in your hometown, keep watch, he'll be there soon.  If you wish to get Cam Damron to play at your next function or club or any event that requires some smokin' live entertainment, then quit your stallin and get to callin, don't delay, book today-alright, you get the picture.

...and to everyone that has ever made time to catch our show or anyone's show, thank you so much for being an advocate for live music. Since you've read this far, then you can trust that you, and you alone, are the reason that we do this.  Please don't ever change....Thank you for stopping by,

L-R: My best friend for over 15 Years, Johnny Outlaw,

My Nizzle fo Shizzle-Snoop, and Me in Hollywood, CA.

Terry Marshall

1956-2004

                       industry-renowned, world-class pedal-steel guitar player, as well as, the most gracious, selfless and kind human being that I've ever been blessed to take the stage with.  Terry Marshall was and continues to be a very dear friend to me, and all that knew him. Terry lost his fight with numerous health issues nearly four years ago, but he'll never be forgotten. I look forward to playing together with terry again one day on the grandest stage of them all, he is dearly missed.

This is a little something I've been thinking about for quite a while, and with the repeated requests that I have had from our friends out on the road, I finally decided to struggle down memory lane and include something a little more personal about myself, instead of the above barrage of shit that makes my head hurt trying to recall all of it.  In preface, I just want to reiterate that this is the best history of myself that I can give, and ironically, it just-so-happens to be through the story of my relationship with someone else and the bearing and direction that it had, and will continue to have on my life. 

I think we are born, figuratively speaking, like a puzzle, with many pieces that fit together to form who we are, were, and will become.  Time strips away pieces of this puzzle as we pass through life, and frequently replaces them with new pieces that demand a life-long learning and development process.  We lose pieces, large and small, continuously and most are replaced with comparable or improved pieces, making it easy for us to forget that the old are gone.  Only the passing of a life-long friend or close family member instantly removes a piece that, on this earth, will never be replaced.  This is my reflection on the biggest piece lost from my puzzle thus far.

                W.E. Campbell was born in Emory, TX, December 23, 1918 to hardworking lower income parents.  His early years were filled with chores and hard work considered normal for the times, yet, I can recall thinking it borderline child abuse when he would share those stories with me.  His dad succumbed to a stomach illness, thought to be cancer, when he was 5 and then times certainly became tough.  He, his mother and siblings lived in a clapboard house that he used to say you could see through.  His mother picked cotton for 50 cents a day during harvest and cleaned houses among other odd jobs the rest of the time, and his brother left home at 12 years old fearing that he was creating too much of a burden for his mother to bear.  W.E managed to work at an ice cream parlor after he was 12 or 13 and then eventually at a movie theatre in Athens, TX where he met, and married before going off to WW2, Margie Patton of Malakoff, TX.  Dwight Eisenhower, and the Army Air Corps taught him to be a machinist, and he served from '41-'45 in Belgium repairing airplanes damaged in combat.  He returned at the end of the war in '45, and took a job or two around before settling with West Texas Utilities (TXU) in Odessa in 1946, and then transferred to the plant west of Monahans soon thereafter.  He and Margie had only one child- they were blessed with their daughter whom they named Luana June, born February 13th, 1947.  She would become the most incredible caring attentive and devoted mother, friend, wife, grandmother, mentor and hero to more than just me, that any child in the history of creation has been blessed with, a true testament and living example of the kind of beings the creator envisioned and simply the reason that Proverbs 31:28 was written, and that's the start of all of this.  Fast Forward 20 years-Luana graduated from high school and began working at an Amoco field office as a secretary, and met and eventually married an engineer from the office named Joel Damron, originally from Crane Texas.  Three years later (1970) they had a daughter, but we won't talk about her (What's up Sam), and then in 1973, they took one for the team and my dear mother nearly sacrificed her life for the birth of a 10 pound boy, and that would be me.  They named me Joel Campbell Damron for the reason that my dad wanted me, as his first son, to have his first name and customary to these parts, of course I got his last name, and so my mother insisted my middle name be Campbell to continue my grandfather's namesake since he had no sons, and also decided they would call me Cam to deter thoughts that I was a junior.  I guess that was the catalyst that began the life shaping relationship that he and I shared for 29 years 6 months and 22 days. 

            It was always the simple things that made me feel so close to him.  My dad, bless his heart, was not cut from the same mold that we were.  My dad is an intellectual person, dedicated to his job, his family, the production of oil, and relatively little else.  My dad is not much into sports, fishing, boating, or for that matter laughing out loud or telling silly stories, and certainly not listening much to my typical mindless thoughts, and impulsive suggestions. My dad is a man of principal, with a sturdy sense of justice, honor, integrity, and personal responsibility. A one of a kind man driven by right, and the constant devotion to the preservation of the good name that has been carefully protected from dishonor, and shame, and passed from generations past  He was, and still is, a busy man working long hours to take care of a family and preparing for his retirement, not to mention the stress he endured from that and setting the example for four children in a Godly home.  Campbell's role was much different, he got to show me how to slap at wasps with a wooden shingle and then run like hell and hope they didn't sting you if you missed, so let it be known I love and respect both immeasurably but differently.  Campbell taught me most everything that I know about fishing, and took me every time we visited up to the last 3 years of his life, when he just physically wasn't able.  The early years were typical, and made up of mower rides and watermelon seed spitting contests, and such foolishness that demands a certain amount of attention when at the grandparents house. There was a lot of time shared together fishing and building stuff in his little shop out back, and the only reason we ever missed a football game, if it was on TV, was if there was boxing on too, and then we would flip over between rounds.  I know I was in his hair from the time we arrived to the time we left-like an itch you can't reach, as he used to say about politicians and such, but he never let on or seemed tired of me, and for that, he left one of the most significant impressions ever made in my life.  He never seemed to discount or discard my thoughts and ideas as insignificant, unimportant, or childish, and always had time to explain anything that I wanted to know, to whatever extent necessary to achieve my understanding, as well as listen to me and sincerely pay attention at all times. He taught me that one true measure of a man's content is, what he does when no one is looking.  When there are no applause, no pats on the back, maybe there's even hardship, and more trouble because of the high road, but in the end, it's the knowing that you did right, that rewards peace of mind and a clear conscience.  There were many life lessons and impressions that he gave to me, and most likely, until I wrote him before he died and told him so, he never knew the scope of the impact our time together, had on my life, and always will.  It wasn't until I was in my early 20's that he became more my best friend, than my grandfather.  He still maintained all of his mentor and hero status, but took on a more personal role in my life.  He saved my life, and my ass more than once and he did it without allowing any reimbursement or thanks, telling me that friends do that sort of thing for each other.   I would call him to report the depth of the fish at the lake the night before, or he'd call to go get a hair cut and a chicken fry up on Lake Fork, or invite me over for dinner and we would just talk about life, my fears and uncertainties consoled by his suggestions, related funny stories and theories based on his experience and wisdom.  We truly were pals, and enjoyed every minute we had together, even if we didn't always agree on who should've won the fight on ESPN, or if John Elway really did get the ball over the plane in the Super Bowl years back.  I can honestly say that we both enjoyed the other's company, and would have been in "tall cotton" to spend all of our days together-ribbing each other about a fish story, or telling pointless stories that started with, "you wont believe this", or for that matter, anything, regardless of priority, necessity, or the level of entertainment value.  Finding the best fried fish in the piney woods of East Texas was a conquest of ours once, and we had so many different kinds that we couldn't hardly remember them all to accurately judge, but Golden Family Restaurant in Golden, TX was sure hard to beat (what's up Ronnie).  There's a place in Pine Mills, Texas, which is just northeast of Tyler, that has a catfish fry every Saturday night followed by an open jam of sorts, you should check it out.

               I knew, without a doubt, that he was not long for this world and that the time was drawing near when his health went downhill in a relatively short period of time shortly after the turn of the millennium.  He had a history of heart disease, and suffered from pretty bad heart trouble for the last 10 years or so, and was popping nitro-glycerin pills under his tongue like candy.  He always made light of it and wouldn't let me cry too long when I would hug his neck goodbye, fearing it might be the last on this side.  Even to the last month of his life, he gave a hug where he picked you up off of the ground and, literally, "squeezed the juice out of you", he used to say.  This picture to the left of this paragraph, is the last one I took of him, it was Thanksgiving 2002.  He was, predictably, counting my daughter, his great-granddaughter's ribs.  Another funny memory of him was the he never called anyone by name, instead he would make up some off the wall pet-name for everyone and nearly everything. There was a grocery chain in the east called "Piggly-Wiggly", he called it "Hoggly-Woggly".  He called my mother, Button, and my grandmother Mamacita, and so in true form,  he never called me Cam that I can recall, it was "Camel D" mostly, and "CD" some, a close third was "Gov'ner", and he would say that with a light British accent, I guess he picked that up in Europe during the war, maybe, and he liked to call me "compadre" too, I just called him "Paw".

This picture is the last one I have of he and I together before he passed, and in his arms is my Daughter Madison.

 W.E. "Bill" Campbell

December 23, 1918   -  January 12, 2003

                 I'll never forget Sunday, January 12th, 2003 as long as I draw breath.  My mother called about 8 in the morning and gave news that he was in the hospital in Tyler.  She claimed that the initial reports were not serious, but something inside of me begged to differ, so, within 30 minutes of her call, I had the whole family on the road.   I drove the speed limit until Terrell, just East of Dallas, about 80 miles from Tyler.  I called the Hospital I knew there, to make sure I was going to the right place, and they informed me he was in intensive care room 128.  I had a bad feeling from the start, but this was the first I had heard about the severity of the situation.  I let the hammer down and we made 80 miles in 40 minutes, but he couldn't wait, and so he passed at about 3:40 that snowy Sunday afternoon at 84 yrs old, and I missed him, according to the poor nurse in ICU, by about 15 minutes.  Where I, much to my horror, happened upon an empty ICU room 128 and the staff clearing the machines and making the bed.  It was the darkest day I've known thus far and the tears still roll down my face, as I type this out, at the irreplaceable lost piece of my puzzle, but I force it out because of the man he was, and is, and will continue to be in my life, and the very dear friend that God gave me nearly 30 years with, and the wisdom, as a result, that someday I can hopefully share, and the mark he left on my existence, and he did it all when he thought no one was looking.  Here's to you my irreplaceable dear friend, there was someone looking, and I'll never forget. 

Camel D

I saw a picture of him and as couple of fellow ice cream parlor workers on the square in downtown Athens, TX around 1932.  I noticed that his hair was fairly long and was slicked back and down, no doubt by some dapper dan or something old school like that.  I asked him about it and he said that he hadn't had a haircut in several years when that picture was taken because it was during the depression and haircuts were a nickel...I told him I was going to grow mine out too, which at the time, was cut high-and-tight, and for some reason, that I'm honestly not sure of, I am still letting my hair grow four years later-it's 6" past my shoulders. 

The WW2 dog tags (pictured below) that I wear around my neck belonged to him, and were my Christmas present from my grandmother in December 2002 (2 days after his last birthday, and 19 days before he passed).  I had been asking her for them every visit for about 7 years.  He put them on in 1941 when they were issued, and didn't take them off one time until the moment his discharge was official in mid 1945.  My grandmother glowed like a schoolgirl when she recalled the story of how he had given them to her upon his return to Texas, from Belgium, in 1945, as a reminder to her of his promise to never leave her side again.  He stayed by her side for 64 years of marriage.

                 Oh, and Like I said, we had a lot of silly talks, but some serious ones too, and one was that, whomever died first would try to make some contact with the other to let it be known that things were okay.  This picture below was taken the day after his death, of the original which was hanging in his house, and there was no flash, or any brilliant light in the room, but there's a bright light that appears to originate at his forehead.  What do you think?   Also, I turned him onto the Texas pick six lottery, and the first time he played he got three numbers, and won his money back plus some, and was hooked at a dollar a week, so just for the memory I bought a ticket the day we buried him, and for the only time in my playing history I matched four numbers and won 96 dollars.  Then, late one night in June of the same year, my mother, my younger sister Shannon, and I were hanging out in his bedroom reminiscing and packing his things after my grandmother decided to move out of their house. There was a moderately severe thunderstorm that was passing over, but as I recall, not severe enough to cause any concern.  I don't remember which of us said it, but one of us mused how nice it would be to be able to know for sure that he was ok, and it seemed that immediately there was a flash of lightning which knocked the power out, then a sizzling, deafening clap of thunder that shook everything in the house.  We learned the next day, after power had returned, that the longest path ever left by a tornado had originated about a mile due East of the house leaving a path of destruction over 98 miles long and was on the ground 46 minutes.  If nothing else, these events are certainly odd. Thanks for listening to my story. Hope I didn't bore you.   Check back often, you never know when I will write more about my puzzle.

The Whole Fam Damily (1998):

(L-R): Shannon, Samantha, and her husband Dan Elms, my dad Joel and my mother Luana and her dog Heinz, Me, and Jordan Damron.  My Grandparents, Margie and Bill Campbell (My Mother's Parents) are seated.

                 I promised him, before he passed, that if I were ever blessed with a son, he would also carry on the Campbell name. On March 17th, 2004, one year two months and five days after I said goodbye to him,  my son was born, his name is Jameson Campbell Damron.