ABSTRACT
There’s never been an interview in which anyone has said, “Onie Wheeler was my main man.” He influenced no one, and wasn’t obviously influenced by anyone: a man apart. To those who live and die by Billboard statistics, he was a footnote: one record reached Number 53 early in 1973. To rock-abilly fans, he was a minor celebrity by virtue of his solitary Sun record and some unissued cuts that he hated. To connoisseurs of bizarre musician deaths, he gets an honorable mention for dying onstage at the Grand Ole Opry house. But if you can find them, Onie Wheeler’s small number of whimsical recordings are quite simply delightful—especially the earlier ones. He lived and died in almost total obscurity, but somehow managed to carve out a forty-year career in music. In the end, he was derailed by stubborness, bad attitude, and bad luck.
