He produced thousands of songs and sent acts to stardom. He did it from Fort Worth.
Col. Tom Parker was the Svengali who made Elvis Presley the first star of rock ‘n’ roll. Several light years removed from the center of the music universe, Fort Worth had Bill Smith, promoter, producer, and impresario of the local music scene.
He was born William Arthur Smith on an Oklahoma farm in 1922. Escaping the farm, he joined the Army when World War II came and flew bomber missions in the European theater until he was wounded in action by flak. In 1946, the Air Force made him a public information officer at Carswell Air Force Base. The job allowed him a lot of time to pursue other interests, so he tried his hand at writing music.
In 1955, country-western artist Sonny James had a national hit with a Smith song, “Twenty Feet of Muddy Water.” Three years later, after being honorably discharged, Smith jumped feet-first into the burgeoning pop music industry, not as a writer but as a producer. Though he was as country as the day is long, he found his niche in rock ‘n’ roll.
A relentless promoter, he called every record he ever produced “another cotton-pickin’ hit.” By his own count, he wrote and/or produced 3,000 singles. It was the age of the 45 RPM record, and he knew how to create three and a half minutes of pure pop delight. He liked to brag that he didn’t know a thing about musical composition, but he had “an ear” for hit songs.
In the early 1960s, he discovered four local acts and took three of them to national success, which included No. 1 hits: Bruce Channel, Paul and Paula, and J. Frank Wilson. (The fourth was Delbert McClinton.) Smith didn’t write their hit songs or play on the recordings. What he did was record them on his label, Le Cam Records, in the Clifford Herring Sound studio at 3004 W. Lancaster (also the first home of KXOL radio.) On his little Fort Worth label, he turned out a series of 45s and the rare album that are collectors’ items today.
His first star was Bruce Channel whom he discovered in the fall of 1961 and recorded “Hey, Baby” with a harmonica introduction by McClinton. After the record hit No. 1 on KXOL and Dallas station KLIF, Smith sold the song to Mercury, which took it to No. 1 nationally in early 1962.
In 1963, he auditioned “a couple of high school kids” from Brownwood, Texas, Ray Hildebrand and Jill Jackson and their song, “Hey, Paula.” Smith cut the record in 18 minutes and sold it to Phillips, which renamed the pair “Paul and Paula” for promotion purposes. The record was No. 1 nationally for three weeks.
In 1964, Smith hit gold again with ex-Air Force enlisted man John Frank Wilson who was fronting a band called “the Cavaliers” in San Angelo. Smith heard about them and their cover of a Wayne Cochran song called “Last Kiss” based on a tragic car accident in Georgia. He issued the record on his label and, after it hit big in Fort Worth, he took it to New York and cut a deal with Josie Records. It became one of the greatest teenage-tragedy songs of the rock era and stayed on the charts for 12 weeks though, contrary to the Smith legend, it never reached No. 1.
That was Smith’s last big success, but scoring three monster hits put him in the rarefied company of producers such as Phil Spector. Disc jockeys on the three local R&R stations, KVIL, KXOL, and KLIF all paid homage to Major Bill. Unfortunately, his muse deserted him after the British Invasion arrived in 1964. He was no longer able to place his songs with the major labels. He mostly turned out the occasional novelty song like “Foat With, Ah Luv Yew!” in 1978, but otherwise his time had come and gone.
Smith battled alcoholism and became embittered. He also became obsessed with Elvis after “The King” died in 1977, claiming that Presley had only faked his death. He even claimed to be in regular contact with Elvis. That got him lots of interviews and national exposure but also the reputation of being a kook. He was back in the news in 1993 when he sued Graceland, claiming it had infringed on his free speech by halting an interview he was doing on site with a Memphis radio station.
There was another, more sympathetic side to Bill Smith that most people never saw: The man who devoted endless hours to working with the down and out at the Union Gospel Mission, where he was known as “Brother Bill.” He also served on the board of Fort Worth’s NAACP chapter, the only white person on the board at the time. His proudest moment came when Mayor Woodie Woods declared Nov. 25, 1979, “Major Bill Smith Day.”
Smith died on Sept. 12, 1994, either forgotten or disgraced much like his contemporary, Phil Spector. He was notorious around the Star-Telegram editorial offices for his nonstop phone calls to relate the latest Elvis news, driving the newspaper’s ombudsman Phil Record crazy. Smith was ill for a long time before death finally took him. Following a full military funeral service, he was buried in Greenwood Cemetery.
Author-historian Richard Selcer is a Fort Worth native and proud graduate of Paschal High and TCU.