My Hometown, The Charlie Robison Foundation For Youth, a 501c3

Charlie Robison was a legendary Texas singer-songwriter, a major-label Nashville recording artist, a television personality, and a defensive end on the 1982 Southwest Texas State Bobcat football team that won the Division II National Championship—all achievements that would have been wild-eyed pipedreams when he was growing up in Bandera, if they crossed his mind at all. Back then, he was a dirt-poor kid who liked to play drums and play ball, with grades that bore next to no relation to his smarts and charm. But he was a born storyteller, a talent he honed on close listens to true lions like Guy Clark, John Prine, and Townes Van Zandt. Oblivious to the long odds, he took a guitar into the wider world, playing tiny dives in Texas and beyond, where he saw that the songs he sang about who he was and where he was from were the ones that connected with people. When he finally found success, putting classics like “Loving County,” “Sunset Boulevard,” “El Cerrito Place,” and his masterpiece, “My Hometown,” into the Texas Music canon, he committed to giving a hand up to other small-town kids with similarly seeming narrow horizons. Fulfilling that legacy is the mission of this foundation.

(For a shorter, much more enjoyable version of this bio, just hit play on “My Hometown.” Charlie put his whole self into the lyrics to that song.)

~John Spong, Texas Monthly

The Following Story is Inspired by Charlie’s Sister, Robyn Ludwick, President and Founder of the My Hometown, CR Foundation 501c3 for Youth

When Charlie was four, Daddy took him to an Astros baseball game. I picture the two of them climbing the bleacher stairs, Charlie up ahead, refusing to hold Daddy’s hand, wanting to make his own way by himself. Their seats probably not only at the tip top, but for sure, Daddy bought the cheapest seats available.  According to Dad, the seats were directly behind a pole, that obstructed their view which I imagine also blocked the action.

Even at four years old, Charlie wasn’t havin it; he fussed and protested.  Because, if you know one thing about my brother, he never let anything stand between him and the action. He really thought he deserved better seats.

While Daddy coached at Bandera High School, Mama worked nights bartending and early mornings at the Frontier Cafe in town. Daddy also drove a school bus during the wee hours for extra money.  So we four kids, got hustled out to the car in the morning darkness, still wearing our PJs, and slept in Mama’s Fiat while she prepped for the breakfast rush. So picture all FOUR of us with the Robison Legs in a tiny 2 door FIAT.  But of course, Charlie being the oldest and Charlie being Charlie, he shoved me, Mimi, and Bruce all in the backseat, as he stretched out his long legs, across both seats up front.

While all of us were growing up, Charlie took the best for himself. He figured if you didn’t, you better learn to.

Shortly after, our parents split, momma kinda disappeared, daddy stepped up and we moved into a one room cabin followed by a trailer home in Bandera. My memories are of Charlie usually taking care of me (and us kids) since daddy was commuting as a coach. Charlie’s way of ruling the trailer was kind of Mary Poppins meets Benito Mussolini …. but I prayed that each day that Benito Poppins took me everywhere he went.  

You know, there’s a difference between being poor on the outside and being poor on the inside. Coming from a small town like we did and being raised like we were––with well- water-stained teeth, secondhand everything, and back porch haircuts––it is hard to untangle from the notion that you are less than other folks. For some, small town poor is a trap from which they cannot escape. For some, it’s a fight, a reason to kick down the door and go for broke. Charlie had an innate sense that he deserved better, and that no one was going to just give it to him, so he went out and got it himself.

The My Hometown Foundation is inspired by my brother Charlie’s story, an overlooked scrappy kid, whose wisdom went deeper than books, probably a C- average at best.  A kid who managed to survive problems at home, had more responsibilities than a kid should, and damn straight, “could run just like the wind.”

Charlie didn’t just sing about his hometown, he loved his hometown. He loved the open skies, the land to roam, the freedom. He loved the Friday night lights, the dancehalls, and the rodeos. And…he loved the people. The people who came from small towns like his, who scraped and fought for what they had, and let loose on Saturday night.

And who would’ve thought that a small-town boy from Bandera, Texas, who had zero percent chance of becoming anybody, would one day have a flag flown over the White House in his honor?  Who would’ve thought that one day, this scrappy kid’s memory would be honored at the Grammys? Who would’ve thought that one day, this risk-taker would have fans ––like YOU––sing his songs and help the My Hometown Foundation help a Texas-based Hometown Boy and Girl find their unique voice.