9/13/26

“Dean Stoneman – Professional Yodeler”

A few days ago, I told you about the Stoneman family, how they ended up in Washington, DC,
and how Mom, Pop, and several of their children eventually moved to Nashville to pursue their dream of being country music stars. But several members of that large family didn’t make the move. Those who stayed in the DC area worked regular jobs, raised families, and made music on weekends. When I was learning to play, it was not uncommon to run into a Stoneman or two at a music party, many of which were hosted by Bryan Deere at his waterfront cottage in Southern Maryland. I observed that there were two things most Stonemans loved to do, make music, and talk about the crazy things that happened in the old days. I was all ears!

Let me introduce you to Dean Stoneman:

Mandolin player Dean Stoneman was one of those who stayed in DC after the others hit the road. He made his living as a mechanic in the Sears automotive department, owned a home in Bowie, Maryland, was married, had children, and rarely exhibited the eccentricities associated with talented musicians. If you noticed, I said “rarely.” On at least one occasion, the wackiness associated with talent emerged in Dean magnificently. I’ll get to that soon, so stick with me.

During the mid-1980s, Dean’s band, Dean Stoneman and Vintage Grass, played on weekends at Larry’s Place in Mechanicsville, Maryland. It was also known as “Larry’s barf and ashtray,” for the aromas that were ever-present in the joint. Once, my band played at Larry’s Place on a Sunday afternoon and folks started coming in, dressed a little too nice for that establishment. It turned out that a bride and groom had decided to have their wedding reception at Larry’s amidst the nicotine fog.

Now, we’ll travel back in time:

Years before their move to Nashville, when the children were young, the Stoneman family was constantly on the edge of poverty. Pop worked at the Naval Gun Factory, freelanced as a carpenter, and played gigs on weekends, but their family was so large that he still had trouble making ends meet. The kids were provided for, but they only had what they absolutely needed, food, shelter, clothing, and their musical instruments, some handmade by Pop. To paraphrase Lorretta Lynn’s “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” In the summertime they didn’t have shoes to wear, but in the wintertime they all got a brand-new pair.

On weekends, Dean’s older brothers liked to make for Southeast DC, where hillbilly bands were playing in a dozen or more joints within walking distance of one another. The young Stonemans could walk from bar to bar, drinking beer, listening to music, and chatting up the girls. Within the District of Columbia, the drinking age was eighteen in those days but twenty-one in Maryland and Virginia, so hundreds of kids made that commute every Friday and Saturday night while their parents sat home and worried.

Dean was approaching eighteen and wanted to join in the fun with his older brothers. Trouble was, it was summertime and Dean had neither shoes nor shirt. The older boys teased him, telling him there was no way he would be allowed in any bar barefooted and shirtless. A few minutes later as his brothers were about to leave, Dean appeared on the front porch wearing galoshes tied to his ankles with twine and Pop’s overcoat, four or five sizes too big for him. His brothers were so amused that they brought him along as their ‘mascot.’

It was Dean’s first night on the town and he didn’t have to spend a dime. His brothers and others bought the mascot beer after beer until Dean was pretty-well loaded. At that point, some wise guy started mocking Dean’s outfit. Dean did what any country boy would do, punched the loudmouth in the face. Before long, Dean found himself in the paddy wagon with a few of his fellow unruly young'uns.

His brothers arrived at the police station to find Dean sitting across the desk from a sergeant. The cop was asking his name, address, and the like, for the intake form. When asked for his occupation, Dean said, “I’m a Yodeler.” Cop: “A yodeler, hunh?” Dean: “That’s what I said, I’m a Yodeler.” Cop: “Let me hear you yodel.” That was a mistake. Dean commenced to yodel. He couldn’t be silenced. He yodeled as they dragged him down the hall. He yodeled as they threw him in the cell. Dean yodeled until he woke up all the other jailbirds. He yodeled and yodeled until the cops couldn’t stand it any longer and released him to the recognizance of his brothers saying, “Get this idiot out of here!”

You can hear Dean yodel if you listen to his recording of “Muleskinner Blues” on YouTube.

Photos:
1, The Stoneman family in 1980 from an album cover.
2. The Stoneman family in 1943 – a publicity photo.
3. Larry’s Place

Tom Mindte
September 2026

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The Stoneman family in 1980 from an album cover

The Stoneman family in 1943 – a publicity photo

Larry’s Place