If I had a nickel

I know what I would do,

I’d spend it all for candy

And give it all to you

— from “That’s How Much I Love You”

Three things make this song out of place in our time: You can’t buy candy with a nickel any more — at least not enough to win a fair damsel’s heart. There is no double entendre to rob the lyric of its innocence. And Eddie Arnold is no longer around to sing it. He died May 8 in Franklin, Tenn., at the age of 89.

It was 1946 when the cider-sweet voice of the Tennessee Plowboy emerged from millions of radio sets and Graphanolas to take country music to its next level. At that time, the next level was up. I’m not sure which direction the genre is taking now.

During the early postwar years (that’s World War II, young’uns), you could hardly turn a radio on down South without hearing an Eddie Arnold record. At the time, Roy Acuff was in his heyday, Ernest Tubb was well along in his career, and Hank Williams was on the rise with his honkytonk sound. Patsy Cline had not yet appeared, and nobody had heard of rock ‘n’ roll, much less of Elvis. Johnny Cash was a 14-year-old yokel. Country music was still stigmatized as “hillbilly,” and Western music was a separate genre. Eddie Arnold helped change that.

The Tennessee Plowboy was born in Henderson, Tenn., 90 miles from Memphis, 145 miles from Nashville, hence flanked by two great music traditions. He gravitated toward Nashville. He made his first radio appearance, in Jackson, Tenn., at the age of 18. His career came alive in 1940, when he landed a job as lead vocalist for Pee Wee King’s Golden West Cowboys. In 1943 he formed his own group, the Tennessee Plowboys. In 1946, “That’s How Much I Love You” became his first big hit.

Arnold’s voice and style would eventually take his music out of the country and into the broader world of pop music, but those of us nurtured as babes on the music born in Appalachia retained our love for him.

The Tennessee Plowboy didn’t dress the part of a hayseed or a cowboy; nor did he succumb to the gaudy sequins of later country-western stars. He exuded dignity. He didn’t sing about drinking or two-timing or marital infidelity. He mostly sang about love. Love that could be understood by country boys and city slickers alike. Only Eddie could give an uptown gloss to a lyric that went, “I told the possum in the gum tree; the raccoon on the ground; told everyone but my darlin’ of the happiness I found.”

“I’ve always picked good songs,” he once said. “Even though they were considered country, I always picked a good lyric, and that gave me a wider audience than just the country buyers.”

Good lyrics they were: “I’m sending you a big bouquet of roses.” “I’ll hold you in my heart till I can hold you in my arms.” “The last word in lonesome is me.” “Make the world go away; get it off my shoulders.” And, “How many arms have held you? … I really don’t want to know.”

They were all eminently singable, and the only Eddie Arnold hit that challenges the voice is his “Cattle Call,” which is tough on those of us who haven’t mastered the art of yodeling.

Between 1945 and 1954, according to The New York Times, Arnold had 57 consecutive singles in the country music top 10, and 19 of them went all the way to No. 1. He even recorded a song that was a composite of his other hits. The opening line, “I’ve just caught the lovebug itch, Molly darlin’, and I wanna play house with you,” contains snippets from three of those songs, and succeeding lines hark back to at least 11 more.

Then came Elvis and the raucous sound of rock ‘n’ roll, which got more raucous as succeeding generations tried to top each other in decibels and parent-challenging lyrics. Eddie responded by reinventing himself, donning a tuxedo and taking on the cabaret sound. He took country music straight out of Ryman Auditorium and into Carnegie Hall, and on to Hollywood, Vegas and Tahoe. Among those who provided instrumental background for him were Chet Atkins — who also bridged the gap between country and pop — and Hugo Winterhalter, whose “Canadian Sunset” sprang from roots far removed from the rustic Smokies.

In 1966, Eddie was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame — an honor he deserves as much as any member of that hallowed congregation.

His voice eventually lost its pristine energy. Somewhere in my closets and alcoves is an audiocassette of Eddie singing some old songs. He sounds tired. He performed his final concert on May 16, 1999 and released his last album, “After All These Years,” in 2005.

Eddie could have lived well without reinventing himself. He was already finding success in real-estate development by the time Elvis took center stage, but music was his life.

He exemplified clean living, having been married for 66 years to Sally Gayhart Arnold at the time of her death in March.

Eddie Arnold is now an illustrious part of American music history. But his world won’t go away as long as we hold him in our hearts.

Readers may write Gene Owens at 317 Braeburn Drive, Anderson, S.C. 29621, or e-mail him at WadesDixieco@aol.com.