“Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose” — “Me and Bobby McGee” by Kris Kristofferson

Kris Kristofferson, who died Saturday at age 88 from undisclosed causes, will be remembered as a singer-songwriter whose best lyrics and melodies still resonate strongly today, 50 or more years after he created them.

His 1969 classic “Me and Bobby McGee,” which became a posthumous hit in 1971 for Janis Joplin, continues to be performed around the world. Ditto such Kristofferson-penned gems as “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” “For the Good Times” and others.

His concise songs were earthy and eloquent, carefully constructed, but always conversational in tone. They painted vivid pictures without containing a single extraneous note, word or inflection.

One would expect no less from Kristofferson, who had earned a Ph.D. in creative literature from Pomona College, was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford University, and turned down an offer to teach at West Point so he could move to Nashville, Tennessee, with no job prospects. Once there, he worked as a janitor at a recording studio while he struggled to get someone — make that anyone — to cut one of his songs.

“I never think of myself as any kind of artist, I just do the best I can. The only reason I’m recording at all now is because I’m a writer. I’m not a great singer,” Kristofferson told me in a 2012 interview for the San Diego Union-Tribune.

“I think the honesty (in my voice and lyrics) is a bonus, at least in my regard, whether you’re trying to be an artist or a star.”

That honesty permeated his strongest and lesser songs alike, whether they were performed by Kristofferson himself or by his many past and present musical admirers. They include Alison Krauss, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Eric Church, Gladys Knight & the Pips, Waylon Jennings, Carly Simon, Roy Orbison, Chris Hillman, Joan Baez, Percy Sledge, Emmylou Harris, Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan, who once memorably commented: “You can look at Nashville, pre-Kris and post-Kris. Because he changed everything.”

But that change did not come easy.

Kristofferson struggled to establish himself as a songwriter in Nashville. In addition to his janitor gig, he worked as a bartender and a helicopter pilot — the latter being a trade he’d mastered while serving in the U.S. Army near Frankfurt, Germany, where he led a country band called the Losers.

“My platoon leader liked the songs very well,” Kristofferson recalled. “I remember re-writing songs by (country-music icon) George Jones, with lyrics that were generally not too favorable about the Army.”

His lack of success in Nashville and disinterest in seeking a steady, good-paying job were factors in his first wife’s decision to leave him. She took their young daughter with her, a double blow that inspired his classic song, “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” It begins: “Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt/ And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert.”

“Most of the people who had been Rhodes Scholars had done something a little more noteworthy than being a janitor,” Kristofferson acknowledged with a chuckle in our 2012 interview.

“I was a janitor for a couple of years, trying to be a songwriter,” Kristofferson continued. “It was a stimulating, exciting place and I didn’t feel overqualified by any means… I didn’t worry about the fact I had been a Rhodes Scholar and should probably try to be president. Because of my creative love for songwriting, I was able to stand by myself.”

Working as a janitor provided Kristofferson with an unexpected epiphany when he witnessed some of the recording sessions for Bob Dylan’s “Blonde On Blonde.” That landmark 1966 album featured such visionary songs as “Just Like a Woman,” “Rainy Day Women Nos. 12 & 35,” “I Want You” and “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.”

“He was busy recording and he recorded unlike anybody I’d ever seen before in that studio,” Kristofferson said of Dylan.

“Usually, they’d have three-hour (recording) sessions. And most people felt like, if they didn’t get three songs in three hours, they’re not doing a good job. (Dylan) went in there and didn’t even record all night long. He was sitting at the piano and the band was playing ping-pong, waiting for him! At 7 in the morning, he was finished and they’d go in and cut another masterpiece. I couldn’t believe how they were doing it.”

Kristofferson had already written a slew of songs. His own rise to stardom was just five years away. But he credited Dylan for creating an enduring template.

“I wanted to communicate — and Bob was a great example to follow,” he said.

At the time of our 2012 interview, Kristofferson was headed to San Diego to perform a benefit concert for the United Farm Workers at downtown’s Spreckels Theater. A lifelong activist, he was especially fond of the UFW and its founder, Cesar Chavez.

“I was trying to figure out the date of the first UFW benefit I played; I know it was in the early 1970s,” Kristofferson said. “Someone asked me if I’d be interested in doing a benefit for the farm workers. I grew up in the Rio Grande river valley in Texas, near Brownsville, and I was sympathetic to the workers, the Mexicans, that were doing all the hard work down there.

“I met (UFW mastermind) Cesar Chavez a short while later. He was one of my favorite people I’ve ever known, totally committed to working for the farmers. His whole life was an unselfish one. Growing up, I did every kind of labor job, from construction to working on railroads, and I could always identify with manual laborers, especially Mexicans, because of where I grew up. I was raised by a Mexican lady and I’m told I spoke Spanish before I spoke English.

“I can’t tell you how many benefit concerts I’ve done over the years, but most of them have been for farm workers. I feel grateful for the opportunity to help some of the causes I believe in.”

Kristofferson’s convictions were especially visible during the 1992 pay-per-view telecast of “Bob Dylan: The 30th Anniversary Concert,” an all-star event that was held at Madison Square Garden in New York. Irish vocal star Sinead O’Connor, who had then recently made an outspoken attack on the Catholic Church, was loudly booed by many of the 20,000 attendees at the Dylan tribute.

Kristofferson, who also performed there that night, was asked by a production manager to go onstage and escort O’Connor off. He refused to do so. Instead, Kristofferson walked up to O’Connor, put his right hand on her shoulders, and said: “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

It was sage advice.

And for at least some longtime Kristofferson fans, there may be no better epitaph for Kris Kristofferson. “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” indeed.

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