Dear Hank Williams (10 page)

Everyone likes Garnett. Lovie likes her because she brings her Ritz crackers tucked in her coat pocket. I know Frog likes her, because he's real bashful but he doesn't run off like he did with Uncle Jolly's other girls.

Aunt Patty Cake wrote and told Momma about her, and she wrote back saying, “It's about time Jolly got smart. Tell him she's a keeper.”

I've been practicing my song in front of the magnolia tree. Lovie seems to like “Wildwood Flower” just fine, but Frog says he wishes I'd choose “You Are My Sunshine” instead. I still haven't told my family I'm planning on singing in the talent contest. I want the timing to be perfect before I spring it on them.

Bye for now.

Your fan,

Tate P.

 

January 14, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

O
UR SECRET HAS BEEN DISCOVERED.
Aunt Patty Cake caught Lovie on my bed early this morning. When I heard the door squeak open, I almost sprang up, but it was dark. I decided to pretend I was asleep and pray she didn't see Lovie. The door closed, and then it quickly opened again. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight, I could feel them quiver. Aunt Patty Cake let out a long sigh, then slowly closed the door.

My heart pounded. I threw back the sheets and jumped out of bed. Then I eased the window open and stepped through to the outside. When I patted the windowsill, Lovie came over and rested her front paws on it like I trained her. (Mr. Williams, this is a smart dog!) My hands surrounded her rib cage, and I gently lifted her out of the room. My next plan is to teach her to jump outside by herself when the alarm clock sounds.

After I got her settled inside the shed, I returned to my room the way I'd left. I scanned every inch of the floor. Lovie hadn't had an accident. Then I walked into the kitchen. Aunt Patty Cake was sitting at the table drinking her coffee and reading the paper. Uncle Jolly was pouring himself a cup from the aluminum drip pot on the stove. I yawned real big, locking my hands and stretching my arms up to the ceiling.

I was thinking, Boy, am I lucky. That had been a close call.

Without looking up, Aunt Patty Cake said, “Guess you'd better put my old wedding-ring quilt on the floor if Lovie's going to stay in your room at night.”

Uncle Jolly took a big swig of coffee, but I could see his smirk. I felt the blood leave my face. Just when I think Aunt Patty Cake is as predictable as the sun rising, she goes and surprises me. Well, even the sun goes out for an eclipse sometimes. And with no husband, Aunt Patty Cake sure didn't need a wedding-ring quilt.

Owner of a part-time inside dog,

Tate P.

 

January 22, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

C
ONSTANCE CAME TO OUR HOUSE
to place an order today, but Zion wasn't with her. Frog and me were sad about that. I wanted to sing my song for her. I've been practicing every spare minute. I don't know why it's so important that I convince a little kid I'm a good singer and know how to sing from my heart. Lovie wags her tail when I sing. I figure that's a dog's way of clapping.

There are other things I've learned about a dog. I'll share them with you, in case you ever consider getting one.

1. A dog will follow you around like a best friend. Better than a best friend, because she will love you no matter what (even if you yell at her for peeing on the bed).

2. A dog probably shouldn't sleep on your bed because she might forget she is a dog. (That fact comes from Aunt Patty Cake. She said that after Lovie peed on mine.)

3. Dogs are like goats. They will eat almost anything, including lipstick (the reason Lovie is on Aunt Patty Cake's three-two-one list), so feed them food that is good for them or they'll get fat like Abner Hill's hound, who waddles like a duck.

4. A dog pours a pitcher of love into the lonesome spots of your life. Not that I have many of those. I'm a busy person.

The Dog Expert of Rippling Creek,

Tate P.

 

February 3, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

L
AST WEEK
, Uncle Jolly wrote Momma and asked her to let us know where she'd be singing. Every day I check the mailbox as soon as I get off the school bus to see if she's sent a letter or postcard. Every day I'm disappointed. Frog acts like he doesn't care, but Lovie comes with me and waits patiently.

Uncle Jolly took Lovie squirrel hunting the other day. I hoped she would make Uncle Jolly proud. After all, he saved her from a terrible home life. All morning I paced around the house.

“Have you got ants in your pants?” Aunt Patty Cake asked me.

I looked out the window so many times, Frog gave up pestering me. Finally I saw Uncle Jolly and Lovie at the road. Uncle Jolly had a rope tied to Lovie. I grabbed my coat and ran out of the house.

Lovie wagged her tail when she saw me. Halfway up the driveway, I noticed Uncle Jolly didn't have any squirrels. “Uncle Jolly, how'd she do?”

Uncle Jolly shook his head. “Tate, Lovie is no squirrel dog. Beats me. She's a pure cur. Anyone can see that, but she doesn't have any interest in squirrels. Heck, three darted right in front of us, and she didn't even turn in their direction.”

Well, I have to admit, I was disappointed myself. “Why did you tie a rope around her?”

“She kept running off. At first I chased after her, figuring she found some bigger game. Maybe squirrels weren't enough challenge for her. When I caught up, I found her under a shrub slapping crickets.”

“I guess Lovie likes hunting bugs.” Maybe squirrels bored her. I started to think about all the things that bore me—collard greens, long sermons, and hearing Verbia Calhoon sing. Then I completely understood. A person can't love everything on God's green earth. Why should a dog?

Uncle Jolly walked up the porch steps, shaking his head. “Beats all I ever seen. A cur dog that don't like to hunt.”

I untied the rope and gave Lovie a good scratching on her back. She rolled over so I could reach her belly. I gently raked my fingernails up and down her. Then I found her tickle spot. The sight of her left hind leg digging in the air was so funny.

Lovie may not be much at hunting squirrels, but she's real talented at making me smile.

Hoping life is treating you real good too,

Tate P.

 

February 12, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

I
HAVE THREE
important things to tell you.

First, Garnett brought me a present today—it was your new record with “Lovesick Blues” on it! She said it had just come out. I asked if I was the first person in Rapides Parish or at least Lecompte who owned it. But Garnett is an honest person, and she said, “I wish you were, Tate, but by noon that day we'd sold every copy. We'd only bought a dozen. But we've ordered more.” (See? I told you, Mr. Williams. Your fame keeps spreading.)

Second, Momma finally sent us her performance schedule. Uncle Jolly and I've been turning the dial each night, scouting the Texas radio stations on her list. We keep a Big Chief paper tablet next to it and write down every time we discover one. Unfortunately Momma wasn't performing on any of the stations we'd found. Then today we received a postcard from Momma that said the Goree Girls would be singing on WBAP in Fort Worth. And guess what? WBAP
is
on our Texas radio station list! In a couple of weeks, we'll be listening to Momma on the radio. Uncle Jolly kept his promise!

The third thing I want to tell you is that that very night is when I plan to tell Aunt Patty Cake and Uncle Jolly I'm going to enter the talent contest. I can't wait to see their faces!

Fan of the almost-very-famous Mr. Hank Williams,

Tate P.

PS—I forgot—I have
four
important things to share. Theo Grace's and Coolie's pen pals said that Japan has Children's Day the same week as our May Festival. People will be celebrating all around the world!

 

February 19, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

Y
ESTERDAY
I
CAME HOME
from school all excited about what Mrs. Kipler had learned about Children's Day in Japan. They wear kimonos, and the boys' families hang huge carp streamers outside their doors. The streamers represent a story about a carp that was so strong, he swam upstream and became a dragon. I couldn't wait to tell Frog. He'll probably wish he had a carp streamer.

When I got off the bus in front of our house, I expected to see Lovie waiting for me at the mailbox. Come rain or shine, she is always there. She heads to that spot each afternoon. A few minutes later Aunt Patty Cake hears the moan of my school bus stopping at our driveway. Aunt Patty Cake says Lovie is better than a clock. The first time I saw Lovie sitting there, it nearly melted my heart. Before stepping off, I turned and told the entire bus, “That's my dog.”

But today I couldn't find Lovie anywhere. She wasn't near the magnolia tree, in my room, under my bed, in the shed. She was nowhere to be found. Aunt Patty Cake said, “Tate, she's a dog and she knows who feeds her.”

Right when I was thinking of jumping on my bike to go out and find her, Mr. Rockfire drove up in his truck.

Mr. Rockfire stuck his hand out the open window and waved. Then he stopped the truck in front of me. My hands squeezed the handlebars. I didn't have time to talk.

“Think I have something you might want,” he said. At that very minute guess who stood on all fours in the truck bed? That's right! Lovie!

“I think your dog and mine are sweet on each other,” Mr. Rockfire said. Corky was a cur dog too. His coat was gray with specks of black. He wore the proud title of being best squirrel-hunting dog in Rippling Creek.

Aunt Patty Cake came out of the house. The sun was shining so bright, she rested her hand over her eyebrows so that she could see. “Gayle? Not used to seeing you this time of day.”

Then she noticed Lovie. “I see you found her. Well, you certainly made Tate's day. Come in this house. I'll put a pot of coffee on.”

Mr. Rockfire opened the truck door and stepped out. “Only if it's no trouble.”

Aunt Patty Cake wiped her hands on her apron. “No trouble at all.”

While Mr. Rockfire followed Aunt Patty Cake into the house, I hugged Lovie, and she wagged her tail like she was happy to see me. I hadn't thought of Lovie as the romantic type.

Never planning on being sweet on anyone,

Tate P.

 

February 23, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

V
ERBIA
C
ALHOON BRAGGED
and bragged today about how her momma booked her at the Central Louisiana Junior Livestock Show in Alexandria this weekend. When I told Frog and Lovie, we had a good laugh over the thought of Verbia singing to a bunch of calves and hogs. Nothing against the people who go there, but that gives me another reason not to join 4-H or Future Farmers of America.

I should have let that image satisfy me enough, but when Verbia bragged about it for the eighteenth time, I ignored Aunt Patty Cake's advice to not discuss Momma's situation. I said, “That ain't nothing. My momma is a Goree Girl. She's singing on the radio in Fort Worth Thursday night.”

Do you know what she said? “Your momma is doing time in a Texas prison.”

My hands curled into fists, and it was all I could do not to hit her. But then I thought about the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest, and I didn't go any further. If I had boxed her chin or yanked her curls, Miss Mildred would have kicked me out of the talent contest for sure. And as much as I hate to admit it, Verbia was right. Momma was serving time.

The other day I rode my bike to the post office to mail my letter to you. Mr. Snyder asked, “Is that another letter to Mr. Hank Williams?” (Which I do believe is none of his business.) Two older girls from my school, Clara Banks and Evelyn Milton, swung around like they'd caught me stealing something.

Mr. Snyder snickered. “You got company. They're fans too.”

“We listen to Hank Williams every Saturday night,” Clara said, as if she'd discovered you all by herself.

Evelyn nodded. “We only missed it twice, and that's because we were visiting my aunt Mertie in Pineville. She doesn't like listening to the radio. She says music gives her a headache.”

“I'll have you know, I got three pictures from Mr. Hank Williams,” I told Mr. Snyder, hoping the girls would hear.

Do you know what they said? Well, I guess you do know. They said, “We have three too.”

I don't know why that made me jealous. It might sound silly, but I thought I was the only one writing to you. All the way home I pedaled with a heavy feeling inside me. I'm not proud to admit it, Mr. Williams, but I was kind of mad at you. Then I realized that what I, Tate P. Ellerbee, had predicted back in the summer was happening. You
are
famous!

Your #1 fan of all your fans,

Tate P.

PS—Two more days until I get to hear Momma sing on the radio and make my big announcement. Don't worry, I may be busy, but I'll still be tuning in to the
Louisiana Hayride
. And so will Aunt Patty Cake (who never gets a headache listening to you).

 

February 25, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

H
AVE YOU EVER HAD
a night that started out being what you thought would be the best night and then something happened and it ended up becoming one of the worst nights instead?

That's what happened last night. We were all gathered around the new Victrola. Uncle Jolly set the dial to WBAP, the Fort Worth station where Momma and the other Goree Girls would sing. It was coming in as crisp and clear as a Louisiana winter day. Uncle Jolly had invited Garnett, who was every bit as excited as me. Aunt Patty Cake surprised us by pulling her own chair over close enough to hear.