Honky Tonk Angel (30 page)

“Nothing scared Patsy. She said, ‘What the hell y’all worried about when you got the Cline here? Give me that stuff. I’ll take care of it.’ And she grabbed it and
stuffed it down her bra. She was cool as a cucumber as we crossed the border. She never even held her breath!

“Patsy had a good soul and heart. She was someone you’d want in your corner. One of her great attributes was that Patsy didn’t hold herself apart from the rest of the world. She was one of us.”

A songwriters’ clique developed that included Miller, Cochran, Johnny Paycheck by whatever name he was using at any given time, Ernest’s son Justin Tubb, Wayne Walker, and Mel Tillis.

“It was a few writers and singers,” related Roger, “and one or two others we let in because we liked them. Patsy and Charlie were accepted early on. They enjoyed being with us more than we enjoyed being with them! Bill was a great musician and Dottie was like Patsy’s sister. Sometimes Harlan and Jan would come, but they kinda kept to themselves or ran with the Carter clan—Mother Maybelle’s daughters Helen, Anita, and June (now Mrs. Johnny Cash).

“We gathered at Dottie and Bill West’s house on old Highway 65 across the Cumberland River. There was no bridge so we took a ferry. Like the rest of us, they didn’t have any money. It was a place to get together. There was a camaraderie you don’t see today. We loved to have picnics and they had this big porch with a swing. We’d sit around sipping drinks and talking shop. Patsy, Charlie, and me were the life of the party. Dottie was taking care of her toddlers. Patsy had Julie and little Randy. The girls’d fuss about in the kitchen and go crazy over those kids. We didn’t have nothing, but had so much.

“Dottie was famous for her magazine clippings. She’d cut pictures out of
House
Beautiful
and say, ‘Someday when I have money, I want a house like this. No, this. No! This.’ I looked at the scrapbook she’d compiled and said, ‘Honey, make up your mind or you’re gonna be an architect’s nightmare.’ Patsy chimed in, ‘Or mother lode!’”

“If members of the clique were missing,” Dottie explained, “it was because they’d stayed too late into the morning at Tootsie’s. That was the hangout, especially after the ‘[Friday Night] Frolics’ and the Opry. The Ryman wasn’t air-conditioned and, especially in the summer, most of us couldn’t get out the back door and across the alley into Tootsie’s second-floor room fast enough—Patsy, Charlie, Bill, me, and the clique.

“We’d be quenching for something cool to drink. As soon as Tootsie saw us, she’d send our orders over. She knew what everybody drank. It was nothing more than a roadhouse, but it was like a second home. The tables had red-and-white checkered tablecloths and tin ashtrays and napkin holders. The walls were covered with hundreds and hundreds of autographs. We loved to go there, if for no other reason than to have Maggie’s hamburgers and chili. With Tootsie keeping IOUs, we could have a good time no matter who was working and who wasn’t. Even though we might be appearing on the Opry, no one was making big money.

“Patsy loved to laugh and, to be frank, she enjoyed the stardom and adulation. Everyone enjoyed Patsy, but it would have been impossible to take the spotlight away even in a roomful of people. She had that certain something.

“Tootsie, another lady you didn’t mess with, had more IOUs on Charlie than anybody. When Tootsie was ready to close, she’d holler ‘Closing time!’ If the guys who’d had too much to drink didn’t budge, she’d go around and jab them right in
the rear with a hat pin. They’d rear up, yelling ‘Good night, Miss Tootsie!’ I bet Tootsie used that pin on Charlie more than anyone. When he’d say he enjoyed a beer now and then, I’d razz him, ‘Yeah, and you have the wounds to prove it.’

“On the road and off, Patsy and me did everything together. I was her friend and probably greatest fan. I couldn’t watch her perform enough. We both were in awe of the business, but Patsy didn’t think of herself as a trailblazer. She was making it the hard way. Even if she’d taken the time to stop and reflect, that fact wouldn’t have hit her. She was too busy doing it.

“When we stood waiting to go on at the Opry, she talked about that spot behind the microphone and the legends that stood there—Hank Williams, Red Foley, Roy Acuff, Ernest Tubb, Tex Ritter, Mother Maybelle, Minnie Pearl. I added Patsy’s name. I was so proud of Patsy and told her many times. Once was in Tootsie’s. It was just the two of us scooping down Maggie’s chili. ‘I Fall to Pieces’ came on the jukebox. It was beginning to look like it had staying power and would make it big-time.

“Unlike me, Patsy enjoyed hearing her voice. I used to get such a kick out of that. There we were listening and I took Patsy’s hand and told her, ‘I’m sure rooting for you!’ She thanked me and replied, ‘So am I, Hoss! But good God, Dottie, I came so close once before, then nothing. This time it’s gonna happen. I can taste it!’”

By 1961 it was the best of times for Patsy. She had her son and two hits. Even in the best of times, however, Patsy and Charlie’s marriage was plagued with drama.

In April 1961 Patsy had a premonition of death, which she would relate having again and again to Dottie, June Carter, and others. On Delta airline stationery she wrote a will “To Whom It May Concern,” making known her wishes for her children’s care and education; to whom she’d leave her money, clothing, jewelry, and furniture—all inventoried in detail; and how and where she wished “to be put away.” She went so far as to have the will witnessed. She then stashed it away, later informing her mother of its existence.

Patsy’s will made plain that, although she expected Charlie to be in her life, he would not be enriched by her success. He’d get only whatever car she was driving at the time.

In letters to Rose Marie Flynt, an aspiring Maryland singer she’d known since 1959, Patsy described in intimate detail Charlie’s spending, thoughtlessness, and verbal and physical abusiveness. Often, she was in divorce mode, complaining of his drinking and leaving her alone while he stayed out until the wee hours.

“I’m sick of his shit.,” she wrote in spring 1961. “If these 2 kids weren’t here I would never have come home.” Then, in the next breath, she diseussed plans for the Opry to be broadcast nationally, her hopes for “I Fall to Pieces,” and an upcoming appearance on Don McNeill’s
Breakfast
Club
radio show.

In happiness or drowning in the blues, Patsy Cline was totally unpredictable.

I
n the April 3 issue of
Billboard,
“I Fall to Pieces” entered the country charts and began its ascent. Jordanaire Ray Walker remembers what happened a day later. “Patsy came running down the stairs in [Decca‘s] , Studio B, squealing, ‘They say I got a hit on my hands! They’ll never get my car now, Hoss! I’m paying cash.’” She had come to Owen Bradley crying that the finance company was on the way to repossess her car, and that she was about to lose her refrigerator. The results of Nelson’s dedication so heartened Bradley that he gave Patsy an advance large enough to cover her immediate needs and then some.

“After we had a hit, Patsy and Charlie came by the studio,” said Bradley. “It was still hard to believe we’d really done it right and the public accepted ‘I Fall to Pieces.’ Patsy had what eluded her for four years and I was feeling pretty pleased. I told them, ‘I hope now y’all will leave me alone for a while!’ And we had a good laugh.”

Jan Howard recalled, “Harlan was reading
Billboard
and yelled, ‘Hot damn!’
I said, ‘What?’ He got excited because ‘I Fall to Pieces’ was starting to climb the charts. He smiled, ‘You know something, honey. I bet Patsy’ll start liking it now!’”

“I don’t think she ever did like it,” Bradley pointed out, “until it became a hitl”

An unprecedented first for a female country artist occurred when Patsy cracked the
Billboard
pop charts in 1957. It was more than anyone—Bradley, Howard, Cochran, the Decca New York executives, Randy, and, especially, Patsy—expected when it happened a second time with “I Fall to Pieces.” With her pop recognition from and total sales of 750,000 copies of “Walkin’ After Midnight” and now “I Fall to Pieces,” Patsy could hold her own with any country male superstar.

The fan magazines took note.
Country Song Roundup
was an early supporter, running a long article on her transformation of the way the women singers of the day dressed. The article noted:

Patsy was in WSM Studio B on May 10 recording a show for that week’s “Friday Night Frolics.” She sang “I Fall to Pieces” and “Lovin’ in Vain.” Sonny James was her coheadliner. After the show, Charlie met her and they stopped at Tootsie’s for a drink, then Patsy went home to pack. Thanks to the success of “I Fall to Pieces,” Decca was finally sending her on a promotional tour—alone.

Louise Seger, a transplanted Mississippian in Houston, called KIKK radio throughout the day from home and her job to request Patsy Cline records. In early May, while she was speaking to deejay Hal Harris, she learned that Patsy would be playing the Esquire Ballroom. She spread the news and gathered together a group of friends, all dressed in western clothes, for the appearance at the gigantic barnlike club on Hempstead Highway. Louise had insisted they arrive early, and they did. In fact, they were the first. While enjoying her beer, Louise looked up.

“I saw this girl looking over the place. I thought she was Patsy’s agent. The only time I’d seen Patsy was four years ago on Godfrey. Then something went
ding, ding, ding!”
Patsy took a seat three tables over from Louise, who was about to
burst. She told her friends, “I’m going over there.” All eyes were on her as she walked slowly to the other table.

“Excuse me. Miss Cline?”

“Yes,” Patsy said, smiling.

“I just wanted you to know how much I admire your music. I have ‘I Fall to Pieces’ played for me four or five times every day.”

Patsy thanked her and Louise introduced herself and asked Patsy to join her group. Everyone was drinking and talking, but Patsy kept looking around the club. “This is a mighty damn big place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Louise, “but, boy, it’s gonna be packed.”

“I only hope I can about half fill it.”

“Half ain’t the word, ma’am. You’re gonna fill it.”

“I’m worried about the band. I don’t know any of the musicians and I wonder if they know my music. Do you?”

“Yes, ma’am, every beat.”

“Would you do me a favor and, during the show, watch the drummer so he won’t rush me? He’s the one who can really mess me up. But if you know the tempo, you can let him know when he’s going too fast.”

Louise happily complied, during both shows. Around midnight, after Patsy signed autographs and posed for photos, Louise heard Patsy calling a taxi to return to the Montague Hotel. “No, you’ll go with us. We’ll go to my house so you can have something to eat.”

Patsy collected her money and piled into Louise’s Pontiac with the others. At the house, Patsy put on an apron and helped in the kitchen. After they ate and the others departed, Patsy and Louise sat at the kitchen table and talked about “broken hearts, husband problems, children problems, loves lost, loves won. We sounded like two people writing country songsl”

Patsy said that after many setbacks everything she had dreamed of was happening. “I wanted stardom, and, this time, it looks like I hit paydirt. I’ve got the two most wonderful babies in the world, but the thing I want more than anything is for things to work between Charlie and me. I’ll stay as long as I can for no other reason than the children. I’d love to leave, but I don’t have the guts. Since the baby, it’s been pretty awful.” She described their fights. “Lots of times he bruised me. so bad I had to work all covered with makeup to hide a black eye. I get so mad I’d like to throw one of those iron skillets at him. I’ll go to pick up something else and then I’ll think, ‘Oh, no. I just bought that.’”

They traded stories until almost 4:00 A.M. Saturday.

“It’s been real nice, Louise, but I better be getting to the hotel. I have an eight o’clock flight to Dallas.”

“Why don’t you stay here? It makes sense. If you don’t mind getting up a little early, there’s a deejay friend who’d love to interview you.”

“Okay. Sure!”

Louise called Hal Harris at home. His wife answered and told him it was some crazy fan who had Patsy Cline at her house.

“Oh, God,” he mumbled, “Louise’s drunk!” He picked up the phone. “Louise, do you know what time it is?”

“I had to reach you before you left for the station. I’ve got Patsy Cline at the house.”

“And I’ve got Marilyn Monroe in bed. Now, honey, you sleep it off and I’ll play ‘I Fall to Pieces’ for you in the morning.”

Louise couldn’t convince him of her coup. She set the alarm. When it went off at 5:30, Louise called KIKK. Harris had just arrived. “Hal, what’s the oldest Patsy Cline record you’ve got?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I’ll look and see.”

“Get an old one and play it next.”

She crept into the room where Patsy was sleeping and plugged the radio in. When Harris began to spin “Hidin’ Out,” one of Patsy’s first releases, Louise turned up the volume. Patsy shot straight up.

“My God! What the hell’s going on? Who’s that?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No, but she sure is loud.”

“That’s you, you fooll”

“When did I ever record that?”

“I don’t know, but Hal found it Hurry. We’ve gotta go downtown, get you packed, stop by KIKK, and get you to the airport.”

They sped to the Montague. Patsy changed as Louise threw her belongings into suitcases.

“Louise, pack everything carefully!”

“Sure thing. Don’t worry,” she replied, surveying a room that, it appeared, a hurricane had wrecked.

Patsy came out of the bathroom in red western slacks, a white satin western blouse, and yellow squaw boots. Patsy checked out and they headed out the Gulf Freeway to KIKK in Pasadena. They entered through the back door and meandered through the station until they found Harris’s control room. He was dressed in old Bermuda shorts, a blue wool sweater that had been washed and dried one too many times, and tennis shoes that had holes cut over the toe area. He wasn’t wearing socks, hadn’t shaved or combed his hair.

Louise tapped on the window. Harris turned, did a double take, sat staring at Patsy and Louise, then jumped up and opened the door. He was speechless. “Hal Harris, I’d like you to meet Miss Patsy Cline. Patsy, this is the man who plays your music for me.”

Louise reported, “Hal fell through his asshole and hung himself!”

Harris ran around in circles, grabbing records, jumping to the microphone to do his patter. Finally, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to play a record by a young lady who was in town last night. And I have a big surprise for you. She’s right here in the studio, so stay tuned. Here’s Patsy Cline singing ‘I Fall to Pieces,’ which I’m sending out for Patsy’s biggest local fan, Miss Louise Seger.”

After he started the record spinning, Harris talked to Patsy, getting some statistics. Then they did a fifteen-minute interview. By 7:00 Louise had Patsy on her way to the airport.

Patsy gave up a lucrative one-nighter on May 27 to be on the radio network portion of the Opry. “She wasn’t too pleased,” said Grandpa Jones. “Patsy was doing her pacing bit and just a-fussing so I asked what was wrong.”

“Grandpa,” Patsy complained, “I wanted to be a member of the Opry, but I didn’t know it was gonna wreck my career!”

“What do you mean, gai?”

“I gave up a thousand dollars to be here to do one song for twenty bucks!”

“Honey, you can’t look at it that way. This is a national broadcast. Your song’s gonna be heard by thousands.”

“Grandpa, don’t go trying to talk sense to this ole gal! I got four mouths to feed.”

“I know. I know. But the Opry’ll always be here for that rainy day. You gotta learn to look at the broad picture and not what you have to put on the table tonight.”