Honky Tonk Angel (34 page)

Ann Tant met Patsy in 1959 while she was talent coordinator of the Dixie Jubilee. “This was an Atlanta-based Grand Ole Opry-type show performed in an auditorium in East Point. The local talent included Jack Greene, Joe South, Ray Stevens, and Jerry Reed, with a continuous round of visiting guests. It was broadcast Saturday nights over the radio.

“I was a huge fan of Pat’s and booked her as often as possible. She and Charlie’d drive down in their big white Cadillac. Pat loved to laugh and all of us enjoyed a good time, so there was never a dull moment.

“Paul Strickland, a Jubilee producer, adored Pat. He ran a novelty item company called S&M Sales. Pat used to kid him something terrible about the name. One night he gave her this cigarette lighter emblazoned with the Confederate flag that was also a music box that played ‘Dixie.’ It became one of her treasured possessions. How she loved to go up to some unsuspecting soul and light their cigarette. She couldn’t wait to watch them jump!”

When Ann relocated to Nashville in 1961 to work for Mercury Records, the Dicks were the first persons she contacted. It wasn’t long before she was part of the clique.

“After the Opry and half the nights during the week, we’d stroll into Tootsie’s. She was a wonderful lady with great gusto and a heart as big as all outdoors. Tootsie kept us together. She kept IOUs on half of us. When Roger Miller made it big, he gave Tootsie this huge freezer for all his IOUs. She busted out crying. We didn’t go in there just to drink. Tootsie had a great cook named Maggie who
made the best damned red beans and combread. During the week we’d sit downstairs, right up front, but weekends, when the upstairs artists’ lounge was open, we’d be there hanging out. Often the party’d carry over to Sunday.”

What amazed Ann was that, even in greatest adversity, Patsy’s sense of humor never failed her. “Pat meant so much to me and now I felt she needed me to rally around. Bad as I wanted to see her, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her in that condition. Since I’m more than a bit squeamish, I hated hospitals. It took all the strength I could muster to go into her room. I didn’t get too close. I could see more than I wanted. Her head was all bandaged and she had black eyes.

“I spoke softly from across the room, but Pat said, ‘Hoss, come over here so I can talk to you without yelling.’ I had to push myself. The closer I got the worse she looked. Pat was truly blessed to survive that wreck. She was covered with scars and bruises. I got sick and fainted dead away. When they brought me to, I put my head down and threw up.”

After everything was cleaned up, Patsy laughed, “You got some nerve coming to the hospital to do this!”

“Yeah, I know. Isn’t this awful? I come to cheer you up and go and pass out.”

“And vomit all over my clean floor!”

Patsy wanted to know all the gossip. The women talked fast and furious. At one point Patsy caught Ann staring. “If I look bad through your eyes, Hoss, you oughta see me through mine! Ain’t enough makeup in the world to make people stand looking at me.”

“Oh, Pat!”

“It’ll take some fancy stitching to make me all beautiful again. Well, there’s one thing I’m glad of.”

“What’s that?”

“I had the good sense to have my pictures taken before this. Now I can look at the pictures and then look into the mirror. It’ll be just like the story of the beauty and the beast!”

On June 27, more of Patsy’s stitches were removed and reconstructive surgery was begun on her forehead. Patsy wrote to WSM’s Trudy Stamper on July 3:

Joltin’ Jim McCoy in Winchester received this letter from Patsy, dated July 7:

The July issue of the Patsy Cline Fan Club newsletter retold the story of the automobile accident and carried a long open letter from Patsy describing details of the initial and follow-up surgery but ended with Patsy optimistically looking forward to her second album and recording again.

Mrs. Hensley explained, “You couldn’t hold Patsy still. All the time she was in the hospital, she spoke of nothing else but the day she could get up and sing again. She was going to have to manage on crutches, but that didn’t bother her. That’s probably the first time I realized how important her career was to her.”

Dottie West concurred. “Patsy was ready and raring to go. If they had brought a microphone to her room—and Patsy wanted them to at one point—she would have done a song from that bed.”

Ernest Tubb was surprised by Patsy’s zest. “She was itching to get to work. She asked if the Opry was ready to have her back and I told her how much we missed her.”

Patsy said, “Well, tell them I’m coming. They’ll have to put a ramp out in the alley so Charlie can wheel me onstage.”

Gossip and a scene in the
Coal Miner’s Daughter
film have contributed to the rumor that Patsy had Charlie and friends sneak her bottles of beer. “That couldn’t have happened,” Dottie declared. “The hospital was run by the Seventh Day Adventists, who were extremely strict. About the only thing Patsy wanted sneaked in was some down-home cooking. She didn’t care for the food at all. Patsy was having soybeans for breakfast, lunch, and supper. She hated it!”

On one visit, Patsy told Tubb, “I sure hope you brought me some red beans and cornbread!”

“Hon,” he replied, “if I’d known you was hungry, I’d have gotten Maggie [at Tootsie’s] to fix you up something.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” she moaned. “That’s how hungry I am!”

“I Fall to Pieces” was gradually making it up the
Billboard
country and pop charts, week after week, rung by rung. Decca was amazed by the staying power of the song in the pop arena and sales continued to build from market to market, starting in the South and Southeast, then through the West and Midwest.

“Sales were zooming,” pronounced Owen Bradley. “We were having our cake and eating it, too. ‘I Fall to Pieces’ was a smash everywhere in the nation, with one glaring exception, New York City. Decca headquarters had the pop sound they wanted from Patsy and yet couldn’t bring it in on their home ground. After that, [vice president of sales] Sidney Goldberg didn’t have much to say. They pretty much left us alone.”

Soon Patsy was in a wheelchair, and Charlie was taking her down to the tree-filled hospital lawn, where they’d have lunch and often feed the squirrels before he went to work. Dr. Evans released Patsy on July 17, and she came home to Hillhurst Drive. She was far from recovered, as she informed Louise Seger in a letter dated July 20:

“I’ve never had a song that was a hit as long as ‘I Fall to Pieces,’” Harland Howard pointed out. “We were number one on many radio stations, and the first trade number one was April ninth, but it didn’t hit
Billboard
’s number one till August seventh. It remained on their charts for thirty-nine weeks. This was the song that put me on the map and established Patsy as a real force in the business.

“Patsy wanted to see Hank and me. She had two sterling-silver bracelets, which were the rage then, engraved to us with the words ‘Thanks for the hit.’ I thought, ‘Wow! Singers give writers presents when they write them a hit.’ But that was Patsy ‘cause it’s the only gift I ever got.”

Loretta Lynn remembers the week of August 7, when she came to visit Patsy.

“I finally did it, Hoss,” she exclaimed. “I got me a number one! Ain’t that incredible? A number one!” Loretta told her how thrilled she was for her. Patsy grabbed her hand and said, “Oh, I never want to record again! I just want to enjoy this one song forever.”

A
s Harlan Howard predicted, Patsy didn’t hate “I Fall to Pieces” so much when it reached number one in the trades and on the top country radio stations. When “I Fall to Pieces” reached the
Billboard
pop charts top-40, Randy placed an ad in the magazine that read: “I have tried and I have tried but I haven’t yet found a way to thank so many wonderful people for so much. God bless you all. Gratefully, Patsy Cline.” Patsy proved a country solo woman could actually sell records and get them not only on the country charts but also high on the pop charts. She was acclaimed one of the nation’s leading recording artists, ranked in popularity among such popular stars as Jimmy Darren, LeRoy Van Dyke, and Bobby Vee.

She returned to the Opry on July 22. The late Grant Turner, the Opry announcer, recalled the night when Charlie brought Patsy onstage in a wheelchair. “She got a standing ovation and didn’t even sing. I lowered the mike so she could speak into it from the wheelchair. She couldn’t believe the outpouring of love from the audience and tears just poured down her face. She quieted the crowd and said,
‘I want y’all to know that I’m recovering, and soon I’ll be back and I’ll be singing. I thank you for your support and the hundreds of your cards and letters. God bless you!’”

Since she’d soon be on her feet, Owen Bradley, also in an effort to give her something to look forward to, set about finding material for her next recording session. The pressure was on for Patsy and Bradley to produce a followup smash.

Patsy dropped by Bradley’s office one afternoon and they reminisced. “Well, we finally did it!” Patsy said. When she began fumbling for words, he knew she wanted to get something off her chest. “Owen, I have to tell you the truth. I still don’t care for ‘Pieces.’ It’s the B-side I like.”

“If this is true confessions time,” he said, “I’ll level with you if you promise not to throw anything at me.”

“Let’s have it, Hoss.”

“After we started working with it, I really didn’t like it either!”

The Nashville-based songwriters, whether they were successful or struggling, were special to Patsy. They were a funny lot, always eager to entertain with jokes and crazy stories; they’d do anything to please her.

“It wasn’t like we were writers and she was just a singer we wanted to get to,” Harlan Howard said. “There was a bond. It was dog-eat-dog among us as we tried to give her the best songs we had. She was quite demanding. Patsy wouldn’t settle for just any ole song. It had to be your best shot. That might have had a lot to do with her long dry spell with Four-Star. Now she could record what she wanted—well, with Owen’s consent—and she went at it with a vengeance.”

Dottie West remembered the heated competition to come up with hits for Patsy. “Sometimes Patsy would have songwriters breathing down her neck. I was at Patsy and Charlie’s house in Madison a few times when Hank came over after finishing something he thought was right for Patsy. He’d run in and throw his arms around her and insist, ‘Hoss, forget those others. I’ve done it! I’ve done it
again
! I’ve written you a smash.’

“They’d go upstairs and downstairs, as he’d tell her about the new song. Hank would follow her with his guitar as she cleaned the house or cooked, the whole time telling Patsy, ‘It’s a great one! One of the best I’ve ever written.’ She’d say, ‘Come on, Hoss, cut the B.S. and let’s hear the damn thing.’”

Billy Walker described an incident with another writer. “In late 1960, when I decided to relocate in Nashville full-time, Willie Nelson came too and lived with me for three months. I knew Willie from home and had recorded one of his songs. In Nashville, he wrote a song especially for me, ‘Funny How Time Slips Away.’” Patsy heard the demo and decided she was going to record it.

“Now, you just wait a minute,” Billy scolded her. “It’s mine. I’m gonna cut this one myself. Get that into your head!”

“Oh, come on, Hoss,” Patsy pleaded. “Let me have it!”

“Naw.”

“Now, don’t y’all fight over it,” Willie interjected. “I got more where that came from. How about we give Miss Patsy the song you just cut the demo on?”

“Great! Patsy, it’s over at Starday Records. I’ll get it for you. You’re gonna love it!”

“All right,” she relented, “but I’d rather have this one.”

“You ain’t gonna. And that’s final!”

Billy had tried to get Starday “and just about everybody else in town” to give Willie a house contract as songwriter, which would have meant a weekly retainer of fifty dollars. Walker explained that Willie didn’t care so much about the money, he just wanted to get into the business. Suddenly at twenty-seven, thanks to Faron Young’s recording of “Four Walls,” which was a country number one hit and got as high as number 12 on
Billboard
’s pop chart, Willie was hot.

This wasn’t outlaw Willie with the bandanna and scruffy beard but the clean-cut, neatly combed, short-haired Willie in trendy sharkskin suits and thin ties. He had a song “sitting around gathering dust” that he thought was good. He gave it to Billy, who cut a demo with only his guitar as instrumental. The song had been circulating endlessly from label to label and producer to producer with no results. Billy retrieved it and brought it out to Patsy. When she played it, she hated it.

“I might have been partly responsible for Patsy’s attitude on that song,” admitted Charlie. “On my way to work one afternoon, I stopped in Tootsie’s for a drink. I was introduced to Willie Nelson. We hit it off, and when he found out I was Patsy’s husband, he gave me a demo for her to listen to. Late that night when I got home and had a little bit more to drink, I put his song on the hi-fi and played it over and over.”

Nelson’s writing style was starkly unique for the period. Charlie was swept away by the song’s honky tonk mellowness and the way Willie phrased the lyrics ahead of and behind the belt, with Walker’s voice occasionally breaking. On the demo, the way Nelson conceived the piece, it was a “talker.”

Patsy came in the room on crutches. “Could you please turn that damn thing down?” Charlie did, but continued to play it.

“Ain’t you sick of hearing that yet?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Well, I am!” Charlie let it play again. “Honey, are you gonna play the damn thing all night? What’s the name of it, anyway?”

“‘Crazy.’”

“And it sure is.”

“It’s the song Willie gave me for you.”

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Patsy, still upset at losing “Funny How Time Slips Away,” later put the Billy Walker demo of Willie’s song on the record player. She screamed, “Holy shit! It’s that damn record!”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s that record you nearly wore out! I can’t believe Billy thought I’d like it. Wait till I get my hands on him! I hate it!”

“But, honey, it’s a great song!”

“Then
you
record it!”

Patsy never stopped surprising Charlie with her musical abilities. The couple had gotten nice and cozy in the living room, when “I Love You So Much, It Hurts,” the Floyd Tillman standard from the late 1940s, came on the radio.

“Honey,” Charlie remarked nonchalantly, “why don’t you sing that in your act?”

“Well, maybe I will.” She got up and went to the piano. He named a chord for her. “You know I don’t know chords, but let me give you a little by ear.”

She played the song and stopped after hitting a particular note. “This key? Is that the chord you want?”

“No, a woman can’t sing that note. It’s too low.”

Patsy got her dander up. “Oh, is that right? Well, let me try.”

And she did it. “Probably just to spite me!” Charlie asserted.

He explained that at home, Patsy had her songs and he had his; in the studio, Patsy had hers and Owen Bradley his. “Their ideas didn’t always mesh,” Charlie stated. “They could be immovable objects. In the end, they’d give a little to get the job done. And you know what? They were never that far apart to begin with.”

“Maybe,” said Bradley, laughing, “but that wasn’t the case with ‘Crazy.’ Patsy didn’t like it and was absolutely determined not to record it. ‘Crazy’ was early Willie Nelson, but I thought him to be a good writer from the time his material started making the rounds. I was terribly impressed with ‘Crazy.’

“Patsy thought it was terrible, period. I told her over and over again how much I liked it. 1 thought maybe the more she heard it, the more she might like it. Wrong.

“I’d put it on and say, ‘See what I mean?’ She’d reply, ‘I don’t care what you say. I don’t like it and I ain’t gonna record it. And that’s that.’ She was quite emphatic, but I had a little talk with her and smoothed her feathers. I told her we were going to do it. And that was that.”

Bradley set August 17, just over two months since Patsy’s near-fatal automobile crash, for her triumphant return to the studio.

On August 13, a special transcript session of “Country Music Time” was set, with Patsy as guest star. Charlie wheeled her into Bradley’s studio and with great fanfare Sergant Tom Shaw expressed delight that Patsy was back. She sang the 1927 Harry Woods classic “Side by Side,” also a 1953 top-5 pop hit for Kay Starr, one of Patsy’s idols. She announced she’d be recording it for her new album.

The following day, Decca released Patsy’s first 45 rpm EP in four years. It contained “I Fall to Pieces,” “Lovin’ in Vain,” “Lovesick Blues,” and “There He Goes.”

“The night before the ‘Crazy’ session,” Charlie said, “Patsy complained about the song again. ‘Well,’ I interrupted her, ‘if you don’t like talking it, why the hell don’t you just sing it all the way through?’ She liked that idea, and, when she discussed it with Owen, so did he.”

Three recording sessions, designed to come up with enough new material for a second album, were planned. The dates marked Patsy’s single most productive time in the studio. The potential songs poured in. Patsy and Bradley had an array of excellent material to select from.

Patsy and Bradley had whetted New York headquarters’ appetite with “I Fall to Pieces.” Now they were banking on another smash, only this time they wanted something stunningly sophisticated. Bradley had shown he was adept at handling pop arrangements with his string-heavy session with Brenda Lee on “I’m Sorry,” which skyrocketed into
Billboard
’s number one pop position. For Patsy’s session
he now brought in Bill McElhiney, the trumpeteer from his dance band, to do the string arrangements.

On the seventeenth, Patsy hobbled in on crutches to a rousing welcome from the veteran sidemen from her sessions. She laid her crutches against the wall and propped herself against a stool at the microphone for the warmup. They started with “True Love,” by Cole Porter. The tune was sung by Bing Crosby with a slight assist from Grace Kelly in the 1956 musical film hit
High Society.
On her track, the violin introduces Patsy’s low-key vocal. She even had the audacity to mimic Decca’s multimillion-selling superstar by humming on the same verse where Crosby crooned. When you hear Patsy’s rendition, it’s impossible to reconcile the simple beauty she manages with her crass, brassy tomboyish personality.