Honky Tonk Angel (11 page)

Audiences were diversified: politicians in limousines, hillbillies in pickup trucks, young hipsters in Corvettes. Local bands appeared alongside Grand Ole Opry stars and name recording artists. Any musician working the area would come to the arena at midnight when the bars closed. The regular cast included Roy Clark on banjo; Quincy Snodgrass, bass and rube comedy; Mary Klick, rhythm guitar/ bass and vocals; Buck Ryan, fiddle; Dale Turner, vocals; Marvin Carroll, steel guitar; Alec Houston, ventriloquist; Billy Grammer, guitarist; Herbie Jones, rhythm guitar; George Hamilton IV, vocals; and Patsy.

“We had Tiny Jenkins, a huge guy who always smelled bad,” Dean recollected, “and, oh, my God, Texas Jim Robertson, a fine singer who wore cowboy outfits topped by this big ole white Stetson. Under that hat was a real bad rug, in a pompadour style yet. He’d come to the mike and cock the hat back of that pompadour and just sing away. But it was hot in the arena. We used three cameras and many more lights than today. Jim used to sweat down two, maybe three outfits a night. Once, his sweat melted the stickum on his rug and everything started to go. He was singing and at the same time trying to give it a shot to get it all back in place. The more he tried, the worse it came down. I went into a tailspin of shock. Ah, live TV. I took a flying leap to the [video] truck in the street and shouted ‘Shoot the crowd! Shoot the crowd, damnit! Whatever you do, stay off Jim.’

“But, oh, those were good times! There musta been twenty dozen cups of coffee on that stage if there was one. A cup of coffee could be all the way across the stage and it would somehow work its way over to get spilled on me. By the end, I was a big stain. I had it spilled on my sleeves, pockets, pants, even on my crotch. There I was playing the piano and smiling into the camera. Some folks might have wondered what I had to be smiling about.”

Patsy Cline? “She was something else, cocky as hell about her ability. She knew she could sing and enjoyed listening to herself. Patsy was brash to the point where, if you didn’t know her, you’d say she was arrogant. You’d not construe Patsy to be a polished lady ’cause she had a mouth on her that’d embarrass a truck driver.” Few of the Jamboree regulars knew she was married. “Patsy didn’t go on about what a wonderful guy she was married to. Gerald came around occasionally on the package shows. I just remember he was short and heavyset.”

“Patsy flirted with anything in pants,” said a band member. “Sometimes you had to pull her off you. She flirted with one musician incessantly and finally decided she was going to have him. He talked about how she was in bed for days, until one of us had to shut him up. He said after they finished, Patsy looked him straight in the eyes and asked, ‘Now, Hoss, wasn’t that the best fuck you ever had!’ He couldn’t get over the way she visualized it as something you should get a testimonial about.”

Others cite her talent and self-possession. Teddy Wilburn said, “Doyle and I were with Webb’s band playing the home furnishings show. When we finished, we hightailed it to the ‘Jamboree,’ the only live place in town after everything else
closed. Patsy, dressed in one of her cowgirl outfits her mother made, slapped me on the back. She said, ‘Hoss, I’m on my way. I’m making records. I’m going to do one of my songs now, so let me know what you think.’ I was amazed at how relaxed she was and her natural rapport with the audience. That night we talked. We had a few drinks and things got looser and looser. By the time we parted, we’d become best buddies and it was that way until she died.”

George Hamilton IV, at nineteen “a bit wide-eyed and bushy-tailed,” wasn’t prepared for the woman he met when he joined the “Jamboree” in 1956. “Patsy came on strong and I said, ‘Who’s this woman?’ Having just completed my freshman year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, I was confronted by words I’d never heard. Patsy shocked me, which was what she set out to do. She talked tough and was. She was putting me to the Patsy Cline Worthy-of-My-Friendship Test. I must have failed I don’t know how many times before I passed.

“I was six foot to her five feet four inches, but Patsy had an overpowering presence in her cowgirl outfits. She was bemused by me, this lanky kid from the sticks. Patsy liked people to stand up to her, and I never did. I was the youngest of the group and she kind of tolerated me. I was bashful and wet behind the ears, yet she took great delight in embarrassing me. But she never put me down or poked fun at me to the point of hurting me in front of others. In private, it was another thing. She’d find me backstage—usually hiding from her—and hit me across the back and go to town.”

Patsy sternly admonished Hamilton. “Hoss, I’m going to have to light a fire under your goddamn ass. You’re going to have to learn to go out there in front of those cameras and hold your head up. Take charge when you’re singing!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You say the only thing in life you want is to be a country singer and then you walk out there like you’re embarrassed to be on that stage. Are you ashamed to be singing with us, Chief?”

“No, ma’am.”

“What kind of singer are you, anyway, college boy? You ain’t going nowhere with that kind of attitude. You don’t learn everything from books, you know. If you’re trying to be humble, goddamnit, that’s not humility. That’s weakness. Let me tell you something, you got to get up there and show ‘em! You want ’em to eat right out of your hands. You’re the star. When you’re doing your songs, take command, Hoss!”

It was good advice. In the end, Patsy helped Hamilton and they became friends.

“Everyone eventually saw Patsy’s crass exterior,” Dean said, “but it concealed a warm heart. If she was your friend, you didn’t have a worry in the world. She’d go to the wall for you.

“Patsy wasn’t a great showman, though she had a fantastic personality. She couldn’t talk. But she could sing! She really ripped up a lyric. Patsy sang her butt off. She was a huge fan of Kay Starr’s and had a lot of her style.

“All Patsy could think of was getting away from Winchester and making it big—getting away from anything that might hold her back. She knew she was good. You betcha! She was gonna make it and that was that. Nothing could have stood in the way. Nothing! In Patsy’s mind, there was no price too big to pay for it. I
don’t know if I ever saw anyone that wanted stardom more. Maybe Dottie West. Dottie was that way.

“There was little I could find wrong with Patsy. She had two things that, if you’re going to be associated with me, you must have: punctuality and professionalism. Patsy laughed a lot and had a good time. That was important to me, too. But when it came to career time, no one could have been more deadly serious or deliver the goods the way she did.

“A lot of guys thought she was the sexiest thing they’d ever seen. I could never see it. We were in our twenties and at our peaks, but Patsy was totally devoid of sex appeal. Still I loved her to death. There was just no physical attraction. We became the closest of friends. I was already married, so she didn’t have an affair with me. I might have been one of the few. I’m not easily shocked, but Patsy got to me one time. We were working in Canada and checking into a hotel. She looked around the lobby and saw this big Canadian Mountie. Right out loud she snapped, ‘He’s a big, good-looking son of a bitch! I want him! I’m screwing the boots off him tonight.’ And she took off across to him and did what she said she was going to do.”

Lois Troxell, who was especially close to Patsy during this period, explained, “Patsy’s truck-driver mouth was a way of venting her anger and hostility. She was always hurting and at odds about what direction she should go in. There was something very sad about her. Patsy came from what we’d now call a dysfunctional family. She needed real friends. I found her to be sincere, gentle, and warm. She was aware of what a wonderful gift God gave her. I got the biggest kick out of her sitting in our living room and playing the piano and singing. I was in awe of her voice.”

Dale Turner first saw Patsy when she sang at a D.C. club where Dale worked. “I saw this girl in a big, white western hat, red cowgirl outfit with white fringe and white boots. As soon as I heard her name, I realized I’d heard people speak of her. Patsy sang and at the end, she whipped off that hat and held it up in the air. I said, ‘You can learn from this gal.’

“When I came to work on the ‘Jamboree,’ I thought I’d be the only girl singer. And there was Patsy and I sighed, ‘This is really all you need!’ But we became friends. Patsy not only wanted records, she wanted hit records. Everything revolved around her career. It was that way with most of the cast. They got married and had children but music was more than a livelihood. It was their world. To me, it was like being part of a family and getting paid to do what I liked doing best.

“I had six months’ experience when I came on. Patsy was determined I’d become a star. She’d point out my bad habits: ‘Dale, when you sing, you keep your right hand moving in time. You look like you’re beating eggs. Keep that hand still or I’ll come out and tie it behind your back.’ Patsy had the tools and knew how to use them. I never liked camera work. I was fine just singing. Connie used two cameras, high up on dollies. I saw them moving up and down, back and forth, but they were far enough away not to scare me. There was little time for rehearsal. Jimmy could talk off the cuff for three hours, always knew the next cue and where to be. Audiences loved him. If he thought of something, he just sent you out to do it. I wasn’t good at the ad-lib stuff. The commercials were the worst part. I had to
do the jingles for Gunther’s Beer or the cigarette commercial. They never let me forget the time I had the L&M box upside down.

“Patsy had a determination and power that made her shine. Everything was so effortless. When you saw her once, you knew she’d be a star. I’ve never known a singer as amazing and exciting. I’d watch her and say, ‘She’s giving it her all.’ But she always held something back. You knew it when she got to the last note.”

When Patsy wasn’t performing, she ran around in her fringed or sequined cowgirl outfits causing mischief. When she wasn’t telling somebody off, she was driving the stars crazy for pictures and autographs. She’d do anything to avoid the square dances with audience members that followed the show.

Dale toed the line. If Gay and Dean said to do something and the others balked, she’d say, “Connie says we have to” or “Jimmy told me to do this.”

“If Connie says jump off the goddamn roof,” Patsy would reply, “you going to jump?”

Though Dale doesn’t remember Patsy telling dirty jokes, several cast members recall her cringing at Patsy’s language, which made it all the more fun for Patsy. If Patsy was telling one of her risque jokes to the guys and saw Dale coming, Patsy yelled, “Well, hush my mouth, here she comes. Hello, Your Highness!” As Dale walked by, everyone laughed, including Dale.

Patsy and Jimmy often thought Dale was praying for them. At particularly rough moments in the run-throughs or the show, Dean would look at Dale and, if he thought she was praying, he’d say, “Honey, please stop praying. Everything’s going badly enough. I don’t want you to make it worse.” Then Patsy would yell, “Dale, promise me you ain’t praying for me!”

Bill was back with Patsy, but, according to Peer’s son Larry, solely on a professional basis as manager or adviser. As Jenny Peer explained, “Bill wasn’t so much bitter about what Patsy did as he was hurt. He and I became friends again. I loved Bill and had two children with him. (After her divorce from Mark Johnson, they remarried.) I thought he’d straighten up with Patsy out of his life, but he didn’t.”

“Bill reentered Patsy’s life hoping the old sparks would ignite. He did everything but grovel,” a band member said, “but Patsy rejected his advances and just wanted to be friends. That’s not what Bill wanted.”

In Nashville, Paul Cohen issued Patsy’s Coral single of “Hidin’ Out” backed with “Turn the Cards Slowly” in November to coincide with the annual WSM Birthday Celebration and country disc-jockey convention. This was several days of artist showcases, interviews, cocktail parties, award dinners and product giveaways—culminating with the announcement of the best in country music at the Saturday Opry.

Patsy came with her new “manager” Gerald Cline, who told everyone how great a star he was going to make her. After hours upon hours of interviews for the home town stations in the WSM studios to promote herself with jockeys more interested in getting to the hotels and the next hospitality suite for the next drink, Patsy was tired. Lee Burrows picked Patsy and Gerald up at the Colonial Motel and they had dinner at an out-of-the-way spot.

“He talked incessantly,” observed Lee, “and I couldn’t wait to get Patsy alone to see how everything was. It surely seemed fine. Gerald was most charming. He
even picked up the tab. Patsy was eager to get to the Opry, which was brimming with stars.”

In the wings, Patsy shone with excitement. “It’s always such a thrill being here. When I stop and think of all the great names that have played on this stage. It makes me proud to be a part of it.”

The audience roamed the aisles, and while the show was in progress they approached the stage to shoot flash pictures. Anyone with a connection had a backstage pass and mingled with the stars. Amid constant travels, this was the place where the singers and musicians saw each other. Coca-Colas were dispensed constantly from the machine, and after too many drinks spiked with bourbon, bottles rolled across the floor.