Honky Tonk Angel (16 page)

At home, everyone patted Gerald on the back and congratulated him on his wife’s TV success. He’d seen “Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts” and was impressed. “But I always knew Patsy had it in her,” he noted. “Finally the timing was right.” As much as he enjoyed basking in her glory, Gerald fired his own salvo. On January 23, in the Frederick, Maryland, courthouse, he filed a bill of complaint for divorce.

“When it came to Pat and Gerald’s divorce,” Fay said, “we weren’t shocked, just taken by surprise. I never heard Pat or Gerald speak of any problems. The obvious one about Bill never came up. Sure, everyone knew. When Gerald filed his petition, most of us assumed Bill had come between them again. I figured Gerald and Pat, too, realized it wasn’t going to work. Lord knows, they’d done it the trial-and-error method enough to know the answer.”

Patsy Cline was heralded an “overnight sensation.” Mail poured into CBS and Decca. The public was clamoring for copies of “Walkin’ After Midnight.” Everyone wanted to know about this incredible new star.

No one expected the type of response Patsy elicited. Or were they prepared for it all along? Rumors circulated that “Talent Scouts” “was often predictable in the outcome”—in other words, that the show was rigged. If that was the case, Mrs. Hensley says she and Patsy were totally unaware of any fraud. Donn Hecht says such allegations “are unfounded and absolutely false.” He pointed out that if Decca knew Patsy was going to be a sensation, “Walkin’ After Midnight” would have been pressed and distributed to stores.

Patsy was on cloud nine, but there were realities to face. She had to move to a cheaper residential hotel on West Forty-fourth Street. It was all she could afford. And what would this instant stardom do to her relationship with Charlie? They
talked nightly on the phone and arranged to see each other weekends and on her days off.

On her next “Talent Scouts” appearance, Monday, January 28, she performed “Walkin’ After Midnight” and followed with “A Poor Man’s Roses (or a Rich Man’s Gold).” At the end, Godfrey called out, “Hey, Patsy, how’s your mother?” Before she could answer, he cracked, “There, that’ll let the world know who that nice Mrs. Hensley was last week!”

Godfrey’s daily morning show came on the air at 10:00 A.M. A half-hour format ran on TV but the entire ninety minutes went out over CBS radio. There were fifteen-minute segments and each regular had his or her slot with Godfrey. The TV shows were a favor to the network. When CBS offered to transfer his radio shows to the small screen, Godfrey wasn’t interested. He finally agreed, informing executives, “I’m not going to cater to the camera. If you want to put us on television, just shoot the radio show the way we do it.”

Remo Palmier, a guitarist in the Godfrey orchestra for twenty-seven years, observed, “And that’s exactly what CBS did. Cameras were positioned in the back of the auditorium and they shot straight on. There were no sets or costumes, just down-home chit-chat and good music. Mr. Godfrey might have indulged the network by wearing a tie.” Rehearsals were the afternoon before and from 8:00 to 9:30 A.M. on the day of the program. Patsy went over her numbers with the staff arrangers, then did a run-through, as the cameras rolled, with the orchestra under music director Norman Leyden for sound check and camera blocking.

“Arthur arrived at nine fifty-nine,” Leyden reported, “only a minute before showtime. He came in his chauffeur-driven car, sauntered into the studio, and very nonchalantly walked in just as we were hitting the airwaves. The first time we saw him was when he came out after being introduced by announcer Tony Marvin.

“There were times when we wondered if he might not make it, but then in he’d walk. Arthur was casual, very relaxed. He didn’t use a script. Everything was spontaneous. The morning show was a forerunner to ‘Tonight’ and the Merv Grif-fin—type shows.” Patsy and Godfrey, described as a ladies’ man, got on famously. “Arthur sat at his desk and would talk to Patsy about her work and what was going on in Nashville. Then Tony would introduce her and she’d sing. When she finished, Arthur would have the last word. Her first week, after she sang, he told her, ‘Patsy, you’re the most innocent, the most nervous, most truthful and honest performer I have ever seen.’

“Patsy was as professional as they come,” Leyden apprised. “You’d have thought, she was a seasoned artist. I was impressed with her range and abilities. If hit records had eluded her to that point, I felt it had to be the material she was recording. I saw what she could do with a good song. She had a driving style—country western but with a good, solid beat. We thought she was a natural for jazz and blues numbers. But Patsy had a mind of her own.”

For one thing, she wanted to sing country. Davis and staff tried to sway her toward pop music, even rock ‘n’ roll. It never worked. She’d bring one of her cowgirl outfits, talk about her roots, her love of the Opry, and try to slip in a country tune.

Davis told Patsy she was “wasting [her] time recording in Nashville. That’s
just the wrong place. New York’s where it’s happening. Why limit yourself to only country music?”

“I don’t want to be a pop star,” Patsy would reply.

“Think of the money. You could make so much more.”

“That I wouldn’t mind.”

“Anybody else would’ve been happy on the Godfrey show,” songwriter Lee Burrows said. “Not Patsy. She was miserable.”

“I hate every minute,” Patsy cried. “I want the Grand Ole Opry, not Arthur Godfrey.”

“But,” countered Lee, “Godfrey’s thrilled with you and you should be thrilled to be on with him. You could have quite a future on TV.”

“But all they want me to sing is MOR [middle of the road]. Janette won’t let me yodel!”

Patsy bugged Davis again to let her wear a western outfit her mother had made. Davis remained adamantly opposed. Patsy pouted all day.

“Patsy,” asked Davis, “what’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong. No one lets me do what I want to do.”

“It’s not your show.”

“Janette, please let me do a country song!”

“I’ll think about it, Patsy.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll see!”

Patsy was also driving Godfrey crazy, and he spoke to Davis. When Pat Boone came on the Wednesday night “Arthur Godfrey and Friends,” Davis paired Patsy with him for a duet. According to Burrows, “They wore white western everything. Patsy was in heaven!”

But Davis had let the cow out of the barn. From then on, Patsy fought Davis and Godfrey each time they wanted her to sing pop. After two weeks, things became increasingly difficult.

Godfrey told Patsy, “You’ve got to do the songs Janette selects. That’s her job.”

“I won’t do it!” Patsy exploded.

“Then, young lady, you leave me no choice. You’re fired.”

“What?”

“You heard me! You can come back and see us every once in a while, but, Patsy, you can’t buck Janette and the music staff and be a regular. We’re a team. They’ve been with me for years. I depend on them. And they do their jobs damn well. Why don’t you go to Nashville or go wherever you want?”

Patsy called Charlie with the news and packed her bags.

Winchester went wild over its native daughter. The city sent Godfrey a bushel of its red apples and a Patsy Cline Day was planned.

“We were a bit surprised at all the to-do,” Mrs. Hensley observed. “Everyone bragged incessantly and declared how proud they were. Suddenly, they were taking credit for her success. I thought it funny, because when she needed them they never knew she was there. Everything quickly got back to normal. Patsy may have
been a celebrity elsewhere, but at home they were used to her. She’d walk up and down the streets with her hair in rollers and no one paid any mind.”

It was a time of whirlwind activity for Patsy, and some intrigue. Out of work and waiting for the release of her hit record, Patsy went to see Gay and humbled herself. She wanted her old job back, but with a raise. He kept asking why he should take her back “after you deserted us—the very ones who helped make you a star!”

“But you fired me!” Patsy exclaimed.

When the dust settled, Patsy said, “He rehired me. He needed me, I needed money, and so I promised to turn a new leaf.”

What she didn’t know was that the executives from CBS had informed Gay they thought Patsy Cline was “quite the little darling” and, with Dean, the potential cohost of their new morning TV show.

T
own and Country Jamboree” was filmed Saturday, February 2, as an audition for CBS. But, though she’d been rehired by Gay, Patsy didn’t participate. Her diary entry for that date reads: “Supposed to do kinescope
¹⁰
for C.B.S. Didn’t do Town & Country Jamboree.” The next day’s entry simply states: “Stayed home.”

Patsy wasn’t on the “Jamboree” the following Saturday. Friday, February 8, she left Winchester to appear on the Ozark Jubilee, telecast Sunday, the ninth, on ABC as “Country Music Jubilee.”

Decca finally rush-released a single of “Walkin’ After Midnight” on February 11. It became an immediate hit across the charts, country and pop.

Saturday night, February 16, Patsy was invited on the Grand Ole Opry as a special guest star on the half-hour segment sponsored by Prince Albert Smoking Tobacco and carried on the NBC Radio Network. In the dressing room with Roy Acuff before her segment, Patsy told him, “This is the crowning moment in my career. It took me almost nine years, but I’m here.”

For the occasion, she traded in her cowgirl outfit for a more urban look. She received a rousing response when Ernest Tubb announced her. At the end of “Walkin’ After Midnight,” there was deafening applause. Tears rolled as she thanked the audience and came offstage. Patsy was hugged, kissed, and congratulated on her hit record by every star in the wings.

Jim Denny, still general manager of the Opry, told Patsy, “You were terrific. Come back and see us real soon.”

“Mr. Denny,” she gushed, “this has been unbelievable. And definitely worth the wait.
¹¹
I’ve never seen anything like it. There ain’t no place like the Opry!” Patsy didn’t remind him he’d let her slip through his fingers in 1948.

Meeting western-swing bandleader Pee Wee King, who with his vocalist Redd Stewart wrote “The Tennessee Waltz,” Del Wood reported, “Patsy strutted right up to him and said ‘Hey, Pee Wee, “The Tennessee Waltz” is my favorite record! When are you going to write me a hit like that?’”

She looked around and found herself staring at the price tag on the straw hat of comedienne Minnie Pearl, who praised her delivery, confidence, and style.

“Cousin Minnie!” Patsy sighed. “It ain’t nothing. I love to work.”

“But it
wasn’t
work to her,” observed Pearl. “We all say that, but Patsy got a kick out of performing. Patsy was a sexy girl. She had a full figure. Patsy wasn’t overweight, but a big girl. She went in for a little shorter dresses than most of the girls. Her wardrobe had a lot to do with her being known as a sex symbol. Patsy wore her clothes tight around the hips. She liked sequins and gold and silver lame. And she could wear ’em. And high-heeled shoes. It kind of went with her. It was the package.”

By February 20, “Walkin’ After Midnight” was number three on the
Billboard
country charts and zooming up the pop charts, an unprecedented first for a female country artist. On March 3 it became
Billboard
’s number two country hit. In April, it attained a high of 12 on their pop charts. It was listed a total of nineteen weeks on
Billboard
’s country charts, sixteen on the pop.

Again, there was no “Jamboree” on her schedule. On Saturday, March 9, Patsy left for California, accompanied by her seventeen-year-old brother Sam, Jr., whom she introduced to McCall as a potential teen heartthrob. At his studio in Pasadena, McCall, perhaps with an assist from his “chief A&R executive,” set up an audition. Patsy noted that the Four-Star president was impressed: “He thought Sam’s chances were very promising and that he has a good voice.”

The following week Patsy was Bob Crosby’s special guest on his Los Angeles TV variety show. Then, wearing one of her western costumes and singing “Walkin’ After Midnight,” she filmed the syndicated TV show “Western Ranch Party,” hosted by Tex Ritter. Then, with Donn Hecht and Alan Block, she did “Town Hall Party,” which was telecast throughout the area. Patsy rather stunned Hecht when she informed him that she was getting her “comeuppance” for tearing down the fence between country and pop—that, as a country singer, she felt like a whore singing pop. It seemed she was the darling of the West Coast, too. Even Hollywood beckoned. Patsy was contacted by a film studio and asked if she’d do a screen test. She was enthusiastic, but nothing came of the offer.

Patsy Cline loved her fans and attracted all manner of them. At the motel where she was staying, owners Charlotte White and Mary Lu Jeans were so enthralled with Patsy’s music, they wrote a song, “A Stranger in My Arms,” which Patsy loved. It didn’t have music, so they asked her if she would compose a tune. She took the song back to Winchester and, for the first time in her life, composed
music. She sent the finished product to McCall and
told
him she was going to record it at her next session for her first album.

By the end of her first week home, Patsy was on the road again. In Des Moines, she headlined at the City Auditorium with Webb Pierce and, the same weekend, did two local TV record hops.

Because of “Walkin’ After Midnight,” Patsy enjoyed all sorts of media exposure. She was booked to do “The Alan Freed Show” on radio and TV and took Dale Turner along to New York. “Freed was the radio kingpin and leading entrepreneur of rock ’n’roll, so I wasn’t sure Patsy’d go over,” Dale explained. “But his rock background didn’t bother Patsy. The show was well staged, and Patsy did whatever they told her. She wasn’t the least bit scared. She just threw it at ’em, without benefit of much rehearsal. Patty was great on record, but onstage with an audience, she seemed to explode.”

The crowning event was to be April 7, when she was to appear live on CBS’s “The Ed Sullivan Show,” then one of the top-rated programs in the nation and Sunday night’s most popular fare. However, difficulties arose because of the exclusive contract Patsy had signed with Godfrey. She canceled the engagement “for the time being on the advice of William McCall, president of Four-Star Records and Sales, which holds my [recording] contract.” The
Winchester Evening Star
reported, “She hopes to get everything ironed out after Arthur Godfrey returns from Africa. He has been advising her on her career and, as far as Patsy is concerned, he is boss.”

Suddenly, with the incredible sales of “Walkin’ After Midnight,” there was a cover recording, as often happened with a major hit Disc jockeys everywhere were inundated with Calvin Coolidge’s rendition and received calls from the label’s irate promotion director wanting to know why they weren’t programming it.

“This is a hot record,” he’d say, “the first male version.” The deejays responded that the record was terrible. “Oh, you think so, huh?” he replied. A typical answer was, “It’s nothing like Patsy Cline’s record.” The promotion man would counter, “That goes to show how much you know. Take that record and speed it up and we’ll see about that!”

The prankster was none other than Bill McCall, who slowed Patsy’s version to 33
rpm, then pressed a 45 rpm single.

On March 28, Gerald was granted his divorce from Virginia P. Hensley Cline. About the same time, Patsy had a competitor for Charlie’s affection—Uncle Sam. She was in Nashville staying with June Carter of the A.P. Carter family when Charlie phoned her with news of his being drafted.

Charlie did his army basic at Fort Benning, Georgia. On a weekend furlough, he asked Patsy to marry him. Her famous reply was: “I don’t know. I ain’t seen the ring yet!” She was, in fact, elated. She told her mother, “It’s time I put my personal life in order. I’m all set to make married life compatible with my career goals.” The blissful couple set a September date, but the engagement wasn’t official yet. Patsy wanted it in the newspaper.

PFC Dick was transferred to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and assigned to the First L&L (for loudspeakers and leaflets) of the Special Warfare Center
attached to the Strategic Army Corps’ Radio Broadcast and Leaflet Battalion. Their wartime mission would be to broadcast propaganda and drop leaflets on foreign troops. No one listened when Charlie told them, “Hell, I don’t know anything about psychological warfare. I’m a Linotype operator! You guys are making a big mistake.”

“I found I could do it as well as anything,” he observed, “and, once you’re assigned something, you learn you might as well adapt because to do otherwise meant nothing but miles of red tape.”

Lawrence Van Gelder, a newswriter and editor on cultural affairs at
The New York Times,
was stationed with Charlie. “I was a native New Yorker, so the South was a new experience. Charlie came into our unit and right away hit it off with everyone. With no imminent threats to world peace, there wasn’t much to do, so we appreciated his humor. If he wasn’t around, the days were boring. Charlie was a good ole boy. He did his work but liked to have a good time and enjoyed a drink. He introduced me to more kinds of southern bourbon than I knew existed.”

Patsy returned to the “Jamboree” in May, but it was a short-lived honeymoon. She caused quite a stir, appearing on the WSM-Grand Ole Opry audition for the proposed CBS morning show. Gay and Dean considered it a double-cross. Any record of what actually transpired has been lost.

Gay and Dean won the network spot. “I credited that strictly to the ignorance of the CBS brass,” Dean said, laughing. “They didn’t know Eddy Arnold from Ernest Tubb and, when they sat down, they said, ‘We’ll take this one—you know, the one with the big ears and toothy smile.’ The bargain-basement brand ended up on the top shelf.” The network went forward with plans to add “The Jimmy Dean Show” to their morning lineup, but protected itself with an out clause.

“This was a whole new ballgame,” Gay commented. “A new show, a new format. They worried about projecting a hayseed image and doing a daily live variety program from Washington. Their geniuses came down from New York in hordes to help get us ready.

“It was an invading army. Everywhere you turned, someone was looking over your shoulder. And, sorry to say, when I was counting on her the most, Patsy let us down. I knew Jimmy’d appeal to CBS, but Patsy was my bright hope, my insurance. I knew I had a magic combination. She hardly impressed the powers that be. Their headhunters searched every closet for skeletons and Patsy gave them reports full.”

Rehearsals were at 7:00 A.M. Patsy was chronically late and, according to Gay and others, “showed up with liquor on her breath.” She wasn’t her usual exuberant self on camera, Gay reported, and the consequences were glaring. There were occasions when Patsy, now in great demand on the tour circuit, simply didn’t show.

“In spite of her potential,” Gay said, “CBS didn’t want to muck around. ‘If she can’t be on time now,’ they kept saying, ‘what the hell’s going to happen when we go on the air?’ An ultimatum came down. Either Patsy would be on time or she’d have to go. And she went.”

“The Jimmy Dean Show” premiered on April 8 and broadcast live Monday
through Friday at 7:00 A.M. without Patsy Cline. It was the first network show, other than news specials, to originate from Washington.