The Comeback

Thursday night

I was in Virginia, and one of my brother Andrew's friends was visiting the house. He noticed my CD collection, and mentioned that he was going over to a store called the RTX (Record and Tape Exchange) to sell some of his CDs, and if I wanted, he could sell some of mine, as well. I said, "No thanks. But I know the RTX, too. I haven't been there in a while, so I'll have to pay them a visit." Next, I was in the RTX, and they began playing the most amazing disc. I said, "What is that?" They explained that it was a recently-uncovered trove of heretofore unheard Hank Williams music. (Hank Sr., of course.)

Suddenly, I was in Alabama in the mid-to-late 1950s, in a quiet general store run by two white-haired older women in Hank Williams' family. To my surprise, Hank hadn't died at 29 in the back of his car; there he was, standing at the end of the wooden counter, hanging out, dreaming of his comeback. He looked as thin and dissipated as ever, yet he wore a sharp light brown suit and with matching hat, and a very cool 1940s print tie. Some customers came and went, and I heard one of the women behind the counter address one of them in a slow drawl: "You come in and get yourself an ice cream." Spontaneously, the three Williamses began singing a cappella country gospel music. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven myself. Trying not to disturb them, I picked up a guitar that was lying on a nearby table, and played one string, searching for the bass notes.

Once their sing-along was though, Hank ventured across the street to a tiny recording studio. He had a song to sing, and he was convinced that it could be the beginning of his comeback on the charts. The owner of the studio was more than happy to record the session, even though Hank said, "But I ain't got any money." The owner didn't seem to care. He set up a tall microphone that stood on a small stage. Hank began to warm up, and the door opened. It was a local preacher, a black man, who was angry. He said, "You stop that! You stop that right now! It's after 6 o'clock [at night]!" Apparently he thought what Hank was doing was sacrilegious. (It must have been the Sabbath.) He was calmed down and he left, but little did he know -- Hank was just getting started.

The producer had begun recording, but was still adjusting the mike stand on his small stage when Hank hopped up and began to sing. He had picked up a .22 rifle, and shot two bullets into the floor, then shot two more into the ceiling as part of his intro. I was shocked, but the producer didn't seem fazed at all. (The locals knew Hank was crazy.) He proceeded to belt out his new tune, and it was a humdinger, all right. After it was over, the producer stood in awe and said, "That ran about a minute and a half over," but still, he was sure it would be a hit, and so was I.

*****

I've seen a box set of Hank Williams' music which came out in the last decade; the cover features a black and white photo of Williams in a suit, hat and tie, and he's holding a guitar. I must have gotten his outfit from that photograph. I've also heard several radio transcriptions of Williams performing gospel tunes at the Grand Ole Opry. He was an astounding guy. How could someone who was so uneducated and so inarticulate write and sing such incredible music? It's almost miraculous.

That was one of the best dreams ever. It was almost like a short film. By the way, if I'm not mistaken, when Williams was recording in the 1940s, I think that they were cutting discs instead of recording onto tape. That may be why the producer said that he "ran over." Maybe Hank went on past the amount of time to cut the lacquer. Then again, if Hank was recording in the mid-50s, it would have been past the time that Elvis and the boys were recording on tape. Incidentally, I can only think of two recordings off the top of my head that feature simulated (drum-beat) gunshots: "Shot Gun Boogie" by Tennessee Ernie Ford, and "I Fought the Law" by The Bobby Fuller Four.