And the music goes on.

I remember the place I was standing when I learned that Hank Williams had died in the back seat of his car on the way to appear in a show, probably at the Grand Ole Opry.  A block over from our house on Strong Street was the highway.  There was one block of sidewalk that ran past the Fein house and on the corner there were steps that led from the highway up to the sidewalk.  There were hand rails on both sides and that was one of my places to "skin the cat" if you know what that is.  I was there and my brother came to tell me that Hank Williams had died.  I think I was about 14 years old.  He and I had listened to the Grand Ole Opry forever on his car radio that was hooked up to a battery.  Hank left his wife Audrey and a son, Hank Williams, Jr.

I do not remember the year, but it seems like it must have been 1955.  I could Google it, but the date is not important.  What was and still is important are the many Saturday nights that Jake and I set in the moonlight with him fiddling with the knob on the radio and the thrill when the announcer (forgot his name) came on and announced the show, "And now from Nashville, Tennessee its The Grand Ole Opry!"  And the people at the Grand Ole Opry began to clap and cheer and it was just like we were there!  I knew someday when I grew up that I would go to Nashville and I would set in the front row and I would hear Hank Williams sing and I would love him my whole life!

Sadly, I never made it to Nashville, but I did love Hank Williams my whole life.  Even when I grew into my rock and roll stage and fell in love with Elvis Presley, I never forgot Hank Williams. I remember my first record player.  It only played 78 rpm's and it was scratchy.  That did not matter.  I could close my eyes and go back to when he was alive.  I only had one or two records then, but now I have every song he ever made.  One of them has his wife singing with him.  She is a caterwauler, if you know what that is.  But I listen to her and sing along, because she was his wife.

I remember how I waited for his son to grow up and take his place.  I also remember when Hank Williams, Jr. started singing.  What a let down that was.  Hank Williams was a skinny little drifter with a big hat and a guitar and here was this little pudgy kid who could not hold a candle to his father.  He tried, but it just did not happen and then he went rogue and sang and beat on his guitar like the rock and roll stars of that era.  I never made that leap.

I remembered my Hank Williams and to this day, I am his most devoted fan.  I listen to classic country.  The old song, by the old artists and nothing else.  I do have one Alan Jackson but it is hymns.  Garth Brooks grates on my soul and his music is akin to fingernails on a chalk board.  Apparently, though, it is just me, because they have enjoyed a lot of success.

I do not live my life around Hank, though. I have some Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty.  Charlie Pride is the only concert I ever attended.  I just hauled all my good 33 1/3 records to my daughter in Longton, along with my turntable.  I wanted them to go somewhere that they would be played and enjoyed.  

A lot of time has passed since my brother and I listened to the Grand Ole Opry, but I still hear it in my head.  If I lose all my senses at some point in time, I expect fully to still hear the staticky music in my head from Nashville, Tennessee and I am pretty sure when I take my last breathe that I will be met on the other side by Hank Williams, Patsy Cline a whole slew of others and maybe they will let me walk across the floor of the Ryman Auditorium.  Maybe they will even let me grab the microphone and wail out my version of "Your Cheatin' Heart."

It is a dream worth holding on to!