by BobA. Troutt
***
I heard someone enter the living room and walk up behind me. A fragile, trembling hand, touched my shoulder, and then came a voice, “Debra, are you all right?”
Slowly I turned and reached for him. He started to cough.
“I’ll be all right, Daddy,” replied Debra. “I believe your breathing and coughing is getting worse.”
As the tears welled up in his eyes, his chin quivered, and as his cough left he replied, “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Daddy,” I said. “She’ll always be with us.”
Then he took his trembling hand and lightly stroked my hair. Tears dripped from his face and he said, “Debra, I see her so much in you.”
I slowly took him in my arms and hugged him. “Everything will be all right, Daddy,” I assured him.
There was a knock at the front door.
“Who could that be?” asked Daddy.
I peeped out the window. It was Bessie Mae. Daddy opened the door.
“Is Deb up, Mr. Jenkins?” she asked.
“She sure is,” replied Dad as he gave her a hug. “Come on in.”
As I stepped out into Bessie’s view we ran to each other and held each other tight.
“I love you, Bessie Mae,” I said.
“I love you, too, Deb,” she replied. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Shirley Ann.”
“Thanks, Bessie. What about you, girl? It’s been a long time now. What have you been up to and how’s Billy Joe?”
“He’s fine,” she said.
“Why, girl,” I said. “I haven’t seen you since you and Billy Joe tied the knot and that was over a year ago.”
“After we left Slick Pig, Billy got a job offer in Coates Station in northern Georgia. It’s about fifty miles south of Chattanooga,” she replied. “He works in a mill where they make carpet.”
“What about you?” asked Bessie Mae. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you earlier.”
“It was pouring down rain,” I replied. “Bessie, I’ve got something to tell you.” I took her hand in mine and we squeezed them tight. “I am going to Nashville to write songs.”
“That’s great!” cried Bessie. “That’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“I believe Mama would have wanted it that way,” I said.
“I believe,” she replied. “I know she would. That was her dream for you, girl.”
“As soon as I get Daddy situated and some other things taken care of, I’m heading that way with Bonnie Mae.”
“Speaking of Bonnie, where is she?” asked Bessie.
“She’s still asleep,” I replied.
“I didn’t get a chance to see her much except in the car,” she said.
“She’s really growing. She’s going to take after you,” I replied. “I did name her after you.”
About that time Daddy came in with some coffee.
“Here you go girls,” he said. “Like old times.”
“Are you okay, Daddy?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he replied, “just a little weak.”
We sat and enjoyed our coffee and began to reminisce of things lost through years past. Bessie Mae lived down the creek from us. We spent many long summers wading up and down the long and winding creek, playing along its bank with giant sycamore trees. There were many times we slipped on the slick rock bottom and busted our butts. Mama would always fuss at us to stay out of the creek. When the creek was low, we played with our dolls and rode our bikes on every dirt road around.
“Remember, Bessie,” I recalled, “we’d take a piece of cardboard and stick it between the spokes of the bicycle wheels with a clothespin to make racket.”
“We’d pick wildflowers in the woods,” she laughed, “and fish in the creek. Those were the days.”
We both laughed.
“Oh, I’ll never forget your mama’s chocolate and biscuits,” I said, “or that time we got lost in the woods and when it got dark your dad and mine came looking for us with a flashlight and hound dogs.”
“I remember that,” replied Bessie. “I want you to know when I got home that night, he wore me out with a switch.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Deb, do you remember that summer your mama was going to kill an old rooster for Sunday dinner? She finally caught him and handed him to you to snap his neck, and the more you pulled and tugged the longer his neck would stretch. You were crying, “Take him, take him, Mama!” She laughed at you. Then you let it go and Mama chased him down again and rung his neck.”
“I remember,” I said, “but he did make a good dinner, didn’t he?”
“A fine one at that,” agreed Bessie.
“What was that your Aunt Carrie used to call sweet potatoes?” I asked.
“Oh, what was that?” wondered Bessie.
“Oh, yes, she always called them music roots.”
“Yeah,” spoke up Daddy. “They always gave you gas. You girls had a song you made up for it. What was that called?”
I looked at Bessie Mae, she looked at me. We both belled it out together, “The Sweet Potato Rag!” Then we all laughed.
Those days were special and would stay with us the rest of our lives. Growing up didn’t seem so bad. It was when I grew up, that was my biggest problem. Bessie was my maid of honor and I was hers. We didn’t know how much our lives would change when we said I do and got married. Who could have told me, a seventeen-year-old girl, that 1951 would be the beginning of turning my world upside down. It was a bad time. I was a foolish teenager, and a good-looking, sweet-talking boy swept me off my feet. If I could have seen then what I see now, this girl would have run like hell. I was a teeny bopper with long wavy black hair, a small birthmark on my bottom lip, and a song for the world. He was Jimmy Ray, my dreamboat, my knight in shining armor.
“Do you remember, Bessie, my first date with Jimmy?” I asked her.
“Do I! I’ll never forget it. We double dated that night. Willie B. and I sat in the car as he stole that kiss when you were up on the porch. Your mama cut the porch light on and off. I remember it was time to go in.”
“Speaking of Jimmy Ray and Willie,” spoke up Dad wheezing. “What about that night Bessie spent the night, and you two girls snuck out of the house to see them and drove over to the bonfire at Hunter Point, nearly twelve miles away?”
“Yes, we do remember,” we both said. “Mama met us at the door at two o’clock in the morning. I never heard the last of that. The county fair, fall festival, hayrides and barn dances were a lot of fun. I guess I could say it wasn’t all bad.”
“Do you girls want some more coffee?” Dad asked.
“No, not for me,” replied Bessie. “I’ve got to be going in a few minutes.”
“No, for me,” I said. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I believe I’m going for a little walk and let you girls get caught up on old times.”
“Bye, Mr. Jenkins,” said Bessie Mae.
“Bye, Bessie Mae,” he replied. “It was good to see you again, and the next time don’t stay gone so long.”
“Okay, I’ll try not to,” she said.
“You know, Bessie, I don’t know what really happened with Jimmy Ray and me. After we had been married a little over a year, he started drinking more and staying out late, living at the Highway 10-Bar,” I said. “Sometimes he didn’t even come home. It’s been rough, girl.”
“I know,” said Bessie, “but it’s all over with now, you’re divorced, he’s gone, and he can’t hurt you anymore. Your mama talked to me many times about the way he treated you. The verbal abuse, the cuts and bruises, the black-eyes. How much is a woman supposed to take?”
“He’d come in drunk late at night. I always knew right before he would start to hit me. He would have a little faint chuckle that ended with a light exhale. He would pull me around by the hair and slap me in the mouth. I don’t know, Bessie, how I took it for three years.”
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“I know, girl,” she replied. “I was there with you.”
“I love you, Bessie,” I said. “If it wasn’t for you, I never would have gotten out. I’m so thankful Billy Joe is not like that.”
“Hey, girl,” she said, “remember that time Jimmy Ray came home drunk, cussing and raising Cain, and we had to hide the butcher knives? You were fed up with it, and when he passed out on the bed, we wrapped him up in a sheet, took a needle and fishing line and sewed him up in it. Then we took a broom and mop handle and whipped the daylights out of him. The next day when he woke up he was covered with black and blue bruises. He couldn’t figure out what had happened unless he had gotten into a fight. He still hasn’t figured it out today.”
“Yes, I remember that,” I cried. “He stayed humble for about two weeks. Then he went at it again. What about that time when we caught him and another girl parking up on Baker’s Hill?”
“Yeah, girl,” replied Bessie. “That was when you grabbed her out of his car by the hair, and ya’ll fell to the ground rolling, scratching, knocking and pulling hair. You never saw that heifer around here again. She left with a couple of teeth missing. That’s my girl!” yelled Bessie. “Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Deb! Do you remember that night when he went swimming down by the creek, and we snuck down there and stole his clothes and car keys and ran back home and called the law on him? By the time the law got there he was walking home naked and drunker than a clown. They arrested him for indecent exposure and public drunkenness and took him to jail.”
“Yeah, I remember,” said Bessie.
“Those are but a few times I got even compared to several years of abuse. When he gets real drunk and passes out, he doesn’t remember anything. He thought he had misplaced his clothes and keys,” replied Deb.
“Why did you stay, Deb?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I loved him. He had a problem he couldn’t help. Mostly I guess I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” replied Bessie.
“I don’t know, maybe being alone. After Bonnie was born, I thought he would change and settle down, but he didn’t. It made things worse. He started in on her. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Well you’re out of it now, Debbie, and you can move on with your life,” she said. “There’s one thing about it, we whipped him a few times.”
“Mama and Daddy stuck with me through it all.”
“I know,” said Bessie. “I don’t know what you would have done without them.”
“They tried to get me to leave him several times, but I wouldn’t listen. Now Mama’s gone and Daddy has emphysema.”
“What was the turning point?” asked Bessie.
“I was already fed up, the love was gone and the hatred was growing fast,” replied Deb. “Bessie,” I answered very boldly. “I came home from work one evening and he was drunk. Do you know what that crazy thing was doing?”
“No,” she answered.
“He had found my collection of songs I had written,” cried Debra. “Can you believe he was wadding them up and throwing them into the fire? I ran over to him and jerked the box out of his hand. As I started to leave, he grabbed me by my legs, knocking them out from under me. We fought for our lives. I spent two weeks in the hospital where I finally got some help. He spent sixty days in jail for assault and battery and domestic violence. From there, I filed for divorce.”
About that time, a wee voice warmed the room.
“Mama,” said Bonnie Mae.
“Here, baby. I’m in here,” I answered. “Come here and see who’s here.”
She slowly rubbed her eyes and quickly looked up, “Its Bessie!” she cried.
“Come here, Bonnie, and see me. I didn’t get to see you much yesterday.” Bessie reached over and picked her up. “Oh, you’re getting to be a big girl.”
Then Bonnie hugged her neck and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you going to stay?” asked Bonnie.
“No,” Bessie replied, “not this time, but I’ll be back soon and guess what.”
“What?” said Bonnie.
“You, your mama, and I are going to wade up the creek like we used to do when we were little girls.”
“Oh, boy,” cried Bonnie. “Can we? Can we Mama?”
“I suppose so,” I said. “When Bessie Mae comes back.”
“Oh, boy, thank you Mama,” replied Bonnie.
“Well, Deb, I need to be going,” she said. “I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”
Making our way to the door, I warned her to be careful, and if she ever needed me to let me know. About that time Daddy stepped up onto the porch.
“Are you leaving us,” he said, “or trying to sneak out on me before I got back?”
“You know me better than that, Mr. Jenkins,” replied Bessie.
“I know you and Debra better than you think,” he laughed.
“Oh, hush, Daddy, we’re young women now,” I replied. “Our days of slipping out are far behind us. I’ll see you, Daddy, give me a hug.”
“Call me if you need me,” said Bessie.
“Bye! Keep in touch.”
We waved until the car disappeared out of sight.
“Mama, can I have some cereal?” asked Bonnie.
“I’ll get you some,” replied Daddy. “Come on with me.
They vanished into the kitchen, and I began to wander about the house, thinking about Mama and Bessie Mae. I noticed how Mama had things tidy, her pictures, what-knots, even her furniture. It’s funny; I hadn’t looked at it this way before. It was her; it was Mama and her touch. I could see it all through the house. Then I made my way through the kitchen to the back porch. Daddy was eating a bite with Bonnie. I slowly opened the screen door and stepped outside.
There was an old pie safe sitting up against the wall, a wooden table with a granite metal top with two buckets of water and a granite dipper in a washbowl. Outside on the ground was an old rubber tire cut in two where Mama watered the chickens.
The backyard was filled with oak, hickory and some maple trees among a few scattered buildings and an outhouse on the other end. It was so quiet and peaceful in the evenings. On Sundays after church, Daddy and his two brothers Jim and Henry and their families would all come over and play music and sing. Mama always fixed a big dinner outdoors for everybody. The sounds of guitars, banjos and fiddles really stirred things up in the hollow. When the wind carried that sound up the creek, Bessie would come as soon as she heard it. Jim and Henry never had a desire to do anything with their music. We were country folks. Playing at the barn dances, picnics and benefits kept them happy. But even then, I wanted more. I always loved music and wanted to do something with it.
“It’s going to be different around here,” said Daddy as he walked up behind me. “I’m going to miss her.” Tears filled his eyes and he began to shake and tremble as I took him back in and sat him down.
“I know, Daddy,” I said while starting to cry. “We both will.”
“What am I going to do?” he said with a shortness of breath.
“I’m going to work things out for you,” I replied. “You’re going to be taken care of. I’ll see to that. Why don’t you go lay down, Daddy, and rest a while? Your walk may have worn you out.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Mama, I finished,” said Bonnie.
“Okay,” I replied. “Let me get Daddy into his room.”
When Daddy carefully stretched out on the bed, he was off to sleep. I went over to the window to look out. My hands were trembling, and my legs felt weak. I ran my hands down my face. “Lord, please help me,” I said softly. “Everything is so up in the air. I don’t know what to do. Please help us.” Then I dropped my head into my hands. Shortly, I began to hear a voice calling my name.
“Debra, Debra, look out the window.”
Quickly, I raised my head to see. I saw Mama.
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�Mama, Mama, is that you?”
“Yes, Debra,” she replied. “It’s Mama. Things are going to be all right.”
“They are, Mama?” I cried.
Then she was gone.
“Mama, who are you talking to?” asked Bonnie.
I looked out again, but she was not there. It must have been all the stress or the pressure of everything, or maybe it was closure.
“Come on, Bonnie, let’s go in here and let Daddy sleep.”
In a few weeks, the time had come for me to leave.
Slowly, I turned, stopped and looked back at Daddy. I assured him, with no doubt, things were going to be all right.
Within the next two weeks, I had made arrangements to get help for Daddy. When I left, a nurse would be coming by three times a week and I had someone to stay with him at night. I also took care of some other business, about moving to Nashville.
By the end of the month, Bonnie and I were on our way. We boxed our belongings and packed my ’56 Ford Fairlane to the top. I had some money saved up, enough to get a new start, plus Mama and Daddy had also saved me up a nest egg. On our way there, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was going to be. Aunt Betty Jean, Mama’s sister, agreed to let us stay with her until we got on our feet. After several hours of driving, I finally entered the outskirts of Nashville.
“Look, Mama, at the airplane!” cried Bonnie. “Look how big it is.”
I quickly glanced up; it was so low you could almost touch it. It was followed by a loud roaring sound. Bonnie and I were amazed at the city once we got downtown. Shortly, I began to call out street names—Church, Demonbreun, 2nd Avenue, and Broadway. I got so carried away that I missed my turn and had to go back. I turned on Charlotte and got back on course and headed for Betty Jean’s house on Roosevelt Circle. When we arrived, she met us at the door. We went in and sat a spell, playing catch up, and sat down to a home cooked meal. She was always a good cook like Mama. Afterward, I started unloading the car.
The next day was more exciting than the day before. Bonnie and I went sightseeing. We saw Union Station, the Ryman Auditorium, the wax museum of the country stars, Country Music Hall of Fame and Music Row. We stopped at some of the record shops and I bought some 45’s. I saw some lounges along Printer’s Alley, Tootsies and the Blue Diamond. “This is it,” I said to myself. “This is the place for me and my music.”
I couldn’t wait to get started pitching songs. The next day began with a new task, to get started job hunting. I had looked in the paper for some jobs and Betty Jean’s friends told me about some others. I began looking that day, but by the end of the second week, I still hadn’t found anything. At night, I would sit down and write, trying to get back into the country beat. I had a box of songs, what was left of them, Mama and I had written through the years. It was a few days later that I received a call for a job interview for a waitress at a diner. I got the job. I worked the next six weeks and got another offer for more money at another waitress job. I took it and moved out, but not far from Aunt Betty Jean’s. She kept Bonnie for me during the day. The times I wasn’t working or writing, I spent missing Mom, Dad and Bessie Mae.
I didn’t have much time to pitch many songs and I got little or no response. Music Row was covered with recording studios, Hilltop Records, Star Studio and Song Tunes to name a few. There was a restaurant called Wagon Trail Steak House next to Hilltop Records. I tried to hang out there a lot. There were record producers, stars, and recording people eating there all the time. I didn’t have any luck there either. But I loved Nashville. There was something about it that stirred your insides.
There was no telling how many songs a day were written in Music City.
The phone rang; it was Daddy. He was breathing heavy, and still coughing. We talked a few minutes before he told me why he had called. My eyes filled with tears as a big lump hung in my throat. He told me Bessie Mae’s husband had been abusing her ever since they had been married. This time he had put her in the hospital. That’s how he had found out. Tears ran down my face; I couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t she tell me? After Daddy hung up, I tried to call her, but there was no answer. I tried for several days. I even called Daddy back later to see if he could reach her; he couldn’t. There was no answer. Maybe she’ll call me, I thought. Daddy had tried to get in touch with her family, but they had either died or moved away. She had an uncle who lived back up in the hollow, but he didn’t know where to begin to look for her.
I hurt for her. I knew what she was going through. I never thought Billy Joe would ever do anything like that. He seemed so crazy about her. They seemed so happy. I said a prayer for her everyday and hoped she would call me.
As time passed, I started a second job as a part-time waitress at the Hidden Way Inn. There I hustled tables, living on tips to help make ends meet. The extra money tide us over when work was slow at my other job. If it wasn’t for Aunt Betty Jean’s help with Bonnie, I don’t know what I would have done. Work and sleep seemed to be all my life had become. I still tried to pitch a few songs around, but never had any luck.
Then one night when I got home from work, I found my apartment had been broken into. I immediately called the police. In no time they were there. They asked me to look about and see if I could see anything missing. They talked to me about the break in, if I had any idea who may have done it—husband, boyfriend, a stranger mysteriously hanging around. I told them I didn’t know, that I had only been in Nashville for three months. They did their routine investigation and left. I began to study for a few minutes, but I couldn’t find anything missing.
What were they looking for and why? None of the neighbors had seen or heard anything. It had been a long rough week, and my brain was tired. The landlord changed the lock on the door the next day and added a deadbolt lock. It would be a whole lot harder to get in the next time, but I prayed there would not be a next time.
Everything went on as usual for the next few weeks when one day the police dropped by the restaurant. They were able to lift some prints from my apartment and asked me if I knew a Jimmy Ray Warner.
“Yeah, I know him,” I said. “He’s my ex-husband. Is he the one that broke into my apartment?”
“Yes ma’am, it seems so,” they replied. “Do you have any idea where we can find him?”
“The last time I saw him, he was in East Tennessee. I didn’t know he was in Nashville. How did he find me?”
“There’s an APB out on him,” said one of the officers. “If he is in Metro we’ll find him.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
I became afraid. Why was he here and what did he want? I began to watch myself more carefully. I knew if he ever got his hands on me again, he’d kill me. I called Aunt Betty Jean and told her what I had found out. She insisted that we stay with her until he was caught. I agreed with her and sighed with relief. A week had gone by and we hadn’t heard anything until late one evening. The detectives came back by the restaurant and told me they had caught him. They assured me that I wasn’t going to have to worry about him for a while. He was caught breaking into a convenience store market, and had violated his probation. It looked like he would have a little stay at Cockrill Bend State Prison when the judge got through with him. What a relief. I was so glad to find out.
I called Aunt Betty Jean and told her. Now I could move back into my apartment. But I still wondered what he was looking for. I still hadn’t heard from Bessie Mae, and Dad hadn’t either. It was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Things did open up for me, though, with the help of my second job. I worked a lot of four top stations (a table and four chairs) on the floor some, six tops (a table and six chairs), and some deuces (a table and two chairs). Between running food, clearing food from cook’s window, and bussing tables, I stayed busy. Whenever a table was not going down (setting the table), I rolled silver in napkins.
You will always have your slackers and half-steppers, the lazy ones who halfway did their work. Also, too, with the shouting from the bosses to get the food out hot, the kitchen yelling orders, dishes crashing, phones ringing, and lots of yelling from everyone, it was a typical waitress job.
I got to do a little more writing and pitching songs. I had talked to some record producers and some stars I had run into at the Wagon Trail. They all said about the same thing—not what we’re looking for. I joined a songwriter’s class at one of the local colleges. They were helpful, but I learned it was a whole lot harder to break into the business than I had thought.
Then about a year later, I was at work one day at the restaurant, taking a smoke break, when a song came across the radio. I listened and thought to myself; that sounds like one of my songs. I listened closer, and then I screamed out. You could hear me out on the floor. Suddenly I stopped. I had never pitched that song before. The title and some of the words were changed, but it was my song. Then the DJ came on bragging about this new group with the song that was quickly climbing the charts.
“Damn!” I yelled as I slapped the top of the table. “How did they get my song?” Then it dawned on me—Jimmy Ray. That’s what he was doing in my house. That’s why I couldn’t find anything missing. I never thought to look in my song box. But what could I do? Those songs in the box were not copyrighted, and I didn’t know how many he took. I was about to go through the ceiling, but what could I do? I couldn’t prove it was mine. It would be my word against theirs. Jimmy Ray would never own up to it.
Just my luck, damn it. I write and pitch songs out all over Nashville and when one gets recorded I can’t prove it is mine. But my song stayed on the top ten fn the country charts for three weeks. Praise the Lord. That made me want to try that much harder. And Jimmy-Ray got three to five in prison. A-men. That song may have cost him more than he wanted to pay.
There were many times I wanted to quit and throw in the towel, pack my bags and head back to East Tennessee. The love to write and the melody of a song in my heart pressed me on. I was in it all the way till death took me out. I wrote more, I demanded more out of my work. But my cheerful, high spirits were trampled in defeat when I got a phone call from Daddy.
Bessie Mae was dead. When he first told me my legs nearly buckled out from under me. I started screaming, “Oh, God, oh, my God. No, please, no, my God.” I broke down crying.
I could hear Daddy quietly on the phone saying, “Debra, Debra.”
I tried to pull myself together. I didn’t want to lose Daddy, too. “I’m all right,” I replied as I held back the hurt. I sat there and listened as the tears poured and my heart raced. “What happened, Daddy?” I asked.
“Billy Joe shot her while she was sleeping.”
I gasped for air as my lungs fell weak. All that I could do was stare in silence. I could see her face as a little girl, her dark eyes sparkling, her smile so innocent, and her pigtails accenting her face in a way that it was only her. I told Daddy that I would be home for the funeral. From then on, I was in a daze.
I had some time saved up, and I took off to East Tennessee. It was good to see Daddy again and the old home place. I couldn’t help but look back and think of Bessie Mae and me running up and down hollows. It was still a shock. I couldn’t believe it was true.
They brought Bessie back to East Tennessee for the viewing of the body and the funeral. I spent a lot of time with Daddy; I could tell he had gone down a lot. We visited Bessie’s uncle who lived down the creek from us. He saw to it that she was put away properly. Most of her family had moved away. Some of them came back, and there were other families and friends about the community who came and helped. Her Mom and Dad were already gone. She was to lay at rest next to them.
It was a beautiful funeral. Bessie would have loved it. The soulful songs and the swing of the music stirred your heart. The harmony laid a peace on your heart. As they carried her body from the church to the cemetery, they paraded with song until the last drop of dirt lay at rest upon her grave. I stood by her casket, as I had stood by Mama’s, in silence.
“Bessie, we will meet again,” I slowly whispered.
Afterward, I returned to Nashville. It was hard to get over her death. With the help of my two jobs, I could get away for a moment, but not for long.
The year was 1964. I was still working at the Hidden Way Inn part-time. Shortly into the shift, I was waiting tables in the dining room. It was pretty crowded. The lunch crowd seemed to be up that day. I was wore out, tired from my other job. Four o’clock came early, and I stayed until at least 9:00. I had one six top that day with two four tops and a deuce. Everything seemed to be going well. I was taking orders coming and going, busing tables and welcoming new customers. At the deuce table sat a young man, nice looking, clean cut, and sort of an executive type. I took his order and served him. He was nice and polite. When I gave him the check, I noticed him get up and head to the cashier. Then he disappeared down the hall. As I went over to bus the table, I noticed fourteen shiny new pennies left laying on the table for a tip. I thought I would go through the ceiling.
“Hey, girl,” I said to another waitress. “Can you believe this jerk?”
She shook her head. I reached down and grabbed up those fourteen shiny new pennies and took off down the hall. I caught up with him waiting for the elevator. As I approached him, he turned and faced me.
“Here, you take this. You need it a whole lot worse than I do,” I cried.
I threw the pennies at him; he looked at me and his mouth dropped open. The others standing around laughed, and I turned and walked off with my head thrown back. I can’t believe that jerk, I thought. When I got back to the dining room, the other girls cheered me on.
“Go Debbie, Go!,” they cheered.
Well, that shot the rest of the night. But they say a good thing comes from a bad thing. About three months later, I wrote a song entitled Fourteen Shiny New Pennies. It turned out to be one of my better songs. I felt good about it and started pitching it. Weeks passed and not a day went by that I didn’t pitch the song.
Life went on as usual, working, trying to make ends meet. Bonnie was slowly growing up. I bought a 1960 Chevy Impala. Things were good, better than it was when I first arrived in Nashville. Jimmy Ray was still in prison.
Then one day it happened. It all began to come together. The hard work and determination began to pay off. It was in the spring of ’65 that I received a call from Hilltop Records. They informed me that they were interested in recording my song Fourteen Shiny New Pennies. They wanted me to come in and talk to them. I had waited for years to hear someone tell me that, and I wondered what I would do if they did. I was at a loss for words. It took my breath away for the first few minutes, and when I hung up the phone, I almost wet my pants. I grabbed Bonnie and waltzed with her about the room, laughing and crying, twirling her around. My first real break … thank you, Lord, bless you.
The next day, I went over to Hilltop to talk to them and sign some papers. As I pulled up in front of the building, I could barely breathe. It was huge, with a lot of people coming in and out. I didn’t know what to say. I hoped I looked good. I looked in my mirror and picked at my hair. I ran a dab of fresh lipstick over my lips and hurried to the door. I made my way up to the third floor and nervously raced down the hall, looking for suite 3120. I straightened my clothes, touched my hair, reached for the doorknob and stepped in. I told the secretary why I was there. She told me to take a seat. Those few moments seemed like forever. Then finally she told me I could go in.
“Come in, Mrs. Warren,” said the man behind the desk. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“My name is Paul Owens and I believe we want to record one of your songs,” said Mr. Owens. “But before we get into that, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
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bsp; I slowly looked around, and entering from another door was a young man who seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. As the young man walked up to me, Mr. Owens introduced him.
“This is my son, Dennis Owens.”
I shook his hand and told him I was glad to meet him. I carefully looked him over, and it struck me where I had seen him before.
“Yes,” he replied as he read the expression on my face. “I’m the jerk that left the fourteen shiny new pennies.”
“Oh, my God,” I cried. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized.
“Oh, there’s no need to apologize,” said Mr. Owens. “Dennis filled me in and I think you were right.”
Then we all broke out laughing. Dennis apologized for it, I accepted, and we moved on to business.
Mr. Owens seemed to have high hopes for the song. I was really impressed with the professional handling and marketing of it. They had an upcoming artist that they wanted to record the song. It would be a great opportunity for us both.
On the way home, I still couldn’t believe it. I thought how proud Mama and Bessie Mae would have been. As soon as I got home, I called Daddy and told him. He was so glad.
“Debra, you deserve it,” he said. “I’m glad it worked out.”
Daddy didn’t talk long. He was in the last stages of emphysema.
A couple days later the phone rang. It was Dennis at Hilltop Records. I couldn’t believe it. He asked me out for lunch. From then on, Dennis and I started seeing each other. He was a lot of fun. We hit it off; Bonnie loved him. They were still in the process of recording the song. It would be released on a single in about three more months. I was beginning to wonder which meant the most to me—the recording of my song or meeting Dennis.
For the next few months, my world was on hold. I stopped writing, quit my waitressing job, and lived each day as if it were my last. I had seen people who looked so happy before, and I often wondered how it would be. Now I knew. We had even talked about marriage, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.
Then one day, suddenly, I started bleeding really bad. I made my way over to the commode and sat down. Luckily, in a few minutes, Aunt Betty Jean came by to pick up Bonnie. When she found me, she helped me up and took me to bed and raised my legs with pillows to keep me from bleeding to death. Bonnie was crying; there was blood everywhere. Quickly, Betty Jean placed a towel under me and called the ambulance. They rushed me to the hospital and stopped the bleeding. Bonnie stayed with Aunt Betty Jean. After running a series of tests, the doctor came in and told me what he had found. It was cervical cancer. My eyes filled with tears as I quickly looked away.
He continued, “There’s nothing else we can do. It has spread too far.”
I burst into tears, “Why, God, why now?”
The only hope we have,” continued the doctor, “is chemo treatments. That may give us some more time.”
He left the room; I had never felt so lost and helpless. I wished Mama and Daddy were here, but they weren’t. Why now, when everything in my life was so good for a change. I didn’t understand. About then, Dennis, Betty Jean, and Bonnie came in. They hugged me and cried. The doctor had talked to them also. Bonnie was a big girl. She understood I was really sick. Dennis held me tight. I had never been held that tight before. As we all cried for a moment, I rose up and addressed them all.
“It’s not over with yet. We have some time ahead, and we’re going to make the best of it one day at a time.”
I told Aunt Betty Jean not to say anything to Daddy. He was dealing with enough already.
It wasn’t long until they started my first treatment, and at the same time, my song hit the top twenties. It was catching on all across the country. Time passed with more treatment, and more DJ’s spinning my song. I had to be strong for Bonnie’s sake, even though I had nearly given up. I was frail, fragile, and afraid inside, not knowing when it would be over.
Dennis took it hard. He was afraid, too; you could see it in his face. His worried eyes showed he was carrying a heavy burden.
It had been almost a year since I found out about the cancer when the ambulance came to take me to the hospital. They didn’t have to tell me; I knew it was a matter of time now. Dennis, Aunt Betty Jean and Bonnie were there. Bonnie was going to stay with Aunt Betty until Dennis got papers to adopt her. She was as crazy about him as he was about her.
Dennis took my box of songs. He had looked at them and was very impressed. He talked to his dad about the possibility of an album. Daddy never knew. Aunt Betty Jean would talk to him later. Then suddenly, I started to hear the most beautiful music I had ever heard.
“Shhh,” I said. “Listen, do you hear it?”