The lawyer from Central Songs, which was my music publishing company, called me and asked me some questions. He said, “Have you ever heard the song ‘Wake the Town and Tell the People?’
“Of course!” I said. “It was a big hit. Everybody heard it.”
“Well, we can’t let this go to trial,” he said when we finished. I asked why not and he explained, “Because we’d have to put you on the stand and you’re too honest. You can’t get up there and admit you ripped off that melody from another song!”
“Aren’t you supposed to be honest when you’re on the stand?” I said. It was an unintentional mistake, and I wasn’t about to lie about it to cover my tracks. In the end, we reached an agreement with the other publisher so that they received the royalties on “Right or Wrong” for a period of ten years.
“In the Middle of a Heartache” was released soon after “Right or Wrong,” and climbed to number 6 on the country chart and number 27 on the pop rankings. Some songs come to you in the shower. Some songs come to you in a dream. This is a song that came to me in a different way—in the mail! I would often have people send me things hoping I might record some of their material. One day I got a package of sheet music. I preferred to hear a demo recording rather than have to go pick out the melody at the piano, so I just glanced through the titles. Nothing really struck me. I left them in a stack for Daddy with a note asking him to mail them back to the sender. The next day Daddy came in and said, “I was just about to send these songs back, but I saw this one called ‘In the Middle of a Heartache.’ That’s an interesting title. Let’s go to the piano and see what it sounds like.” I did and we were both struck by how pretty the melody was.
I played the song for Hank Thompson the next time I saw him. He said, “That’s a really great idea, but it needs to be stronger and have a tighter structure.” Hank and Billy Gray went off and started straightening it out and then brought me in to hear what they’d done. The three of us finished it together. That was the first time I’d ever tried to write a song with anyone before, but it worked out pretty well for us.
I had originally recorded “In the Middle of a Heartache” in January of 1960 at the session after we’d decided to focus on country music. Gordon Terry played fiddle, and it was just a down home country record. Capitol hadn’t had a chance to release it before “Let’s Have a Party” became a hit and we switched our focus to crossing over to pop success. At that point, they didn’t feel like it fit our ever-shifting direction. Ken and I both knew it was a good song, so he wanted to try an alternate arrangement in the new country-pop style.
“In the Middle of a Heartache” began crawling up the pop chart in October, a month before it hit the country chart. I’m thrilled that it got up to number six in the country rankings, but I think it might have actually gotten all the way to number one had we not made a miscalculation with the follow-up single. At the same time we recorded “Heartache,” I also cut “A Little Bitty Tear.” The song was written by Hank Cochran, who is best known for classic songs like Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces” and Ray Price’s “Make the World Go Away.” The idea was that “A Little Bitty Tear” would be the follow-up single after “In the Middle of a Heartache.” There was a pretty competitive environment in Nashville in those days in terms of getting the best songs from the best writers. I was assured that “A Little Bitty Tear” was reserved for me and nobody else had recorded it.
Apparently, that wasn’t really the case. “In the Middle of a Heartache” was still climbing up the charts when I started hearing “A Little Bitty Tear” on the radio. Burl Ives had recorded it, so we rushed out our version to try to get the hit. It turned out not to be the right move. “Heartache” had not really run its course yet, but I was suddenly sending the signal to the deejays to play a different Wanda Jackson record. Not surprisingly, Burl wound up with a Top 10 country and pop hit with “A Little Bitty Tear,” even though I think I had a better version. My record only reached the lower end of the pop charts with just enough airplay to kill “In the Middle of a Heartache” before it could get to the top. I thought, Oh no. I fell through the cracks once again. Whether it was missing out on the hit version of “Silver Threads and Golden Needles” or putting my focus on country when I should have been doing rock, or vice versa, it seemed like I was always falling through the cracks. But I always crawled back out and kept going. I had plenty of successes, but they were all hard won.
It was almost as if nothing could come easily for me. Even though 1961 was a fantastic year for me professionally, I ran into a completely unexpected and unpleasant experience that fall. I was scheduled to begin a new run of shows at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas with The Party Timers. We did a series of one-nighters across Texas and Arizona on the way out, and finished our last Arizona show on a Sunday night. It was “that time of the month” and I was having a rough go of it. The cramping was going on and on, and I was just miserable. I remember barely being able to stand up straight enough to sing at that Sunday night show. It was a real struggle just to get through it.
We weren’t scheduled to start at the Nugget until Thursday, but Capitol Records wanted me in Los Angeles for some promotional activities during the first half of the week. Because I was feeling so terrible, Daddy decided I should fly to California while he drove the car from Arizona to meet up with me later. That way, I could get there quickly and have some time to rest. Of course, that’s back when you could just show up at an airport, buy a ticket, get on a plane and go! The band, meanwhile, headed on to Las Vegas to get themselves into trouble for a couple of days.
When I arrived in Los Angeles I checked into the Hollywood Plaza Hotel, which is where I always stayed when I was in town recording. It was very close to the Capitol Tower and was a favorite spot for Tinseltown royalty. Bette Davis lived there at one point, and George Burns once had an office on the top floor. Even Marilyn Monroe stayed there from time to time, so I usually felt pretty glamorous when I checked in.
This particular day, however, I felt anything but glamorous. I went up to my room, practically doubled over in pain. I had never had cramps that bad before. Most hotels used to have doctors on call, so I phoned down to the desk, and they got in touch with the hotel doctor for me. They had to track him down at a party, but he called my room and I told him my symptoms. “It sounds like it’s probably just gas or something,” he said. “Have the bellboy go get you some milk of magnesia, take a couple of aspirin, and call me again tomorrow to let me know how you’re doing.”
By that time I was really wishing Mother was there. I wanted to be at home in my own bed where I could talk to my own doctor. I called the front desk and asked them if they could send someone to the drugstore. The kid they sent came up to my room with a small bottle of milk of magnesia. I thanked him, but shut the door and rolled my eyes. I was thinking, This is not going to be enough. I was disgusted that he didn’t really get me what I needed, but was too embarrassed and in too much pain to raise a stink about it. I drank that whole bottle and got back in the bed. I felt bad all night, but finally drifted off to sleep.
I awoke suddenly the next morning absolutely doubled over. I was hurting so bad I couldn’t even get dressed. Daddy was somewhere out on the road and I didn’t know what to do. I called Ken Nelson at Capitol, and he sent someone over to take me to a hospital. When we got there the doctor assessed my symptoms and told me my appendix was about to burst. I told him about the milk of magnesia and he said, “Wanda, you’re lucky just to be here. That’s the worst thing you can do for appendicitis. If you had had more of it that appendix could have ruptured and filled your system with poison.” Suddenly, I was no longer annoyed at the bellboy for bringing the small size!
I had never had surgery in my life, but the doctor scheduled the emergency operation right away. Eventually someone was able to contact Daddy. He called Mother and she got on a plane immediately. In fact, she even got to Los Angeles before Daddy did.
The doctor made it clear that I wou
ld be recuperating for a good while, so the Vegas dates were out of the question. With two days until show time, Daddy had to scramble to find another singer to front the band so we could keep our commitment. He recruited Vickie Sallee, an Oklahoma girl who later released a single on the Reprise label. Kudos to her for getting to Vegas, rehearsing with the band, and being ready to go at a moment’s notice!
Somebody can have major surgery today, and they’ll boot you out of the hospital before the sun sets. In the 1950s, though, they were very protective. I was probably in the hospital for seven days. By the time I was released, I was still in a lot of pain and not ready for the discomfort of a long cross-country car ride. God bless Ken Nelson, who came to my rescue. He owned a house in Sherman Oaks, but he and his wife, June, lived in a different area. The Nelsons were kind enough to let me, Mother, and Daddy stay for a few days in Sherman Oaks. That was such a big help because it allowed us to take our time and afford to stay in town for a little bit without having to pay for hotel rooms and other expenses.
I might have been unlucky in medical emergencies and knowing the right time to release a new single, but 1961 was still a great year. In fact, it turned out to be the year I got very lucky in love.
Mother, Daddy, and me in Los Angeles, 1943
Back in Oklahoma in my “cowgirl” days
A budding local radio star appearing as a guest on Wiley & Gene’s show
My first public performance with Hank Thompson at the Trianon Ballroom
Performing on my daily KLPR radio show, 1954
Learning new songs in my parents’ living room
With my first boyfriend, Leonard Sipes
My first professional publicity photo, 1952
My first Nudie suit, with then boyfriend A.G. Lane
An afternoon rehearsal with Merl Lindsay and band
Oklahoma cowgirl all the way!
Decca promo photo with Billy Gray, 1954
I am where I am today thanks to Hank Thompson!
Billy, me, and Hank on one of my earliest tours with Hank and his band
My senior prom dress that I designed and Mother sewed
Me and Mother by my first car, a Pontiac. I paid cash!
With Mother’s help I embraced a more glamorous image for the stage. The photo on the right is a fan favorite, but it’s always bothered me that two rhinestones are missing on the dress. See if you can spot ‘em!
Visiting an Arkansas radio station
A photo I took of Elvis on his pink Cadillac
Daddy, at the end of a long tour
Daddy eventually grew to like Elvis a lot
Rock and roll attitude and plenty of exposed shoulders! Bottom right is onstage at the Terrace Ballroom in Newark, New Jersey, November 10, 1957.
With Daddy and Little Jimmy Dickens, 1956
With Gene Vincent at a DJ Convention in Nashville
Backstage with Ricky Nelson, 1958
With Porter Wagoner at the Ozark Jubilee
Norma Jean (upper left) and I loved to take “pin-up” style photos in the mid to late ’50s.
Rehearsal for a Japanese TV show, 1959
Japan is the only place I ever felt tall!
The 1960s were a time of transition when I honed my style and worked with some fantastic musicians, such as Roy Clark, who fronted my band (lower left, photo courtesy of Thomas Sims Archives).
Performing with Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys in Las Vegas
One of the 1960s incarnations of my band, The Party Timers
Family became very important in the ‘60s when our daughter, Gina, and son, Greg, appeared.
As the ‘60s progressed, the skirts got shorter…
…and the necklines got lower.
With Rev. and Mrs. Paul Salyer, our wonderful pastor in the early 1970s
There was a different dress code once we got into the gospel field!
Jann Browne and Rosie Flores, two gals who reintroduced me to rockabilly audiences
Wanda Jackson Day in Maude, OK, 1989
The whole family joined me and Wendell at the 2000 Oklahoma Music Hall of Fame induction. On the left side is my daughter Gina’s family, including her older daughter, Jennifer, and younger daughter, Jordan, along with their dad, Jimmy. On the right side is my son Greg and his wife, Patti, along with their daughter, Jillian. Mother is standing next to me.
Some of the many important girls in my life, including Adele (who took me on tour with her); Miranda Lambert; my granddaughter (and now manager), Jordan (backstage at the Grand Ole Opry); and my first great-granddaughter, Nellie, who got to meet Wendell shortly before he passed
Chapter 16
YOU’RE THE ONE FOR ME
One of my buddies at the Ozark Jubilee was Porter Wagoner. He was so funny and everybody loved him, thanks to his goofy mannerisms and great stories. Porter’s steel guitar player on the show was Don Warden, who was also his manager, and later Dolly Parton’s longtime manager. We were all out doing a show one time when Don married his wife, Ann. They needed someone to stand with them, so the four of us went out to a preacher’s home somewhere in one of the Carolinas, I believe. Porter stood with Don while I stood with Ann. That was my introduction to being a bridesmaid, but it definitely wasn’t my last. Over the next several years, it seemed like all my friends were getting married. It’s an old cliché, but I soon found myself always a bridesmaid, but never a bride.
Technically, I did have one suitor. Smokey Smith was a promoter in Des Moines, Iowa, who booked me fairly often. When I’d go up there to play, Daddy didn’t go because I could stay with Smokey and his family at their home. He and his wife had a little four-year-old boy named Leon, who decided he loved me. His mother told me Leon was in Sunday School one time when the teacher had the children go around the room, announce their name, and say that they loved Jesus. All the little kids did it, but when it got to Leon he said, “I’m Leon Smith and I love Wanda Jatten!”
“That’s nice Leon, but do you love Jesus?” the teacher said.
“No, I love Wanda Jatten!” he said.
I had been casually dating a disc jockey in Oklahoma City on the rare occasions when I was at home, and Leon must have overheard some conversation about it. I arrived at the Smith family’s door one afternoon and was met by Leon, who was red-faced and mad.
“Wanda Jatten! Are you gonna marry that jitt jockey?!?!?!” he demanded.
“No, Leon. I probably won’t marry him,” I said. He narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips.
“Okay,” he replied. “You better not!”
My closest friend on the Jubilee was Norma Jean Beasler, who later became known in country music circles as “Pretty Miss Norma Jean.” She was also from Oklahoma City and was one grade behind me in school. Norma Jean and I first got to know each other at KLPR, where we were both appearing during the local talent portion of Jay Davis’s radio show. Even though we went to the same school and were performing on the same shows and contests, we weren’t real close back then. Norma Jean was shy, and we just didn’t really connect on a deep level. By the time we were both out of school and pursuing our music careers, however, we got to be good friends. After I was hired at the Jubilee I told them, “I know a pretty blonde in Oklahoma City who sings real good.” They auditioned her and hired her for the show.
Norma Jean and I liked to go out together and have fun. One time she invited me to a New Year’s Eve dance to ring in 1961. I was booked in Las Vegas playing a show at the Nugget, so I wasn’t able to join her. Several days later I called Norma Jean to wish her a happy New Year and to find out if she had fun at the dance.
“It was great,” she told me. “I wound up going with a guy I met recently, but I wasn’t really interested in him. Then, this other good-lookin’ guy just boldly came right up and asked me to dance. My date was pretty shy, so he said it would be okay.”
I laughed, imagining Norma Jean juggling her options on the dance floor. “Well, look at you,” I joked. “It sounds like you’ve jus
t got too many guys to handle.”
“Oh, and that’s not all,” she continued. “This new guy was there with a date of his own. We kind of just forgot all about who we came with. We must have danced three or four songs together before somebody came out to the dance floor and said neither of our dates seemed too thrilled they’d been left waiting at their respective tables for us. We just lost track of time, I guess. He was so handsome that it wasn’t hard to do. But he made sure he got my phone number. His name is Wendell Goodman, and he’s picking me up for a date tonight.”
I wished her luck, promised we’d talk again in a few days, and hung up the phone wishing I could have been there for Norma’s latest adventure on the dance floor.
I was playing at the Golden Nugget most of January, so I didn’t talk to Norma Jean again for a couple of weeks. I finally called to catch up. “Hey, how was your date with that good-looking guy from New Year’s Eve?” I asked. “What was his name? William?”
Norma Jean chuckled and said, “No, his name’s Wendell and he’s here with me right now. Would you like to say ‘hi’ to him?”
Every Night Is Saturday Night Page 16