Dear Hank Williams by Kimberly Willis Holt Page B

Girl, everyone calls her Pretty Miss Jordie June from Rippling Creek, Louisiana.
    They sing at fancy parties, the prison rodeo, and on the radio. That’s how they got known all over Texas. Some folks outside Texas know about them too because their radios can pick up stations from far away. Since Shreveport is near Texas, maybe you’ve heard of them.
    Some nights I sneak out of bed and turn the dial trying to pick up a Texas station that’s playing the Goree Girls. But the furthest station I ever reached was out of New Orleans, and that’s in the opposite direction. So I lie in bed and listen for Momma’s voice, and when the wind carries it to me, I sing along.
    Now you know the real story about my momma, Miss Jordie June Ellerbee. I’m sorry that I have told such big stories about my momma and daddy. I’ll understand if you never want to hear from me again.
    Hoping Mr. Hank Williams will forgive me,
    Tate P.

    PS—The part about Momma’s friends saying you were a living dream is true, only it was the Goree Girls who said it. That’s what Momma wrote in her postcard.

 
    November 26, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    H AVE YOU FORGIVEN ME YET?

    Hopeful,
    Tate P.

 
    November 29, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    T HANK YOU for another autographed picture of you! I knew it was your way of saying you’d forgiven me. On Thanksgiving Day, I prayed your heart would soften toward me. And Saturday while listening to you on the Louisiana Hayride , I hoped you might send me a sign of some sort. Then today here came that envelope with your photograph.
    Don’t worry. I’ll never mislead you ever again. I’m a forgiving person too. I forgave Uncle Jolly for messing up the night of the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet at Rippling Creek Southern Baptist Church. Uncle Jolly felt awful bad about it. In fact, here’s a special news report: Uncle Jolly hasn’t had a drop of whiskey since! And no, it’s not because he has a girlfriend (he doesn’t). Aunt Patty Cake says sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they can start climbing up.
    After Uncle Jolly’s hangover went away, he drove to the hardware store in Lecompte and bought some screen to fix the porch door. He fixed it good and painted it. He asked me to choose the color.
    â€œPink,” I said, just out of meanness for what he’d done. I guess he knew why I said that, because then he apologized and asked how he could make it up to me.
    Most people would say, “That’s okay. I’m glad you’re walking on the right path now.” But I’m not like most people. I told Uncle Jolly flat out, “I want to hear my momma sing on the radio.”
    â€œTate, we’d have to go all the way over to Texas to hear her.”
    Aunt Patty Cake overheard. She stepped into the living room and kept drying the bowl while she spoke. “James Irwin Poche, you are not going to Texas. Bad things happen to this family in Texas.” She wasn’t only meaning about Momma getting arrested. She was also talking about my grandma and grandpa.
    Aunt Patty Cake was still drying the bowl even though there wasn’t a drop of water on it. “No sirree. You are not going to Texas.” With that said, she walked back into the kitchen.
    Uncle Jolly looked at me all shy like, but I didn’t back down. I set my jaw in a way that meant business. Finally he said, “Let me think on it some.”
    I believe good things are waiting around the corner for me—performing in the May Festival Talent Contest and hearing my momma on the radio. Until then, Mr. Williams, I’ll listen to you.
    Grateful that Mr. Williams is the forgiving sort,
    Tate P.

    PS—In case you’re wondering, Uncle Jolly painted the screen door green. Now our house makes you think of Christmas all year long.

 
    December 3, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    I WANT YOU TO KNOW that I have kept my promise to not share our