angle, and hustle up money, with a willing Willie as his coconspirator.
“One night, another good friend of mine who’d get a little alcohol in him beat the hell out of Zeke with a ball-peen hammer and landed him in the hospital, almost killed him,” Willie said with understatement. “It had to do with a woman, of course. They were the best of friends, when all of a sudden, Zeke opened the door and—bam! It wasn’t the first time for him.”
He was Willie’s soul brother. “We always wore the same size of everything—clothes, boots, hat,” Zeke said about Willie. “He used to stay all night with me on Saturday night, and he would wear my clothes on Sunday. If I stayed with him, I’d wear his clothes.”
Willie followed Zeke to Tyler later in 1950, where they found work as tree trimmers for the Asplundh company for eighty cents an hour, until Willie fell from a tree and hurt his back. Out of ideas about what to do next, he followed in the footsteps of other young men his age and signed up for military service, joining the air force. He had been classified 1-A, meaning he’d likely be drafted into the armed services anyway. At least this way, he could choose which branch of the military to join. And just in case, he brought along his guitar.
He was stationed at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, then transferred to Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas, Scott AFB in southwestern Illinois, just east of St. Louis, and Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi, where he went into radar mechanics.
The air force afforded him the opportunity to sing and play along with other musically inclined airmen from every corner of America, which helped him realize he was more than the best guitarist in Abbott, Texas. When he was at Sheppard AFB, Bobbie or Bud would fetch him from Wichita Falls to play with Bud Fletcher and the Texans on weekends. By the end of his hitch, he was playing six nights a week at the Airmen’s Club.
But too many drinks, too many wild nights off base, one too many fights, and a bad back led to his departure from the military. Whether it was from falling out of the tree in East Texas with Zeke or from baling hay for Rudolph Kapavik alongside Morris Russell as a boy, the pain in his back came on so fiercely, he was hardly mobile. Nine months in, his rank reduced to private, he was offered an honorable medical discharge from the air force as long as he agreed not to sue the military for his back problems.
Willie returned to play with Bud Fletcher and the Texans, but the band was on its last legs. Bud’s temper led to a separation and eventual divorce from Bobbie. Years later, he was killed in a tragic wreck on the highway. The girls in the Willie Nelson Fan Club had moved on to other singers. Willie traveled to Dallas to check out the city lights and to Fort Worth to see his father, Ira, and his wife, Lorraine, and their two boys, Doyle and Charles. Ira had found work as a mechanic at Frank Kent Ford, where Doyle worked in the parts department. Whenever Willie visited, they’d go hear music. “My dad knew a guy named Chester Odem, who had a band, and we’d go listen to them,” he said. Drinking, playing dominoes, drinking, cruising, hell raising, and drinking with Zeke occupied most of his time. When Willie was at a loss for what to do, he and Zeke would stand on opposite sides of the highway, thumbs out, and take the first ride offered, no matter if it was to Hillsboro or to West. It was enough to get out of town and go somewhere. Anywhere.
When Zeke bought a ’48 Studebaker, they had mobility to go wherever they wanted whenever they wanted, as long as they had enough money for gas. Most often, they found themselves drawn to the bright lights of Waco, the closest big city to Abbott.
Waco, 1952
T HE HEART OF TEXAS was a kind nickname for the city of Waco, acknowledgment of its location in the center of the state’s population, which in the wake of World War II was evenly divided
“One night, another good friend of mine who’d get a little alcohol in him beat the hell out of Zeke with a ball-peen hammer and landed him in the hospital, almost killed him,” Willie said with understatement. “It had to do with a woman, of course. They were the best of friends, when all of a sudden, Zeke opened the door and—bam! It wasn’t the first time for him.”
He was Willie’s soul brother. “We always wore the same size of everything—clothes, boots, hat,” Zeke said about Willie. “He used to stay all night with me on Saturday night, and he would wear my clothes on Sunday. If I stayed with him, I’d wear his clothes.”
Willie followed Zeke to Tyler later in 1950, where they found work as tree trimmers for the Asplundh company for eighty cents an hour, until Willie fell from a tree and hurt his back. Out of ideas about what to do next, he followed in the footsteps of other young men his age and signed up for military service, joining the air force. He had been classified 1-A, meaning he’d likely be drafted into the armed services anyway. At least this way, he could choose which branch of the military to join. And just in case, he brought along his guitar.
He was stationed at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, then transferred to Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas, Scott AFB in southwestern Illinois, just east of St. Louis, and Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi, where he went into radar mechanics.
The air force afforded him the opportunity to sing and play along with other musically inclined airmen from every corner of America, which helped him realize he was more than the best guitarist in Abbott, Texas. When he was at Sheppard AFB, Bobbie or Bud would fetch him from Wichita Falls to play with Bud Fletcher and the Texans on weekends. By the end of his hitch, he was playing six nights a week at the Airmen’s Club.
But too many drinks, too many wild nights off base, one too many fights, and a bad back led to his departure from the military. Whether it was from falling out of the tree in East Texas with Zeke or from baling hay for Rudolph Kapavik alongside Morris Russell as a boy, the pain in his back came on so fiercely, he was hardly mobile. Nine months in, his rank reduced to private, he was offered an honorable medical discharge from the air force as long as he agreed not to sue the military for his back problems.
Willie returned to play with Bud Fletcher and the Texans, but the band was on its last legs. Bud’s temper led to a separation and eventual divorce from Bobbie. Years later, he was killed in a tragic wreck on the highway. The girls in the Willie Nelson Fan Club had moved on to other singers. Willie traveled to Dallas to check out the city lights and to Fort Worth to see his father, Ira, and his wife, Lorraine, and their two boys, Doyle and Charles. Ira had found work as a mechanic at Frank Kent Ford, where Doyle worked in the parts department. Whenever Willie visited, they’d go hear music. “My dad knew a guy named Chester Odem, who had a band, and we’d go listen to them,” he said. Drinking, playing dominoes, drinking, cruising, hell raising, and drinking with Zeke occupied most of his time. When Willie was at a loss for what to do, he and Zeke would stand on opposite sides of the highway, thumbs out, and take the first ride offered, no matter if it was to Hillsboro or to West. It was enough to get out of town and go somewhere. Anywhere.
When Zeke bought a ’48 Studebaker, they had mobility to go wherever they wanted whenever they wanted, as long as they had enough money for gas. Most often, they found themselves drawn to the bright lights of Waco, the closest big city to Abbott.
Waco, 1952
T HE HEART OF TEXAS was a kind nickname for the city of Waco, acknowledgment of its location in the center of the state’s population, which in the wake of World War II was evenly divided
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