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"STORIES" |
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Experiencing Hank - 6/13/09 |
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| On my way to a family vacation in Gulf Shores, AL, I had decided to visit Hank Williams grave in Montgomery, and pay my respects. It was along the way, and I would be there around midnight. According to Alan Jackson, “Hank’s always singin’ there”. But, the night turned to disappointment when I found that the graveyard had 24 hour security and a police station was right across the street, which ruined my “break-in” plan. We (me and Amy) ended up driving about 40 or 50 miles and sleeping in the car at a rest area. I woke up at 7 the next morning, and took off down the highway. Still saddened by the plans that didn’t work out the night before; I saw a sign for the “Hank Williams Museum” for the next exit ahead. I was excited again, so I had to check that out! We followed the signs to what looked like Mayberry. We were in the quite town of Georgiana, AL. The air was humid, and the trees were green and full. The newly paved Rose Street couldn’t hide the nostalgia that mysteriously surrounded the area. But, surrounding the museum (his childhood home), I was walking right into the Hank Williams Festival that happens once a year. I parked on the side of the road, overlooking a sea of RV’s and pop-campers. I was drawn to the crowd of folks in the front yard of the Hank fan clubhouse. It was 7:45 AM on a Saturday morning, and a gathering of Hank fans were preparing to eat breakfast. There was a small canvas tent that covered the tables holding scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon, but no one was eating just yet. The crowds of mostly elderly people were wearing “Hank” t-shirts and cowboy hats. I was at an official Hank Williams Fan Club breakfast. Amy and I just fell right into the situation, and acted like we belonged. There was a buzz of excitement over the day’s lineup of artists that would be performing at the festival. But, silence fell over the group of 50 or so when an older lady grabbed a microphone and announced that it was time to say grace. “Dear Heavenly Father”, she said, sweetly, in a strong Alabama draw, “We come before you today and ask your blessing on this food we are about to eat. We thank you for bringing us here today, and we thank you for, (pause) we thank you for Hank. Lord, all blessings come from you, and we have all been blessed to have Hank. Thank you also, for living, dying, and rising again so we might live through you. We thank you in Jesus’ name, Amen.” I have been to church all my life, and I have NEVER heard a more honest and sincere prayer. I foolishly passed on the offers to join them at breakfast (I was regretting that I hit up a Burger-King drive-through minutes before). As I scanned the old-time crowd, I saw a generation of fans that were preserving country music’s finest heritage. These people were not just a bunch of college kids helping to promote a band. They w ere not gathered in a spirit of rebellion or freedom for a kind of music that took them from their responsibilities. This wasn’t a corporate label pushing to sell CD’s and make a brand out of an artist. This was much more than all of that…Hank Williams is a way of life to these folks. Since Hank died 56 years ago, county music has evolved into…something(to say the least). But, whatever it is now, aint’ what it was when Hank brought it to the forefront of American and global audiences back in the early 1950’s. Back then, it wasn’t hip or cool. It was just plain and simple, but most of all, it was real. My heart warmed with appreciation as I watched these old souls gather to celebrate the music of an icon, in which, his untimely death fully cemented his image. They don’t separate religion and reality. Instead, they confidently thank Jesus for Hank. His legendary songs fill the air as they chit-chat about the day’s festivities. This is the generation that cannot relate to today s mainstream music, and doesn’t text their vote in on American Idol. This is the generation that saw Pearl Harbor, Hank, Elvis, JFK, Vietnam, Neil Armstrong, and the list goes on and on. Say “Ever heard of SpongeBob Square Pants” to these folks, and they’ll, no doubt, say “Who?” But, they started the analog TV thing. Remember that? Rabbit trail…sorry. The point is...they know that they are a forgotten people. T hey are fully aware that the world has moved on, and Hank would have never made it on today’s radio. But, they also know that if it wasn’t for them, and Hank, the world, as we now know it, would have never been the same. They know that together, them and Hank, paved the way for my generation to live the same American dream in a different era. That is the legacy they hold, and celebrate. And they take comfort in the fact that they still have Hank’s music, and each other. A few minutes later, me and Amy paid $3 apiece to tour his childhood home. There was one lady in the house that took the money, and gave us the tour. I hardly had a chance to look at the documents, pictures, and records on the wall, because she told us story after story about Hank. She spoke of him not as a king or god-like figure, but as an old friend. A mortal man, that was dear to her memory, one that shared his gift with the world. Her words were saturated with pride as she effortlessly recalled his humanity. “Hank never did like stuck-up people”, she said, “He was just as down to earth as you and me right here.” Then, her voice went from talking about an old friend to preserving a legend with this statement…”He walked these floors, ya know. The very floor you’re standin’ on.” It’s easy to understand her enthusiasm. Hank was the voice crying in the southern wilderness, a representative of a hillbilly culture. Although she never met him personally, she knew him. That was the power of his music. He communicated to the common folks, to the point where listening to him placed you on the front porch of his world, and it made the day a little better knowing that someone else agreed and understood what life was all about. It reminds me of a John Wayne line out of a movie; Someone said to him “You’re a hard man”, and the Duke replied with honesty ”It’s a hard life.” Hank reminded the world with his music just how hard life really was. His lyrics reflected his own demons, but he also had numerous songs of hope and everlasting peace. He sang of heaven and Jesus with the same honesty and passion that he did heartbreak and loneliness. In a part of the country where most people had to break their backs surviving on cotton, peanut, and tobacco farms, the only hope they often clung to was God’s promise of a better life in heaven one day. Until then, they had Hank to get them through the long days. People gathered around the radio, and truckers drank coffee beside jukeboxes, and listened to what Hank had to say. They believed him, because he told the truth. It wasn’t always a rosy picture he painted with his voice, and that piercing steel guitar, but it was a mirror of the listener’s life. Hank was in that mirror too, right beside the listener. Wiping the sweat off his brow, taking a shot of whiskey to ease the pain, and saying “Damn, it’s a hard life.” Who can argue? He wasn’t a hypocrite, he knew his shortcomings. He died because of his weaknesses, but he showed strength in his music. And that strength is what, not only brought those kind folks to Georgiana, AL, but what took me off I-65 in search of a piece of musical history. I was born in 1984, long after Hank, but I get it. I am inspired by his life, lyrics, and voice. I, too, sat around a record player as a teenager and listened with awe as he sang “Lovesick Blues”, and “I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive”. I felt every word, and tried to learn his guitar strumming style. I, too, moved to Nashville as a songwriter, and try to be honest in my delivery, and to who I am. So, I am a young, living testament. Maybe the generational gap isn’t as wide as it looks. In a time where politics, recession, irresponsibility, and self-entitlement “rights” grip our culture, we could use a little more Hank. We are all still searching for truth, and the three chords it takes to tell it. Sprinkle a little intimacy and passion in the mix and it can change lives. So, before I go to sleep, I’m gonna say a prayer… “Lord, thank you for this beautiful day, and all of your countless blessings. And…thank you for Hank, in Jesus name, Amen.“ Written By Adam D. Pope Copywrite 2009 "A Different Note Publishing" |
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