Ol’ Dan Tucker was a fine ol’ man, warshed his face in a fryin’ pan
Combed his hair with a wagon wheel
Died with toothache in his heel.
Git ou’ the way, Ol’ Dan Tucker, he’s too late ta git his supper
Supper’s over, dinner’s a cookin’, Ol’ Dan Tucker just stand there a lookin’.
If I had a nickel for every time I heard Neno sing Ol’ Dan Tucker, I’d be a wealthy woman. Then, I’d give all that wealth to go back in time and record her singing it at least once. And while I was at it, I’d record her low-toned, gruff voice singing Honky Tonk Angels. That was one of her favorites too.
Since I don't have a recording of her, the next best think is Andy and Opie Taylor:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TafH4ElW-mY&feature=related
And here is Kitty Wells, and Honky Tonk Angels.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKleTa94dC8&feature=related
There was something about music that Kathern loved; something that made certain songs dear to her heart. And, certain instruments seemed to pique her interest as well, the guitar (git-tar, emphasis on the "git") and the fiddle. Not violin---fiddle.
More than once I packed her, in that old brown Impala of hers, to Green Forest to a "music party" as she liked to call them. In a little building on the square, about twenty or thirty old-timers gathered and drank coffee and listened to music, played by silver-haired men, and occasionally, a stocking-wearing granny woman.
I can’t count the times I sat in her living room as a little girl and watched the Porter Wagoner show. I was mesmerized by his brightly-colored, jewel-bedazzled jackets, and Neno was proud as punch to claim that Porter was from Missouri. "Forty miles back in Missouri there’s a different way of life....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4xuoEg5zFU&feature=related
And, Hee Haw was a weekly ritual for Kathern as well. I am convinced that Grandpa Jones was her favorite, especially when he’d talk about what was for supper. Surely she liked him best because he was always having something for supper that she’d had as a child...and as a grown woman! Hill people were resourceful.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MR3kI_LHMDI
As much as she loved the sound of music, she loved the sounds of the hills and taught me to love and appreciate them too. "Listen to that ol’ hoot owl Marci," she’d say. Or, "Hear that ol’ whippoorwill? He’s a hollerin’ for his mate."
I believe that growing up with her is the reason why I love the sound of a ticking clock, and the sound of an eight-day clock striking its bell every hour, once for every hour it was counting. The sound of that clock was a welcome breaking of the silence, usually followed by a sigh from Neno at another hour gone by. I now wonder if the elderly see the passing of time as one hour closer to the end of life.
I also inherited a random sense of rhythm, and long fingernails from Neno. She had long nails, and so do I, despite the fact I don’t drink a drop of milk. She would tap them on the wooden section of the arm of her green chair. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. But it was a rolling tap. She’d start with her pinky nail, then ring finger, then middle, then index, to create one tap. Then, she’d switch and tap from the other direction. I find myself mindlessly doing the same thing on the door handle, while I am riding the in car.
Ol’ Dan Tucker, Honky Tonk Angels, fiddle music, Porter Wagoner, Hee Haw and rhythm, and Neno. I am a wealthy woman.
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