Dear Hank Williams Read Online Free PDF Page B

you don’t want it told, don’t tell Verbia. Her loose lips could sink ships.
    Frog asked me to read Momma’s letter three times. “When is Momma coming home?” he asked. “I miss her something bad.”
    Well, the way he said that made me wrap my arms around him and hug so tight until he said, “I can’t breathe, Tate.”
    â€œI’m going to squeeze all that lonesomeness out of you,” I said. When his face turned red as ripe tomatoes, I let go of him.
    Then Frog fell back on the floor and burst into a giggle fit. I know how to get Frog’s mind off the sad stuff.
    Keeping my lips sealed,
    Tate P.

 
    October 3, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    T ODAY WAS OUR CHURCH’S annual Squirrel Gumbo Fundraiser. There is nothing better than a good bowl of squirrel gumbo to remind Rippling Creek that the air will soon have a nip to it. Aunt Patty Cake likes this time of year too, because her customers start ordering jars of rich cream to keep their skin from drying out. She says, “Nothing’s better than Old Man Winter for the beauty business.” I have a hunch Aunt Patty Cake prays for a cold front during the silent prayer time at Sunday Morning Worship services.
    Frog likes this time of year too, because he loves baked yams. “They taste like candy,” he claims.
    I like baked yams too, but I’ll take my candy with chocolate and peanuts, thank you very much. What is your favorite candy bar, Mr. Williams? If you write and tell me, I’ll save up my money and buy you one. I figure you have to spend all your extra money on guitar picks and strings. But don’t worry if you can’t find time to write a thank-you note. I know you’re awful busy.
    Uncle Jolly says he heard that when you’re not singing on the Louisiana Hayride , you’re playing all over the state in high school gyms. I wish you’d come to Rapides Parish. A lot of singers perform at Bolton High School’s auditorium in Alexandria. If you did come to Rapides Parish, I’ll bet Uncle Jolly would take me to hear you. I reckon all that performing is why you haven’t had time to answer any of my mail. You can still keep sending me pictures if you want. Only, can I have a different one next time? Maybe a photograph of you facing the opposite direction? That way I could hang it on the wall next to the other. Then, when folks stop by, I could tease them and say, “Did you know Hank Williams has an identical twin?”
    I sent Momma the last picture you gave me, and she said all the women on the movie set thought you were a living dream. I hope that doesn’t make you blush. But I wanted you to know that you have admirers all the way to Hollywood, California.
    Although you haven’t had time to write back, I hope you don’t mind if I keep writing. You’ve become a habit I just can’t break. Hey, that sounds like the title of a song! You’re welcome to use it, if you like.
    Dreaming of a Baby Ruth candy bar,
    Tate P.

    PS—If you do use my idea for a song, could you write at the top of the music sheet, “Title by Miss Tate P. Ellerbee”?

 
    October 6, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    H OW COULD I HAVE BEEN writing all these letters without telling you what the initial “P” in my name stands for? I know you must be dying to know. The name is kind of embarrassing, but we’ve become close enough these last few months, it would seem a downright shame to keep it from you. Okay, get ready—the “P” stands for Pete. Are you done laughing yet?
    There’s a story behind that name. I’ll tell you the short version. I am named after my daddy, who goes by Big Pete. When Momma gets mad at me, she calls me Little Pete. I prefer Tate P. myself or just plain Tate.
    Sometimes when I’m not rehearsing my song, me and Frog play like we’re spies for Governor Earl K. Long. If you are a spy, Rippling Creek is probably not the