Oral History Interview with Pee Wee King

The movie we made with him --Johnny Mack Brown. I got the disc jockey in from Connecticut to send me a copy of "Rough, Tough West" he happened to film. [A] Family television show was playing, and it opened up and says, “and for our next coming attraction, we have Charles Sterrett, the Durango Kid. He even got his camcorder out and sent me a copy of it featuring Durango Kid, Pee Wee King, and the Golden West Cowboys. My wife and I sat there for two hours and enjoyed ourself [ourselves] because they had met us when we worked up in Connecticut, and he is one of the most popular DJs up there. And we retained our friendship --he's Mike Gross but he plays the PBS radio station in Fairfield, Conn—university [Fairfield University].

I don't speak good English. I've always known that. And Bob Kay used to write some of our scripts for us on the road when we had the network show. And a lot of

times I'd scratch out two or three words -I'd never use them in my vocabulary. But it was funny, I was with Bob the other day. Foster Brooks invited us for lunch at Hasonour's and we got to talking. He's got to be 70 now. He's still got the voice. He's our lay minister when our minister goes to Jerusalem, and a good one.

While I'm thinking about It, Mr. Frank worked in the coal mines of southern Illinois, and then he moved to Chicago and got a job as a bellhop at the Edgewater Beach Hotel. And there he met Mrs. Frank to-be; she was a widow with five children --three girls and two boys. And he proposed marriage and they hit it off. And the kids grew up with Mr. Frank as their daddy.

We were booked first into the Flags, which was a complex of a big area –park, it was close to the Fountain of Youth. And while we were playing there, we'd leave the Opry on Saturday night and be there in time for a 3 o'clock matinee in St. Augustine, Florida. So, he hired us for a couple of Sundays to come down there. It was packed to [the] jam --they loved to enter the breaks they had between flags. He called it flags because he couldn't use bingo. So, then he decided while we were down there he'd call his place King's, and I thanked him for it and he said, “you might as well sign Sunday with us and if it proves successful, that's where we'll go for a longer time.” I never thought I'd forget hisname but anyhow, he was a good friend of Maylor Frazier.

And we lived at St. Augustine at that time when we played The Flags.

The Flags was a big complex like that convention center here. And he had conventions there, meetings, political rallies, and everything. That's where the picture [came] come in with Mr. Frazier. It was privately owned, and right across the street, Ross with his snake farm and alligator farm -trained alligators and he used to milk the snakes in front of us and everything. So that's where we spent our daytime.

So, Mr. Frazier and Mr. Frank hit it off, and he says,” I want to try and become governor, and I like the appearance of the boys.” And says, “we'll go on tour together, and we'll base wherever we wind up close at night. We'll have a sound truck, and a sound man to put on the microphones, and he's got his own pick-up truck. He'll set up all the microphones you'll need. Add you'll usually be at a loading dock where they ship out oranges and fruit --business places. When they have a lunch

break at noon, in the meantime, we set up and be ready to play for a half-hour.”

And I'd always introduce l him --I'd say, “ladies and gentlemen, I have the privilege of introducing the next Governor of Florida, the mayor of St. Augustine. And he says he's going to reduce the license tax on your cars, cut down on taxes for other things.” --I says, “you've got to vote for him.” We even wrote a jingle for him. Eddy would remember it 'cause he sang it all the time. [He tries to sing it.]

That was in 1939. The first political jingle was Pappy Leo Daniels (??) in Texas --by Wills --not Bob Wills per se because they had the (??) Snow Boys at that time. So we stayed with Frazier and if we closed near Sarasota, we’d check into the hotel in Sarasota. If we were near Miami, we'd check into the hotel there. St. Augustine was our home base. And we stopped in Tallahassee at the state capitol. Or city halls and county courthouses where they had the steps -he'd put us up on the top level and the audience could stand and watch us play.

And the hottest day --it was 112 degrees in Hollywood, Florida. I’ll always remember. and we [were] was right downtown in front of a big band building. We had satin shirts then, pants and boots, and the cowboy hat. And Mr. Frazier come up and said, “Pee Wee, have your boys take them [those] hats off. It's too hot.” I said, “I sure, thank you. I’ve just been told by the future governor of Florida that it's too hot to wear our hats today, so boys, take 'em off.”

In the meantime, my little daughter Marietta, who wasn't even a year old then--Mayor Frazier had a Panama hat with his Panama suits. The straw hat was like a treasure and a trademark, so we nicknamed Marietta "Tudie". And the governor said, “Tudie, get my hat for me.” So, she come [came] up the steps and gave it to him at some of the other shows. But at this particular show, she come [came] and got the hat, and he took it down and laid it on the sound system --on the amplifier. She waited for him to finish his speech so she could bring it back up to him. I'll never forget this __

that little kid coming up there with that hat --it had shrunk' And he put it on his

head and said, “Tudie, come back here --this is Pinky Lee's hat!” And he looked at me and said, “maybe Pee Wee King's hat! Because, he was a big man, but anyhow we loved him and worked our buns off for him --he was such a great guy --never failed and to compliment us and encourage us different places we'd go to. He paid us to do these concerts --20 weeks of works we got. He was our exclusive. employer at that ti.me --we left the Grand Ole Opry to go down there --left it completely.

At that time, the Prince Albert people were interested in putting on the Prince Albert Show on the Grand Ole Opry coast to coast. And all the other groups auditioned including Roy Acuff, so they took Roy Acuff --he was a big name at that time. And then we were the first guests to appear on the Roy Acuff Prince Albert Show, and the producer of the show said, “where did these guys come from?” He said, “they weren't listed on the auditions.” J.J. said, “no, they were down in Florida campaigning for the future governor --the mayor running for governor.” And he said,” that's a sharp

outfit --that's what I call country music --town and country music,” --something like that.

And then they approached Mr. Frank. He was managing Roy Acuff already, and said, “no, these guys can't do it --they're doing a picture pretty soon”. On these campaign shows, we'd sing about a 15–20-minute show. And we'd tear down and run like the devil for the next town. And Mr. Frazier would make a few remarks about his promises in the campaign and don't forget --vote. And see, there were no Republicans --they were all Democrats. This was the Democratic primary, and when it come [came] time for the regular election, there was nobody with a big amount. And then he joined hands with Harlan Spencer (??). Harland and Holland (??) [Spressard Holland] became the governor. And he had a big campaign.

I remember one preacher was running for governor too; he didn't have campaign money. He says, “I don't have any country music bands to play for me. I don't have anybody to make speeches for me. I can't advertise in the newspaper. So, I've got a great big barrel, and as you leave, any donations you can give—you put in there, I’ll use for my campaign money.” He says, “don't be embarrassed --if it jingles down at the bottom, it's just as good as one of them $10 or $20 bills. “ He says,” I'll accept anything you put in there.” And I says to Mr. Frazier one day, “Is that allowed?” He said, “no, but preachers got to do it anyhow.

But we didn't ask for contributions. We advertised on radio when there was a radio station in the town we were appearing. We might appear late in the afternoon or that night. But the docks we played and a big sponge factory --it's right out of Naples, above Naples, I think. Anyhow, that was one of the biggest crowds I have ever seen, and the University of Miami football stadium, and we packed and jammed them. But the trouble was if you worked late at night, the dew would come down on the instruments --so close to the ocean -and that salt water and salt air—to the boy’s fiddle, accordion, Eddie's guitar and the fiddle player's strings would drop out. So, it was quite a chore to put on a show in the evening.

As soon as we finished our 20 weeks down there, I sent my accordion to Milwaukee. Mr. Frazier didn't win but he joined hands with Holland who became the governor. I don't understand how they struck up a friendship like that, but they did. Mr. Holland and Mr. Frazier were two great stalwarts in the state of Florida at that time. I think Holland was up for the governorship before Mr. Frazier got that idea. He had some projects in St. Augustine like the Little Red Schoolhouse. I think he --Mr. Frazier was partners with the man at the Fountain of Youth. So, they teamed up and Mr. Frazier threw his support behind Mr. Holland before the Democratic primary. That was at the end of the campaign, and I don't think Mr. Holland had anybody running against him in the general election. He was a shoo-in.

There were tourists in Florida in those days. It's changed now because it's so commercial but years ago, you'd have a lot of New Yorkers, Pennsylvania people, Ohio --tourist cabins --there were no beautiful motels in those days. We stayed at Casa Marina, and I think Mr. Frazier owned part of that too. It was a beautiful motel type of thing right on the ocean. You drove your car to a parking lot, and you overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. We--but now--Lydia and I went back and were amazed --you just could recognize the boardwalk they put in there. The motel where we stayed has been torn down -it had a Mexican atmosphere.

Lydia, Marietta, and I stayed in a room together -our only daughter and first child. Then Mr. Frank and Mrs. Frank had a room next to us. They could walk out of the room right into the restaurant. Mr. and Mrs. Frank would have breakfast, and Marietta [would] come in there and join them. Being the first born, they just took her under their wings -the apple of their eye.

The other fellows in our band were single --Speedy McNack (??), Eddy Arnold and Joe Zenken (??) -they all three roomed together. Joe Zenken was married but his wife refused to leave home -a little town up in Indiana --so she stayed there with her mother. Eddy Arnold was the MC, and he sang, too. I emceed until I lost my voice. The salt air got to me. When you do about five or six shows at stops like that and then singing' the trios, I just wore out. Eddy took my place for a while -that's when he broke in as an emcee.

On a typical day, we'd do five or six shows a day. We had a regular schedule, and they guy who had the truck -he was acquainted with a lot of people down there. Evidently, he had done this before with somebody because he knew the best orange and fruit docks. I mean they'd really have a crowd ‘cause there were so many people working in the docks. And at lunchtime, they'd be there, and we'd entertain them. So, Mr. Frank would check with the businesses to make sure we didn't interfere with the work schedules. And he also got a list of where the towns were, the hotel we were staying in, and what time we'd get up and out to the next town. He had to schedule them all and get directions. I had the stretch job with the tail behind it. A stretch car. I've got a picture of it.

The sound man traveled by himself, and he was directly responsible to Mr. Frazier; he didn't work under Mr. Frank. We had our instruments, but the sound system was provided by the campaign itself. That was for 20 weeks. The primary was in May or something like that. We played with the campaign January, February, and March and by April, Mr. Frazier had thrown his support to Mr. Holland.

The schedule was easy and gave us time to be tourists, too. So, we enjoyed ourself [ourselves] and it was one {of the most pleasant things that we had done for years. Because usually we'd be doing the Grand Ole Opry and [had] got to be back and wound up in Pennsylvania somewhere on a Thursday or Friday night and drive like crazy.

I try to be a handyman around the house --I help with some of the things, but a long time ago Mr. Frank had a saying. He said, “let me tell you something, kid. You make your living with your hands on the accordion.” And he says, “if something happens to your hands, you're going to be out of commission.” He said, “when you get a flat tire, have one of your boys fix it or change it.” But I says, “Dad, you hate to do it.” He says, “ask for a volunteer.” And there was always a big heavy-set guy or two or three or one of the other boys would volunteer. But I've changed the tires when we've had flats.

And I remember when Minnie Pearl said, “out of there. Stretched out, my gosh. Everybody out.” We had two flat tires coming from Hendersonville to Nashville (??) across the bridge. And they were on the inside next to the --well, you couldn't get to them. And there we sat with two flat tires. And I said, “I'm going to throw this tire tube through the windshield, and I don't want anybody in the car. “ Minnie said, “evidently, he's made, Gus.” Gus, my brother-in-law, was my road manager at that time. He said, “Minnie, I've never seen Pee Wee that mad, at anything. He's cussing in Polish, and I understand some of it.” Minnie said, “I thought it was a foreign language --she used it in her book –"Seven Flat Tires in One Day.” “Made of synthetic rubber back in wartime. We didn't have patch kits in the car; we'd have to take the tire off and somebody would come by in a truck and send it in to get fixed and bring it back to us. We spent a long time beside the road waiting to get tires repaired. We were lucky in Henderson that time because we were just across the bridge --on the other side was a service station. And he looked at the tire and said, “it's shot --you might as well buy a new one.” I said, “Ok.” I hitched a ride with a guy.

Traveling was not easy. If it was easy, everybody would be doing it. Now, everybody’s doing it because they've got Silver Eagles -$250,000, $300,000, $400,000 buses or Silver Eagles.

But if you wanted to make a living as a musician, you had to tour. You couldn't make it on records because that's how you promoted records. And you couldn't make it by radio alone because the radio only reached so far. But the Grand Ole Opry was all over the United States at that time, New England, down South and as far [west] as Texas.

And people wanted live music --they wanted to see and hear the people they heard on the radio. It's still the same --the Grand Ole Opry, that's what they're doing. Now they've got video to replace television, but the Opry stars still have to tour. They do shows all over the country.

And with Autry it was different. He said, “we make our movies out here in California. But then, we got to tour to play the theaters all over the country.” And he jumped all the way from Hollywood after he'd finished a picture -Ray Purdy (??) his cousin, the Texas Ranger, he quit his job and drove truck for Gene. And that van, with” Gene Autry and Champion written” all over it, from Hollywood all the way to Madison Square Garden or Pittsburgh Garden, he'd have to jump. He did that to promote his movies. He had to play dates and make a living because he didn’t' make a lot of money from the

early movies.

In fact, that was what the big strike was with him. He quit Republic Pictures, and Mr. Yates sued him, and he said, “you go ahead and sue me -I'm in the Army.” He said, “Sue Uncle Sam.” And they had their big trial in Nashville. The Pay? At that time, he thought $10,000 was a lot of money. Gene was shrewd and any deals he made he always made them right.

It was exciting to be in Flordia with my young wife and baby while campaigning. The

campaign was a welcome thing from the everyday drudgery of playing a date somewhere--

a little shotgun theater or schoolhouse -and Friday nights coming back to do the Grand Ole Opry.

Traveling was not so taxing when I was young but as I got older it got more tiring. In 1947, when we came back to Louisville and WAVE, and we had a record contract with RCA Records, and we did the first television show, which I was promised, that brought us to Louisville. It changed our family way of living—all [of the] boys and our wives. It wasn't saying goodbye every couple of long-distance phone calls. And Mr. Frank traveled a lot with us, and whenever we were in a room somewhere and we were going to call Goodlettsville, Tennessee, long-distance and from our room, the operator would invariably say, "How do you spell Goodlettsville?" And that bugged him to death -no end. I says, “Dad, we're going to have to move.” And then he says, “nope.”

As my family got larger, we couldn't take all of them on the road. They stayed at home, they were young, they had to be in school. And Daddy still went working. And like Lydia said, “one star to a family. [Laughter).” She didn't want her children to be involved in the show --she didn't say no but she told them, “do what you want to do and do it right, and you'll enjoy it.” But they all took music lessons. Gene has studied the trumpet, and Larry studied piano, and Frank the accordion, and Marietta dance -she was a model for a while. But they never were a part of my group.

The only thing we did like that in the way of family performances was Lydia and her sister would appear with us in a reunion program -about once a year for the first couple of years.

In some cases, it's good for family members to be involved professionally because what daddy or momma has built up, somebody can follow in the footsteps, like Ernest Tubb and his son Justin; and Marty Robbins and his son; and Faron Young and his son.

But in Eddy Arnold's case, there was nobody there. He's got a boy and a girl. The boy went through a tragedy going to the Univ. of Alabama. [Him] he and his buddy decided they'd go home to Eddy's house –Dickie--Richard --is the boy's name. And Eddy's name is Richard--Richard Edward Arnold. Anyhow, Richard wanted to come home for a holiday, and the boy says, “come on,” and he asks, “can I drive the car?” He says, “yeah.” So he's driving along and got sideswiped by a truck, and Richard's the one who got banged up pretty bad. He was almost a vegetable for a while. He's still living but that's not for publication --Eddy didn’t' even publicize it in his Hall of Fame book. He's recovered --it's a miracle. And this is not for print either --Eddy said one time, I'd give every dollar I ever made to have my boy back again. I don't know whether he went back to Alabama to school, but he recuperated enough to drive a car and have a job. He's got a good mentality. He'd be about 30 or older now. He's now self-sufficient, has moved away from home and has his own apartment. I don't think he ever got married; the daughter married and had two children. Richard's friend was driving,

and they were hit on the other side.

During the gubernatorial campaign, we toured the entire state from Miami to the

Panhandle. It not only was enlightening to us --it was a good change --but it was educational as well. I remember the night we had off, we went to see Mickey Rooney at the big outdoor theater in Miami. It was a stage show. I got to meet him, went backstage and told him what we were doing there, why all the boys in the band were there. Of course, Eddy wasn’t' a big star at that time. teddy was just Eddy --he didn't have the record contract till later. Mickey Rooney didn't know who I was--I

just told him we were off from the Grand Ole Opry. He said, “Oh, yeah.” He knew the Grand Ole Opry. And then, when I got out to California, making pictures, I got off the airplane and walked into the airport and who should be there --Mickey Rooney! I said, “hey, Mickey.” He says, “do I know you?” I says, “I'm Pee Wee King.” He says, “hell, yes, I know you 'cause we were the same size.” He's a little shorter than I am. He had [his] manager with him and told him all about meeting us in Florida, but he said, “I never sang that hillbilly stuff.”

I'm not too interested in the past or history. When I was younger, I questioned my grandmother and grandfather about their people --what they did and everything for a living, but they didn't have much to say about it. All they could think to say was how fortunate it was [that] they came to the United States. Three of my grandparents were born in Poland, but my dad's father originally came from Austria. They were still young when they came to the U.S. I guess my mother was 17 when she married Dad and he was 19, 20, something like that, so he was a young man. But my parents were born in this country --Reading, Pa., and Chicago. She was born in Chicago and he in Reading. Her sister just died recently in a nursing home, and I couldn't get away for the funeral.

I like to read trade papers --Cash Box, Billboard. I like to read about stars' lives like Garth Brooks coming up, George Straight, I like to know their backgrounds, whether they had an easy time or a hard time. I say they've all got it easy now, but those guys work hard, too, I’m sure they're not overnight successes. And there's a lot of newcomers coming up all the time like a dog nick-nacks (??) you all the time. Look at Randy Travis --he's going to do Matlock television show today or tomorrow.

I know quite a few of these younger stars but some don’t have time to give you the time of the day, and I'm not down there as often as I used to be.

It became a chore when I was on Songwriters board--Hall of Fame --Songwriters Hall of Fame board of directors, and I also was on the Country Music Hall of Fame board of directors and I'm still vice president. It occupies your time.

So, I don't have a lot of time to socialize either. They've got to work; they got an agent to pay, a publicity department to pay and their band to support. Thank God I don't have a band anymore --I don't mean it that way, though. It's a lot of responsibility. I'll give you for instance, when Gene Stewart, Red's brother, was in [a] serious condition because for a while there he wasn't eating properly or at all-- he thought it was a stomach ulcer. So, they took him to a doctor in Hollywood, and the doctor said, “this boy is dying of malnutrition, so you'd better get him home.” And Red says, “make up your mind --you want to take a plane home or you gonna stay with us till we leave here?” We had about 3 or 4 days more at Riverside Rancho (???) He said, “King, whatever you want.” So, we brought him home and took him to a doctor who said he should lay off for a while and go on a steady hospital diet. Now he was out of work 2 or 3 months, but his wife came up to the office and got a check every Friday—every Friday. Dolores made out a check for Gene Stewart and all the boys in the band.

Not only that, when Gene got sick, Red had another brother --an older brother -Al, who [had] come to work for me. He's passed away now. He was a good utility man --he played the violin, bass fiddle, guitar, sang in (??) part harmony. So, he was the kind of guy who we were glad to see.

Gene came down with malnutrition because he wasn't eating properly on the road, and I think he was grieving inside. He hated to leave his wife during that period of time when we were in California. We were out there for about two months working the Riverside Rancho, which was the biggest Western dance hall in that territory. And then doing the two movies beside, so it kind of put a strain on him and his wife.

It was hard for a lot of people having to be on the road, being away from their families. I was lucky because I had a father-in-law on the road with me, and Lydia was lucky because her mom was by herself --not by herself because the other kids were with her --but at the same [time], she was company for her. But I can see how the other wives hated to say goodbye to their husbands because they didn't have anyone. Lydia tried to give some comfort to all the wives by having a groom less cowboys—woman’s or wives’ club. And they’d come out here to our house and play cards and have a few drinks and socialize. But then when the boys [came] come home, they were too busy doing other things, so they were musicians’ widows.

The strain of that kind of life broke up some marriages. The Army broke up my band in a different way because some of them went to welding school so they got out of going in the Army, and dey [they] never went to welding anyhow so they might as well have stayed on the road. Number two, I'd say five divorce cases in about ten years. Jimmy Widener [came] come to work with me when we were on the Camel Caravan. Floyd Wash (???) was sent to the Army --he took his place. It just went on and on.

See the tent show might have been a relief for us, too. The tent show was time-consuming because you had to have a road crew to put the tent up to begin with. Then when you got there, you had the colored boy doing the cooking for our meals, and then we went to a boarding house a lot of times to eat supper, and then the show would go on. And then we'd tear down and go back to Nashville if we could --if we were [with]in driving distance. We played from Pennsylvania all the way across to Mississippi.

During WWII, I wanted to go in the Navy, so I'd be close to Milwaukee, and I could see my family up there. There was a Major Eads, he was a doctor from Anderson, Indiana. And he was out at Ft. Knox, and I was going to a St. Patrick's dance that night. He said, “well, how did you make our with your examination for the service?” I says, “I don't know yet. “He said, “by the way, what did you choose?” I says, “the Navy.” He says, “the Navy?" I said, “yeah, I'll be close to my parents.” He said, “you get in the Navy --you'll be out in the middle of the ocean somewhere and your mother and dad won't even know you're alive.” I said, “well, what do you suggest?” He said, “tomorrow morning, you come back and I'm going to put you through the whole damn test again.”

He said, “I'll see that you have a band --he was social (??). And three guys went with me --four of us in the car --. The other three guys got put in and the law passed that said fathers with young children don't have to go in the Army. These guys were married but didn't have any children. And they went the full route --four years --I think they went with the Army. But I wasn't drafted. But I played camps a lot.

The Camel Caravan was on the eve of the war. The Camel Caravan was an institution --fine entertainment put together by the Camel cigarette people. And Mr. Frank and Ford Rush were general managers for us. And we had six Cigarette girls. I had a girl singer called San Antonio Rose and the band of Golden West Cowboys. Minnie Pearl was the star. And a girl singer from Nashville -Kay Carlisle--who became a big singer later on---she was doing a solo. And then, there was a girl trio. They were singing “Roll Out the Barrel,” like the Andrews Sisters. And the cigarette girls were out in abbreviated costumes to give away cigarettes and sometimes matches to go with them. And Dolly Dearman was a specialty dancer --she was the local girl--she was picked from the dancing school (??) and she and Minnie Pearl helped the cigarette girls.

And (??) I would act in different situations. Sometimes the folks from Camel Cigarettes would come join us when we'd be further North. When we were in the South, we didn't need anybody because Mr. Ford Rush and Mr. Frank ran the show. There was an act in New York and Chicago named Ford and Glenn, and they were a big-time act. And Mr. Ford got tired of singing, and he got into being an artist’s bureau man, and also, he handled the Camel cigarette account, and with the help of Mr. Frank, they gave us all the information we needed. Camps we played, how big a crowd we were going to have.

We had our auditions for the Camel Caravan in Shelby Park in Nashville which would have been in 1940 --Eddy joined me in 1938, yeah that's right. We auditioned for the caravan in Ft. Knox, and they wanted to see what the feeling would be at Ft. Knox, and from there, the next show we did --we did it in the park, first, a complete set-up with sound and everything , and then presented our show --staged it --and what they didn't like or didn't see --that would[n’t] be [fit] fitten for service places. We deleted some of it.

Then we went to Ft. Campbell, that was the second one. The show at Ft. Knox had passed with flying colors, so we took the same show to Ft. Campbell and that's when they decided we were really in the show -at Ft. Campbell. And they said, “month-to-month, we'll give you your schedule to let you know where you'll be going,” and it lasted 19 months.

We toured only military installations. We didn't do any civilian shows. The show was directed at servicemen and women. The war started in '41 and that's just about when we started. I remember when we were going in mine-infested waters and [the] ship's lights were out at night and we didn't know. We were going to Panama, then from Panama went to Guatemala, then from Guatemala we went to Nicaragua. From Nicaragua, we went to Tobago and Tobago was all mines. And they came with small boats to take us to land. And the Tobago Island people were isolated. They never saw a woman, maybe [one] in a year. And when them [those] girls got off the boats oh, my God!

Some of the guys got scared. They stayed right in their environment. They wouldn't come in to the base to see the show. They were scared to death -nobody knew what they were scared of but they wouldn't come see the show. And that's where I had my first iguana dinner --in Tobago Island in Central America. It was the first outpost that the U.S. Army had at that time.

The guy said, “what we are going to do --you put on a show here in the barracks, and we'll go eat.” And he said, “we've got beautiful dinners for you this evening, and everybody gets a little gin or whisky to keep in his pocket. Those that don't drink, don't have to. And we've got dessert for you.” And so help me, when they started bringing the supper or dinner, it looked like pork chops -like a deboned pork chop, white meat and everything. Tasted good. Everybody was happy. Some smart aleck people asked, “what is it we're eating” He said, “go ahead and finish your dinner --we've got dessert coming.” They said, “what have you got for dessert?” He said, “ice cream”. So, it went around like a grass fire –"IGUANA!! Holy ___.” And here we were chasing iguanas out of our room, you know. If you leave your window open, they'll climb right in. But it tasted pretty good. I'm sure the boys didn't want for meat because they[‘ve] got plenty of iguana down there. The soldiers were being served iguana regularly. But, it was a treat for us --a delicacy. I’ve never had any iguana since then, though.

I think our first show for the Camel Caravan was in Shelby Park in Nashville. It was like an audition --put the show together --something about Fourth of July, I think we did it then. We also auditioned at Ft. Knox and Ft. Campbell for the powers that be, like the guys at the agency, they came in. Maybe the representative for Camels in certain parts of the area --they were invited --to see what the show was about. We were not the only touring company for Camels. A modern music guy with a comedian headlining it --he was an Indiana Hoosier --a great comedian in those days. His son is doing his act now. He was on radio. The Hoosier Mimic they called him. He had his own separate show for Camel --it was pop music.

Ours was labeled [the] Grand Ole Opry Camel Caravan. But we never crossed each other's paths on the tours we were making. So, we put the show together in Nashville and then came up to Ft. Knox and Ft. Campbell for the big auditions. And we were approved, and we started touring, we toured the South first and then we went up North. And had one of the biggest crowds I've ever seen in my life -it was [in] Columbus, Georgia, which was a big, big Army base. And the other one was in Cleveland, Ohio. And the stadium at the lake in Cleveland seats 72,000 people, and the Army boys in that area flocked in there; it was packed and jammed -with civilians too, -employees of the Camel cigarette people.

L. Matthews was the announcer. And (??) was the emcee, and he had arranged for security, and he said, “at a given time, I'm going to have everybody turn out the lights and then I’ll have everybody in the audience strike a match and I'll start from left to right. ”And the girl Singer sang ''When the Lights Come On All Over the World." It was a very moving experience to be in that stadium in Cleveland and have it dark as pitch one minute and then have the matches struck. I don't care how mean you are, you're going to cry. Kay Carlisle with our band behind sang that song, and I bet cha there wasn't a dry eye in that place. But to me, that was the highlight of the whole Camel Caravan the entire 19 months. That's the only one I saw or participated in. I don't know what (??) thought about it but it was a great part of the show. That was a popular song back then. So was "Don't Sit Under the

Apple Tree with Anybody Else but Me” --we did all those -and that's why you couldn't call us a hillbilly band. Not only that, we could read music.

We would tape popular music and sometimes play it on instruments associated with country music. And the girl singer, San Antonio Rose, she tied ‘em up in a knot when she sang ''Walkin' the Floor Over You,” because Tubb had the hit all over the world. It was his No. 1 hit at that time.

We toured the South and the North, and we went to Panama. It was around Lent that we wound up in Guatemala, and we were staying at the big hotel, and they were carrying the cross --Procession of the Cross -offering palms in front of the procession. There were eight men; they were carrying figurines or statues on their shoulders. The crowds were tremendous. This was Palm Sunday. That was in '41, I'm pretty sure.

We toured the military installations in the Caribbean at first, and then we worked our way up to Georgia, the Carolinas --Charlotte, North Carolina, --and up to Maryland -we played the bases up there. And then we started heading west, and Missouri, Illinois, Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana.

The caravan consisted of Eddy Arnold; Red Stewart to start with, but then he was inducted in the Army in Feb. 1941 (??) and he didn't care out until 1945 or '46. Eddy would sing; the girls’ trio would sing -they were called the Camelettes, one from Memphis, one from Nashville, and one from Chattanooga. Evelyn Wilson, Mary Dinwiddie and Loretta (??) --those were the three. And Kay Carlisle was the soloist. And then Minnie Pearl --I'd introduce her and she'd jump out. I'd say, “what do you think?” And she'd say, “Howdy!”' She said, “I've never seen such a reception for me when I came to the base -I saw hundreds of those guys (??) with my name written on them --M.P., M.P.” And she used that all the way through the tour. She was the comedian and one of my boys --the bass fiddle player --did comedy, too. When we'd do "Hold That Tige,r" he'd pull on the accordion for laughs.

Minnie Pearl sings, too, but when we were in St. Louis and Eddy had been hired by that time, he said, “she's not going to sing on the show, is she?” And she said to Eddy' --she heard that. To Eddie she said, “yeah, I sing. What do you do?” And that's been a standing joke between them, but they loved each other.

Her songs were comedy too. "How to Catch a Fella" was one of them. "Maple on the Hill,” and she did a buck and wing dance -it's like a square dance with clogs, you clog instead of dan[e]cing. But she was a good dancer; she studied dancing in college. Dolly didn't follow her because Dolly Dearman did the dances -dance routines. She did Hawaiian a lot of times. She later became Harry Stone's wife.

The emcee was Mr. Rush to open the show, then I'd take over from there. The band always opened, then when we'd get through, Minnie would come out to do her part. Then he'd introduced [introduce] the girls. Then he'd explain about the cigarette girls --after the show they'll be passing out cigarettes.

We had a funny thing happen and I was fortunate enough to overhear it. We had an engineer from WSM who joined us and stayed with us. He put up the sound systems, the great big tripods, and speakers all over. And he had a way of splicing 220 down to 110 when we needed it. Mr. Frank went up to him and he says, “why is it, (??) that we have so much trouble with the electrical equipment? Can't you just get a regular one made and plug it in?” He says, “Mr. Frank, I don't tell you how to

manage your show, and if I did that, you'd be the first man probably to take the job away from me. This way by me splicing those wires, I've got a job and I'm with the show for the duration, so it makes no difference. I'm under separate contract with the Camel cigarette people.” He says, “I don't want to go back to Nashville anyhow.”

There's a lesson in that --you've got a job to do and you don't bother somebody else who's got a job to do. If he's an expert, he does his own job. I told that to two of the boys in my band one time. I said, “you don't tell him how to play his instrument and he won't tell you how to sing.”

I didn't have much trouble with the boys then. The bond that kept us together was Masonry. In 1952, we the band were 100 percent Mason. That was a kind of bond, a camaraderie. Of course, there are secrets observed in Masonry. It's practiced like a religion. There are humanitarian awards for helping people --when you do something to help them.

I don't think we had many arguments in the band. Everybody respected each other. And We were a darned good band, I know that. We didn't select band members just because they were Masons, but we made them all Masons. Mr. Frank was a Mason, and I went in when he put my name in. Then I put Redd in, and Redd became a teacher. And we got the fiddle player, another guitar player. Eddy's a 33rd degree Mason. I'm a 32nd. 33rd is honorary --it's as high as you can go. Well, Gene Autry is, so's Roy Acuff. Most of the big guys.

They're not really secrets but they're part of your training --part of the lessons that you learn in Masonry. My Horne lodge is Nashville, Tenn. My shrine is down there, but I took a leave of absence from the Nashville temple and moved to the Kosair temple in Louisville.

For the Shrines, first it's Apprentice Mason, then they go to a Sky Sheik (??) or York Rite --there's two ways you can go, and the highest one is Shrine --that's like going to college. The purpose of Masonry is fellowship and good works. They have a few Thou Shalt Not's ... I don't think I could remember anything more about it. But I still attend meetings --went to one about a month ago. And I went to a meeting in Nashville a couple of months ago. I get my 50-year pin this year as a Mason. I enjoy the company --they're different guys all together.

But I think the wives of the boys who were gone so much on the road had more arguments, but Lydia was a pacifier. She had them out there., When Gene Stewart got married, we had a big wedding out there for them. When Shorty Boyd got married, we had a wedding here. The basement was always used for parties and dancing. We'd play records --had a jukebox. The wives weren't jealous of each other's situation. But one of the things I noticed was that one of the wives would have two children, the other one was just married, and she could afford a diamond ring and all that stuff'. The one that was [just] married said, “the boys get the same salary so it's just what [the] conditions are.”

“You're in a bind with your two children --this girl just got married --she can have or a new car or a new dress or fur coat if she wants.” I said, “you got to remember that --you've got children. But your husband gets the same money as the others.”

They were all paid the same salary and they all participated in record sales of my albums. They got paid for doing the session, and then the royalty come --and that was our part. If a new member joined the band, he was paid just as much as an older member because he wouldn't be there if he wasn't good and supportive of the Golden West Cowboys. Like Minnie Pearl says, “they're not only the best-dressed boys I've ever worked with, they're also gentlemen all the way through because they respect each other.” And she says, “when I go out there, they've heard my jokes one hundred times and they still laugh. That's showmanship.”

The original Golden West Cowboys formed in 1936-37. The group disbanded in 1962. And I started another group and called them the New Golden West Cowboys, but I didn't mean (????) it as Pee Wee King and his Band. And that was local boys. Then the Collins Sisters came to work for me in 1960. Minnie Pearl and her husband we were working a bunch of fai.rs at that time --we shook hands on a deal that I furnished the band and their transportation. And we split between us the salaries. And I hired the two girls to dance to add to the show --sing and dance --they were teaching, dancing, at that time in Ohio. When we played a park up there, Minnie says, “these girls would be a welcome addition to the show. We ought to talk to their parents and see if they'll let them go.” One was still in school --she graduated that year; and the other was already graduated and was teaching dancing. So, they flew with Minnie Pearl and her husband all the time so she'd have company, and the band and I used our regular transportation. This group lasted maybe 3, 4, 5 years. It was called Pee Wee King and his Band.

And we toured with Minnie Pearl. If it was a big fair, we'd get another supporting act like Jimmy Dickens. For instance, here [pulling out sore old programs], we'd have a special act, (??) Fox, Texas Ruby and the Grand Ole Opry’s group. So, we didn't have a particular group but, a number of acts. Here's Roy Acuff with the National Theater --he got top billing because he was the big star.

[Pulling out another program] Louisville, Kentucky, and here’s Minnie Pearl --Civic Auditorium -Minnie Pearl got the biggest billing. Floyd Collins (??) with the Beach (???) Quartet. I have always maintained that the Camel Caravan did more for the Grand Ole Opry in advertising and promotion, and bringing country music together, because when we played Maryland and up East --some of the Anny camps and Naval bases up there--one of the most popular songs at that time was "You Are My Sunshine." And that was the first request we got all the time. I'd say, “what would you boys like to sing?” And they'd say, "you Are My Sunshine," or "Roll Out the Barrel,” and I'd play the accordion. Living int the barracks like that, they'd turn on the radio -one guy would have a radio -and they'd hear the Grand Ole Opry and said, “hey, I like that. I’ll sit here and listen to it with you.” And the first thing you know, it grows on you.

We took the Opry show and country music to people who hadn't heard it before. Some of the service boys and girls had never heard of the Grand Ole Opry. We went as far north as New England, Michigan, North Dakota. We never got to Canada --we couldn't. We didn't go to California or the West Coast. California was more or less the USO [United Service Organizations] territory, and they had their shows already out there.