Oral History Interview with Randy Atcher

The thing I wanted to be sure and go ahead with–since I was into that Ben Bernie tour–was we were in Akron, Ohio at the theater there–and by the way, we did six shows a day–they’d have a movie, then a show, then a movie, then a show and so on. Six shows a day–I can’t imagine entertainers doing that today. And we were there on Sunday–Sunday, Dec. 7–which is my birthday–and it’s 1941 and I came down from my room up in the hotel and somebody said that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. And I didn’t believe ‘em at first but then we listened to the radio and heard all about it. And I had been given one deferment from the draft because I was doing this show on CBS and they didn’t want to take me away from that. The draft had started prior to Dec. 7th because I left the troup–I told Ben Bernie I was leaving that night–and didn’t stay but just three or four more days–and left and came back to Kentucky and enlisted in the Air Force. That was in December of 1941. So I was already in the service before Christmas.

If I can find it here–if it’s not here maybe in Nashville–Ben Bernie’s orchestra was booked by–his agent was his brother–his name was Herman Bernie. And Herman, after seeing how the trio and the way things were on the shows, decided that I could be a Western singing star like Autry and so on. So he made some pictures of me to send to Hollywood and in the Variety magazine, which was the show business publication at the time, there’s a little article dated Dec. 10, talking about that. And of course, the war came. I left the troup and went into the war and five years later all that had passed me by. So I think if the war hadn’t come, I would have had an opportunity [to go to Hollywood] but I don’t know how it would have turned out. But I would have had the opportunity.

We’ll talk later about my satisfaction in having done what I did, and not worrying about what might have happened. .I’ve really had a wonderful life and career.

The Ben Bernie Orchestra was primarily a dance orchestra. It was of the same vintage as Glenn Miller and those bands. And Les Paul was the guitar player with the orchestra when we were doing the programs in Chicago; when we went on the tour, he left. At WBBM in Chicago, he was, I guess, the sort of staff guitarist but played with the orchestra. And as I said, it seemed funny to me–you know, his work was pretty good in so many things and I thought that he didn’t read music–it surprised me. Les Paul and the Band of Renown. And Mary Ford. Les Paul and Mary Ford. Of course, they did the first recordings I’d ever heard where they speeded up the tape to make it sound higher pitched than it was, you know. But it was always funny to me to see Ben point to him but he never missed a–if he had eight bars, he played eight bars–if he had sixteen bars, he played whatever, you know. It was really good.

No, I didn’t play for dances with this orchestra. We didn’t work with them for dances–they did–they played some dances in ballrooms. But we were doin’ strictly the radio program and then this tour we were on–that was strictly concert in theaters.

So I told Ben Bernie I was coming home and I finished the stay in Akron and as soon as we finished that, I came on home and enlisted in the Air Force. They took me on the 12th of January 1942 and I went to Keeser Field, Mississippi for basic training, wanted to be a pilot but the physical exam [showed] my eyes were quite good enough. At that time they wouldn’t take you if they weren’t 20/20, for sure. So they put me into communications. Apparently, musicians are particularly good with operating a telegraph machine, so I did quite a bit of that. After I’d had basic training, they sent me to Scott Air Base in St. Louis and I went through the communications school there. When I finished there, they decided to make an instructor of me and sent me to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Oh, there are lots of little stories I could tell about things in between there [laughs]. I wasn’t performing as an entertainer because I just sort of shied away from it. When I left the group and came back to Kentucky, I had to go back to Chicago, of course, and pack up everything. So I had a collection–I loved the Hot Club of France band–Jangle Reinhart [sp??] and Stephanie Grafelli [sp??] and so on--I had a collection of 78's of all their recordings I could get up to that time. Well, I packaged them up and a bunch of other things and sent them home, only they never did arrive–those records never did get home. But I had to bring two guitars, I had the mandolin, and bring them home with me. And leave them [at home].

There are a few more things that I would like to mention about my career up to January, 1942. In 1934, we mentioned that Pee Wee King came to town. And he and the group formed the little band they had here–the Log Cabin Boys. And Autry was here and he left. And by the way, the name in the book should have been Cousin Emmy, never Cousin Emma; did he [Pee Wee King] say Emma? I’ve worked shows with her and knew her well. In 1935, Clayton McMichen and the Georgia Wildcats came to town. And, you know, McMichen had the reputation of being one of the best of all time. And he had a five-piece–pretty much strictly country-style band–with fiddle, banjo, guitar and bass. And if you want me to, sometime, I can give you the names of all of ‘em.

Anyway, he was on WHAS and he did a program–at the same time Bob and I were on–he was on like 7 o’clock in the morning and we were on at 8 o’clock. But he was very popular–he played a lot of dances–square dances and things like that–as well as did shows out too. When Bob and I were playing in Kentucky and southern Indiana, we did almost entirely shows; you couldn’t accommodate as many people with a dance because you had to have room for the dance and you couldn’t do both. In that same year, I believe it was, 1935, a trio came to Louisville–no, it was a little bit before that–this was in 1934–no, 1935 because McMichen was in a fiddle contest–they had fiddle contests–fiddle contests were big. This trio came to town and it was Natchee the Indian, Cowboy Copas and Rusty Gabbbard–and they were a trio. And I’ll never forget ‘cause I’d go listen to ‘em–they sang mostly the Western songs too. And they would stand at least six feet from one of those old Dynamic microphones that we had in the studio, and when they sang, they rared back and gave it full volume and it didn’t make any difference where they were. And they really did well. And Natchee was a fiddle player. Cowboy Copas. And Rusty Gabbard was the bass fiddle player. They called themselves just that–Natchee the Indian, Cowboy Copas and Rusty Gabbard. They were on WHAS.

And Natchee played the fiddle. And McMichen played the fiddle. And a little after that, Pappy [Clayton] went to WAVE and was on WAVE. They would start things about these fiddle contests they were gonna have and it sounded like they were gonna kill each other next time they saw each other, you know. And then the old National Theater which used to be on the corner of Fifth and Walnut is where they’d have these things and they’d FILL that theater to watch this fight they expected and it would just be all publicity all over again [laughs]. They were hyping even then. And they’d have these fiddle contests and they were just pretty regular–a little bit like the Belle of Louisville–one would win one time and the other would win the next. So the two of them would be in a contest and the audience would decide the winner.

Prior to that, my father won the state championship at the National Theater one year. There was a fellow–he wrote a song called “Rainbow at Midnight’–what was his name, John?–well, I’ll think of it at some future time. But he couldn’t play the fiddle as well as I could but he played “The Alabama Jubilee”–there’s a break in the middle of the song–and when he got to that break, he’d jump about four feet straight up and saw down across that fiddle. [laughs} Well, the audience would go mad, you know. And so he won, too, you know. But those were wonderful days in many ways, although in the back of my mind, I’d be kind of mad that somebody who couldn’t play worth a darn would win.

The fiddle contests. They were held all over the country but they would be regional. And here it was in the National Theater. It was about a month between each contest–sometimes longer than a month–‘cause they’d have to build it up [with publicity]. Most of the time it would be people who had already put themselves in a position to play in the contest–rather than someone from the audience. I can’t recall them ever just sayin’: Is there anybody in the audience who would want to get in? But they’d advertise who they contests were gonna be. So it wasn’t just Natchee and Clayton McMichen–there’d be others, too.

I can’t recall any of them playing “The Orange Blossom Special.” They would play more of the standard old fiddle tunes like “Gray Eagle,” “Fire on the Mountain,” those kind of things, and then of course like I mentioned “Alabama Jubilee.” So they were performing as much as they were playing–absolutely– [laughs] the body language and jumping up and down. And doing tricks with the fiddle. Some of them would play the fiddle over the shoulder, and play between their legs, and over their back and all that [laughs]. But those were really crowd pleasers.

I never played fiddle well enough, I felt, to get in any kind of contest. But my father did. He won it one year. It would have been about ‘34–right along in that era. Or it was probably after that–probably ‘35 because McMichen didn’t come till later on.

Of course, my family’s life was one of hard work–mother, father, brothers, sisters and I–but we had music and we had religion. It was very important to us. We NEVER missed church. That [music] was supportive–it gave me something to look forward to. And, of course, we all loved music so well that we would play anytime–for people or just for our own [enjoyment]. My dad just loved to pick up a fiddle–and me get out the guitar or one of the other brothers and just play–in the evening after work. We had a front porch. Yes, we sat on the front porch.

I don’t know whether it’s worth tellin’ or not but along with not drinking, we didn’t use any swear words in my house, you know. But of course I went to school and had learned a few in the back of mind, I guess.

Anyway, a friend named Charlie Gray who lived two blocks away on Main Street from where we were. And he’d been out of town. And my father and I were out there on the porch–he was leanin’ against a pillar and I was standin’ just beside him–and I looked over and saw Charlie over there and I said, Well, I’ll be damned–there’s Charlie Gray. And man, did that hand just WHOP!! [laughs] [Can’t understand--Smacked me flat] against the wall. You don’t say things like that, he was trying to tell me.

Yes, I got to know Gene Autry to an extent when he was here. You know, I would talk to him and maybe sit in on a program if I wasn’t having to be on a program somewhere or something. I expect he would have remembered us because Bob and I were doin’ real well in this area at that time. A little later on, we’ll talk about Rogers being in town a couple of times. And one year he didn’t have one of his people with him so I went around doing the shows with the Sons of the Pioneers–and Roy. That’s Roy Rogers. He was born Lynn Sly in Cincinnati. And Roy Rogers was a better show name, you know.

I really didn’t think Gene Autry would make such a splash in the movie industry. I never was too sold on Gene’s voice that much. I was real surprised that he became as big a star as he was. I think it’s probably true that he was in the right place at the right time–that has a lot to do with his success. And you know, his acting wasn’t anything to write home about. But having seen him here, he was himself–sort of–you know, he didn’t change a whole lot so in some ways, I think that’s good–to just be yourself. He played himself. [Wade Halls says: And of course, the singing which was kind of unusual because here you had the most masculine icon in American history, I guess–the cowboy–and at the same time, you had a cowboy who was singing–LOVE SONGS!! Which is kind of mushy–and so many of his fans were little boys before the age of puberty. And you know, they weren’t interested in that mush stuff at all. But still, he had this incredible audience; he managed to make everybody like those kind of sweet, Western songs.]

And I think part of the reason for that was the fact that his voice was such that people would here him and think, Now, I can sing THAT good. You know, if he’d had a real big voice or somethin’, I don’t believe he would have become as popular in the medium he was in–because cowboys weren’t supposed to be operatic singers–you were supposed to be just plain, ordinary guys, you know. [Wade Hall says: First of all they weren’t so clean. He was always clean looking and dressed in fancy costumes. This was a sanitized version of the cowboy–romanticized version.] [Randy Atcher laughs and agrees.]

I went to West Point Elementary School and West Point High School. It was in the flood so that’s why it’s like that [referring to something in just brought into the room]. My first grade class [showing a picture]. I’m the one right by the teacher–she was my love [laughs]. Irene Dowell–I just thought she was the greatest person who ever lived. It almost got completely ruined in the flood but I kept it because I thought it might be somethin’ we could use.

I have a whole bunch of pictures–you’ve seen that one before. That’s when I was eight months old–just before we left for North Dakota. Yes, that’s my mother. Now in the picture is my mother, my grandmother and grandfather–the two next to her standing, the two sitting in front of them are my great grandfather and great grandmother, and my sister Josephine is the older of the girls there, and my brother Raymond is there, brother Bob here, and Francis standing by Josephine. And that other one is a great uncle and I don’t know his name. This was taken at my grandfather’s house–that’s at Stithton, Ky., at my grandfather’s house, which is no longer there–Fort Knox took it over.

Here’s the family. Overalls and blue shirt. That’s me–I was the youngest one. That’s my father, and Raymond, Bob and Francis. Raymond’s the elder, then Bob, then Francis, then me. [Wade Hall comments on how much the boys look alike.] Here’s one of the three of us–we did a lot of trio stuff–Francis, and Bob on this side, and I’m in the middle. I’ve got those overalls on and my shirts look almost new–I think they probably were–and the overalls too. Yeah, we used those for dress-up for the shows.

This is me on the basketball team at West Point–up here in the top right-hand corner. The basketball uniforms are a bit different today–they’re so baggy now. I will tell you a story about my basketball career–we’ll get to that.

This is Uncle Henry’s Kentucky Mountaineers with me there in the back, on the left. We had black hats–wool hats–and they were more mountain hats than [anything else]. That’s Uncle Henry and Sally and the Coonhunter and Rufus–they called this fellow–and Johnny Ford played fiddle–he’s standing behind...That’s a five-string banjo.

And this is the band I had in Chicago–this is my brother Bob and Bonnie Blue Eyes. This is me. I was wearing a white Western outfit–really, it was kind of a cream color.

That’s Bob standing back here. That’s Eddie Powinski [name??] or Powers, we called him, because [laughs] he was a Polish boy who played accordion. And then that’s the fiddle player back there–Bill and.

Here’s the same band without us. And then I’ve got a picture of just the three of us.

The accordion was not a Southern folk instrument–no, not much–it was primarily, you know, Minnesota–up in that area. The polkas–the German and Polish people.

This is the trio–Bob and Bonnie and me.

We’ll get around to a lot of these–I can put these away. [Wade Hall comments that he has wonderful pictures.]

This is my class at Scott Air Force Base–I believe that was. I went to Officers’ School at Yale and I had a picture of that group, I think, but I’d have to show you my picture in here. I wasn’t commissioned at this time but I was later. I graduated from Yale in six weeks I always like to say [laughs]. When I graduated from Officers School–see, they say you were cute then.

My rank was captain. And one thing I’ve always resented–I was scheduled to be promoted to major when they decided to close the base and come home. I’d been in grade long enough and had nothing but superior ratings from my CO’s. Got to the mustering out area and this sergeant said, Well, you can either take your majors promotion or mustering out pay–one or the other–can’t have ‘em both. And I didn’t have any money, so, you know, I said I’ll have to take the mustering out pay. And I’ve always resented that. I was actually a captain in rank.

The Swingin’ Cowboys group–this was after the service–right after the first band I formed.

My son, you know, is into computers–like a [can’t understand word??] business. He said, Send me the pictures and I’ll put ‘em all together and he did make copies of ‘em and I have tried to put them in a sort of chronological order–when they came about. I have the originals–somewhere...there are some that are not very good. I’ve got originals like of that–Uncle Henry’s Mountaineers–I’ve got an original of that in a songbook but it’s glossy....

MAY 8, 2000

Prior to Derby this year, I was really busy the Thursday before Derby with the Pegasus Parade which is an important part of the celebration here. And I was in the parade on the Crusade for Children float. And I got a kick out of comin’ down Broadway with all the crowds, singin’ the T-Bar-V song and everybody singin’ along [laughs]. [Wade Hall says he ran into somebody recently who remembered all the words to the song and it surprised him–so many, many people remember it.] Well, it makes you feel good to see that they remember it so well. And that parade is a little bit like goin’ to the fairgrounds–you wait–and you sit around–and you wait–and you wait some more, you know–but anyway, FINALLY got through it.

Then Friday, we went to the Kentucky Colonels Dinner–I’ve been a Kentucky Colonel for a long time–and Glenn Campbell was the entertainment. It was at the Galt House East and the governor came by and spoke to everybody, and the Lt. Governor and his Miss America friend came by. And it was really a very delightful evening. Glenn Campbell did a very, very good show. And for the first time–he said it was his eldest daughter–was with him. They weren’t expecting her and she was terrific. And together they did some wonderful stuff. I didn’t know she was an entertainer. I don’t know how old she is–he didn’t say–but I would judge 25–somewhere in that range. She’s a very, very handsome lady and tall, and thin, very nice looking. And they were really great together. Just the two of them entertained with the band. I guess it was his own band because he knew everybody. Yes, I’m sure it was his band ‘cause they tore down after the show.

He was popular nationally at one time and he did kind of fade out there like so many of that ilk. It’s happened to people like Johnny Cash. It’s happened to people like, you know–Willie Nelson continues but there was a period of several years when no one heard of him.

I got the biggest kick out of watching the Country Music Awards show this time when Allen Jackson and George Strait sang a song called “Murder on Music Row.” And it pretty much tells the story about the old-timers–no one wants to play their records anymore–it’s just the young ones, you know.

The polished, pop image that has pretty much taken over country music today–yes, I think that is happening now. To me, as a matter of fact, most of country music today we would have called pop music years ago and is more rock than it is anything else. Once in a while one of the artists will come out with a song that sounds like the old country music that I remember. Some of the singers who are in the old tradition today: Randy Travis to an extent; George Strait–especially; Allen Jackson is another–they [Strait and Jackson] were the two who did that song and I’m sure that’s why. Dwight Yoakum does a combination of both but he’s pretty good at it, too, and so is Marty Stuart. As to Ricky Skaggs, he’s pretty much in the bluegrass style [rather than country] but he’s more old-timey But you know, it just seems like that has faded out so much where they used to be the top name for things, now they sort of get second billing, you know, on shows.

I don’t really think there was a period in my career that I thought I was fading. I guess I’d have to say I’ve been very lucky with that. Now when I graduated from high school, I decided I was going to get out of the country music business all together and went down to Western Kentucy State University. At that time, I had already been in the business three or four years. And I talked to my grandfather about that because we weren’t paid anything except personal appearances–we weren’t makin’ any money, of course, out of it. That was my mother’s father; I think we might have talked of this before–had a garage at Kosmosdale which was three miles from West Point. And talked to him about it, and he said, Well, you know, if you’re doin’ something you enjoy doing, and you’re doing somethin’ for other people, then you can hardly beat that. He was a very fine man–I really liked him.

I can’t really think of a period when I thought I was being cast aside–not really. About the only time I can think of that might fit into that category was when I came back from the war–of course, this is going to be way ahead of where we are in our talk–but I came back from the war in 1946. I think I mentioned going to Savannah and opening a little radio station down there as musical director. And WHAS called me to come up here in 1947. So I came up here and we had a year’s contract with the Vick’s Salve people for Western swing kind of. This was the first Western swing band I had put together. And we called ‘em the Swingin’ Cowboys. And we played every Saturday night for a long time at the Lincoln Tavern [Jamboree??] down at Lincoln’s boyhood home down near there. It’s between Bardstown and Hodgenville. And we did the Western swing kind of stuff.

An odd group, I guess, for Western swing at the time–had clarinet, fiddle and accordion for the front line–and then steel guitar, guitar, bass and then I played rhythm guitar–and we wrote music for everybody. And the front line was the fiddle, accordion and clarinet–and then the steel guitar player could play guitar, so we had three electric guitars–and wrote for them like saxophones, you know, and played a lot of three-part stuff with the guitars.

Of course, this is considerably later than something else I might talk about–when I went to Savannah, Ga. to open that little radio station, I was called the musical director and they didn’t do much records at that point, I guess, because we did a program just seemed like every hour on the hour with this little band I had–I formed–with accordion, trumpet, bass fiddle and I played guitar. And we did all kinds of programs. The trumpet player–I’ll never forget–he arrived at about the time he was supposedto start the theme song. So rehearsal with him was just not done. And we had written an arrangement for a song–a Western song–about the wind. And they’d had the trumpet just goin’–da, da, da–da, da, da–da, da, da–da, da, da–and he hit that cold [laughs]--he had a hard time [laughs]–but he played it all right though [laughs]. No, he didn’t destroy the song; it went OK. But when we got through, he was ready to quit, I think.

Then I’ll never forget another thing–we used to go into Savannah sometimes to hear the music that was goin’ on–and we were at this place and there was a three-piece band playing and a man sitting in the corner of the small stage in this little nightclub–he didn’t do anything ‘cept he just sat up there lookin’ important and the trio was playing. The same trumpet player I’m talkin’ about said, I wonder what that fella does–he hasn’t played, hasn’t sung, hasn’t done anything–just sits there? So he said, I want to find out. So he went over–and we were all sort of right along with him–and he says, What you do in this band? And he said, I’s de leader [laughs].

But you were still talking about this year’s Derby. Well, after the Colonels’ dinner, then Derby Day I had made arrangements to play golf so I played golf. And we used to go to the Derby every year but it’s just gotten so crowded and hard to get in and out of that we quit goin’. So we went out to the country club and they have a little bookie there that’s takin’ bets and so on. This is Wildwood Country Club. So we placed our bets and so on, and we stayed there till just shortly before the Derby and Betty and I were just gettin’ so tired from the weekend and all the things we’ve done, that we decided to come home and watch the Derby at home. So we did that. And then yesterday–Sunday–we went to the Colonels Barbecue at Bardstown. And this time I shook hands with the governor and the lieutenant governor–and of course I’ve known the lieutenant governor for a long time–not Gov. Patton. And saw a lot of people I knew and who knew me. Yes, most everywhere we go, somebody’s always sayin’, Hi, Randy, and so on.

Yes, I remember the Colonels Barbecue when it was held out in Anchorage at Anna Friedman’s. I used to go out there. Yes, they had entertainment. And they had out there [in Bardstown, too] and once again, it was just what we were talkin’ about–it was primarily rock kind of music. And most of the colonels–I’d say 75 percent of the colonels–are older people. And they weren’t too pleased with that, you know. They’d rather have somethin’ more traditional. In past years, we have danced to some of the music they had but [what they have now] is just not danceable music to me. They have those extremely loud basses–that just shake you, you know. Kind of like the ones you here when you’re goin’ along the street these days.

But it was a good weekend and we enjoyed it. But then we were pleased to get home from the barbecue and sit down and rest for the rest of the day.

In 1940, when Bob, Bonnie and I were doing Western songs–the Western trio–in Chicago. They had a thing they called “The Night of Stars” at Soldiers Field. And Soldiers Field was completely sold out and that’s a huge place, you know. But the thing I remember the most about it is waiting to go out and entertain. I was sitting right next to Randolph Scott who at that time was one of my favorite Western stars of all time. And next to him was Kitty Carlisle. And all these people around who were there for that show. And it just went really well. But I’ll always remember that because I liked Randolph Scott so much. He mostly just talked at the show; he wasn’t a singer or a singing cowboy. He made his appearance and spoke to the people. I really liked him.

Back in the ‘30s when Bob and I were on WHAS, we used to go to Fountain Ferry Park every year for the Huff family reunion and was Grayson County Day down at Fountain Ferry Park. And I would say–it always seemed like there were 25 percent of the policemen in Louisville–city police–were Huffs or relatives, you know [laughs]. Anyway, I would come out of the station after we had done our morning program–this was in the summertime–always–because didn’t have to rush back to West Point to school or anything. And WHAS at that time was at the corner of Third and Liberty–and I walked down to Fourth Street–and at that time there was about six or seven theaters along there between Market and all the way down to Broadway–probably more than that. Anyway, I’d walk down–one of the policeman on the corner–you know, they were about on every corner then–and they’d say, Well, what do you want to see today, Randy? And they’d take me in and sit me down in the theater. [laughs] I never did have to pay for anything [laughs]. But it was always Westerns, you know. One of the perks. It was always Westerns that I wanted to see and I always remember that. I would have been 15, 16 at that time–well, probably more 15 because at 16–I was still 16 when I graduated high school.

My brother Bob and I were at Fountain Ferry Park...

SIDE B

...when Cactus and I were working and doing T-Bar-V, we did the same thing until Fountain Ferry closed down–we were down there three or four times a year. They had a lot of country music there. Special shows. I guess every weekend they had something like that and sometimes during the week. I hated to see Fountain Ferry close up because–actually, it’s Foun’taine Ferry if you want to get technical about it–but I hated to see it close up because it was a good thing for the people to go to right here in town. I guess now they have Kentucky Kingdom–it seemed small but it was really nice. It was Louisville’s equivalent of Disneyland and Disney World–in many ways.

When Bob and I were on WHAS, about 1935, probably into ‘36, this Western trio came in, and I think I did talk about this some too. It was Natchee, who was really American Indian–Natchee the Indian they called him. And then Cowboy Copas and then a fellow named Rusty Gabbard played bass fiddle and Copas played guitar, and Natchee played fiddle. I used to really enjoy watching and listening to them at the studio ‘cause the old microphones they had at that time only picked up in the front–you had to be IN FRONT of it or you didn’t get picked up at all. And they’d stand back about six feet from that microphone and sing at the top of their lungs. They did most of the Western kind of songs in harmony like that. I really always enjoyed that. Natchee the Indian didn’t go to Nashville at the same time Cowboy Copas did. Copas went to Nashville and became one of their stars. And of course he was killed in that tragic plane crash [with Patsy Cline].

My family never took any trips as a family except locally. In other words, we would go to–in those days, family reunions were a big thing. And big families–and the only place we really went as a family like that would be to go to some of those things. Yes, that was on both sides of my family–but primarily my mother’s side. You know, we’d go to a place called Grayhampton that I think is no longer there–it’s part of Fort Knox now–big family reunion. That was the Ray family there. But my father’s family was small compared to the Rays but of course some of them would be there.

But I’ll never forget one we had at Fort Knox. And there were approximately 2,500 people there–all relations of the Atchers and Rays. And my grandfather–I think I might have mentioned this before–he helped make the brick in their own brick furnace–or whatever you call it there–and helped build the Catholic church there–St. Patrick’s. Anyway, I’ll never forget it ‘cause we were there and it started to rain, and I had an Uncle John Wiseman who was taller than most, and somebody got a hold of a tarpaulin and he stood in the middle of the table and held that up while ever’body ate with the rain comin’ down around the table. [laughs]

The family was pretty much at home rather than widespread. My oldest sister when she was 19–and see at that time, I would have been only about 10 years old–she graduated from nursing diagnostician school and was offered a spot in Massachusetts. So at 19, I remember Mother was pretty nervous about her going but she went by herself to Middleton, Mass., and it was a tuberculosis hospital or sanatorium, and she was a diagnostician and you know, was in the lab room most all the time. But she married a man named Joe Leary after she’d been there three or four years, I guess, and has lived in Massachusetts ever since and had three sons–has lost one–two of them still there with big families of their own now.

Yes, 2,500 people is a lot of people. It was held on Fort Knox reservation in the church grounds. At that time, there wasn’t nearly the buildings that’s at Fort Knox now. St. Patrick’s Church had Mass every Sunday and people came from everywhere–you didn’t have to get permission to use their grounds. The church is still there; it was active–they closed it for a while–but just in the past year, they have reopened it, redone it–and sort of reopened it as a church. It’s still a Catholic church on a military reservation. It’s not a military chapel. I think that may be unusual although see that was part of Stithton which Fort Knox kind of encompassed, you now. So it was there quite a while before Fort Knox became such a big place. [Wade Hall says: I know there were other churches on land that became part of Fort Knox but they moved because there was a Stithton Baptist Church on the reservation and it moved.]

Well, 31W used to come up there to Fort Knox–Chafee Boulevard I think it is now. And it made a sharp left turn and it went about a mile and a half or two--Stithton was down–and then made another sharp right turn on down towards Elizabethtown. And Stithton was in that corner down there–that’s where my mother was born and raised.

I haven’t been back to services there. Sometime I’d like to go out and just see what it’s like. It was closed and was inactive. I didn’t see it when they started to renovate it–put it back as a church. But that would be something interesting to go see sometime. I think it was just a matter of closure–like they would close a school or something–they just closed it as a church and whoever–the parishioners would have another church to go to, you know, possibly Vine Grove or some other town around there. I’m not sure whether every Catholic church has a relic–not that I know of–they all have the host that’s permanently housed there–and they would just take it and move it to the next church.

No, we didn’t go on trips when I was growing up except for those kinds of things.

Yes, I was an altar boy. At West Point, the church was real small–a mission church they called it. And so Mother played the organ. My family sang–we were the choir. And the boys were all altar boys at different times as their ages changed. And on Sundays when we had Mass

there would be more Atchers there than there was the rest of the congregations [laughs], you know. But sometime later on in the ‘30s, when people started building sort of a summer home down along the river from Louisville, then we started getting a few more people in the church. But I don’t think I’ve ever been there when it was crowded. Yes, I was an altar boy at the church there.

I remember quite a few of the priests there [at our church in West Point]. Because most of the priests we had came from Vine Grove–that was their church. And I remember one particular one–he was Father Smith–and he was about 6', 4'’, which to me at that time was huge. And a real nice man–loved music and would say Mass and then come over to the house and have lunch and listen to us play music, you know. But we had a West Point church baseball team–and we played like Vine Grove–we played Muldraugh–we played these different places. And I’ll never forget this because we were playing Ekron, Kentucky, and there was a man in the little seats we had there–the grandstand if you’d call it that–who kept heckling everybody and using swear words in doing a lot of it. Father Smith went over to him and asked if he would please not use that kind of language–there were women present–people like that–and didn’t need that. Well, the man was quiet for a little while, then he started again doin’ the same thing. I feel sure he was drinking. And Father Smith went back over to him and asked him again, and this time the man stood up and acted like he was going to take a swing at Father Smith. And Father Smith hit him and knocked him about 20 feet–he never did any more heckling or anything–but it’s the first time I ever knew a priest to do anything like that. He had on his collar and everything like that, so the heckler knew he was a priest. I couldn’t get over that. But I’ll never forget that. [laughs]

We’ve always had a big laugh in the family because my father had one sister and she lived at Radcliff and her name was Rogers–she had married a man named Rogers–who, by the way, looked very much like the Rogers comic–what was his name? Will Rogers–looked very much like him. Anyway, the Atcher side of the family did not very much talking, and I remember my father goin’ down to the baseball games, and Maggie–this was Aunt Maggie Rogers–sittin’ up on one of those seats in the grandstand–and my father walked by and says, Hi, Mag, how are you? She says, I ain’t much, George. And I don’t think they spoke another word to each other the whole time. [laughs] Ain’t much, George. [laughs] The Atcher side of the family–they didn’t talk much.

I think I got most of my talking aptitude from my mother’s side of the family. And Dad didn’t talk much at home, really–either. Now and again he’d get on some subject he wanted you to learn about that could have to do with music or could have to do with plantin’ the garden that was comin’ up and would talk–but generally not much.

We always talked at the dinner table to a certain extent. We always had dinner at the table with the family. But not too much talk went on. Mother would ask how things were at school–what was goin’ on at school–things like that. Dad would listen but he was one of those that when he finished eating, he was finished. So he’d get up and leave the table. Well, we kids were more attuned to Mother’s way of doing things, you know, but until my youngest sister came along and it was almost like my father changed overnight. The rest of us–he punished us when we did bad–he didn’t, you know, do anything that would make you think that he didn’t care for you, but, at the same time, he didn’t do much to tell you that he did. And my youngest sister, who’s now 70, came along and it was just one of those things–like she could twist him around her little finger. You know, all she needed to do was go up to him and cuddle up in his lap or something–do anything she wanted. [laughs] It sort of surprised us all.

No, he was not very demonstrative as a father. Not a hugging and kissing kind of person.

And this applied, I guess, this applied to our whole family to a degree–my mother–I can remember coming home from the program Bob and I’d be doin’ at WHAS and maybe have some new song or so that I had sung–walk in and say, Did you hear the program this morning? And Mother would say, Yeah. I’d say, Well, how’d you like it? It was all right [she’d say]. That was about it. [laughs] Never–Really good; I liked it; or anything like that. [laughs] [Wade Hall says people with a country background don’t tend to talk much unless they’re telling stories; they’re not much for idle chitchat.] You’re right, country people don’t do much idle chitchat.

Well, yes, I had some girlfriends when I was a boy. There was a little girl who moved in across the street from us–my first date was with her. I’m having trouble remembering her first name–her last name was Stansifer. But I can’t remember her first name. And I expect I’ve got a brother who would remember. But anyway, our date was to go to the little drugstore–we had a little drugstore there in the town of West Point–and have a Coke or something. We had a Coke and a little candy bar and so–and 35 cents was all I had with me–and that’s just what it cost [laughs]. Well, at that time, you’d get a Coke for a nickel, and sandwiches were 10 cents or somethin’ like that. I was I guess about 13. I asked her; we were in school together. I went out with her again–a couple of times–but almost always in group situations–something was happening at school and so on.

So I didn’t really have what I would call a girlfriend when I was still at home. We had a young girl who lived right across the street from us–her name was Jones. And she might still be around–I’d better not say her first name [laughs]–but I remember. Anyway, we dated a couple of times, you know, and went out. But I never had what I would call a girlfriend that I went steady with.

It was interesting–maybe I mentioned this before–but there was twins lived in town–Irene and Alene Slaughter–and they were very nice looking girls, couple of years older than me. But they had a kind of a reputation for being a little bit loose, you know. But they were also really nice young ladies to talk to. And there was a place outside West Point–it was about three miles from the school to this place because I ran it many times while I was playin’ basketball–it was called Beech Grove. And this was the only place where they had any kind of entertainment–so they’d have a band in there to play for dances. And I didn’t know how to dance. And the twins were both good at that, so I’d go out there and they taught me to dance. I was 14, 15 at that time–right along in there. I was playing for dances at that time but they were strictly country dances but this was more of the popular swing music of the time–ballroom dancing. But they didn’t have a good reputation but they were really nice people, you know. My mother wasn’t too pleased with this but she didn’t say you can’t do it.

I had buddies when I was growing up. There was a fellow named Buster Whalen and we played basketball together. Buster–at West Point was the first person they had who shot a one-handed shot, you know. In the days of my early basketball, nobody–it was just considered showin’ off and didn’t do any good–to shoot a one-handed shot. Double-hands, you know, for foul shots and everything.

I don’t know whether I told you about this before but I played on the midget team originally. Midget teams in those days you couldn’t weigh over 105 pounds and they were havin’ the tournament at Glendale, Kentucky, and I was a little bit overweight. So they put me out of the car about three or four miles from Glendale and had to run along till we got to [laughs]–to weigh in–and I weighed in at 104 and 3/4 [laughs]–and then I went to somewhere–some store nearby there and I must have eaten half-a-dozen bananas [laughs] or gorged on somethin’. No, it wasn’t after the game–it was all right once I weighed in–you were all right then [you could gain weight]. [laughs]

But these are classmates of mine–Buster Whalen and a fellow named Elva Lee Tuell but we called him Ikey Tuell. And Buster Whalen–his first name is Norman–Buster was killed in World War II. And Ikey Tuell was around Louisville for a while during the time I was gone to the war, I guess, and then the last I heard he lived in Nashville and that’s been some years so I don’t know whether he’s still alive or not. Yes, they would come over to my house when we were boys.

Well, there are two others I want to mention. One was Charlie Gray who was a little bit older than I–the same age as my older brother Francis–and he lived two blocks from us. He’s the one I yelled at when I mentioned my father whopped upside the head when I said, “I be damned–there’s Charlie Gray.” And a fellow named Shorty Ditto. And we used to roam those hills out there all the time. And it’s really surprising–we roamed all over those hills and never thought anything about it–and now they’ve discovered Fort Duffield which was there and works are still there–all these places we were runnin’ around and over are still there and it’s a place for people to see. It was a Civil War fort. General Sherman was there at one time–for a short time.

But there was a place–seems like you hear of ‘em everywhere–called Lovers Leap. And it was a rock cliff, and a couple of kids that apparently sometime in the past jumped off and killed themselves. Well, this happened to be right in the middle of Fort Duffield. So when they started developing–getting Fort Duffield back–there was about eight or ten feet of dirt right under that cliff and they started digging that away and they found an old spring in there where the soldiers had chipped out the rock to let the water run down to something they could drain it off, you know, and into their buckets. And they have it open now so you can see it–and it’s been there all that time. Yes, yes, I have been back to it. Yes, it did bring back memories when I was a boy but in roamin’ those hills, I didn’t think there was anything to it ‘cept some hills, you know.

We were just running and playing in the hills. And we’d go–well, one time I was talkin’ about Charlie Gray and Shorty Ditto–one time we just went out and we’d go like groundhog hunting. We’d take a long pole–kind of sharpen the end to dig ‘em out of their hole, you know. And we’d roam all over the hills. ‘Course, my father and all of us went up in those hills to pick wild blackberries–all the time doin’ that.

Anyway, I’ll never forget–one time we were up there and we’d gotten a couple of ground hogs–we didn’t kill ‘em–we’d just get ‘em out of their holes with this stick and fool around with ‘em–but there was a squirrel hoppin’–goin’ along through the trees. Shorty Ditto said, Let’s catch that ol’ squirrel. Let’s see if we can catch ‘im. Well, we started chasin’ it through these trees and finally came to a place where there wasn’t a close enough tree–they had to jump to the ground. And just by accident, or luck, or somethin’, Charlie Gray landed right on top of the squirrel and we caught it and killed it and built a little spit–a fire with a spit out there. We must of roasted that squirrel for three hours [laughs]–at least. Well, he was real done but he was so tough we couldn’t bite through him–probably it was ancient, you know. [laughs] But otherwise, we wouldn’t have caught him if he hadn’t old, you know [laughs].

But those were some of my friends. But most everybody that I went to school with [were my friends]. But these are people I was with more than the others. And I would go to their house and they’d go to my house.

We’d look for arrowheads. We found them all over out in Fort Hill. And I mentioned earlier, I think, my brother Charles, who was younger, used to go up on the hills–Fort Knox was going by that time and they–a practice range out there right over those hills–tops of those hills–and he’d go up there and pick up lead–shrapnel–well, actually it’s just lead balls that came from the firing. And he’d come down carryin’ 50 pounds of that stuff, you know, from bein’ out there. But every year we always went out and picked blackberries.

No, my first serious girlfriend was not the one I first married. because I didn’t marry her until I got to the service in Australia. Yes, before that, in Chicago, there was a young red-headed girl that I was serious about. Of course, this will come later, but I graduated from Officers School–no, I was sent to Biloxi, Miss., at Keeser Field for basic training and every weekend for a while, I would fly back to Chicago and see her. But I discovered, much to my chagrin, that it was pretty much a one-way thing. But we dated a lot when I was up there in Chicago but, uh, and she never gave me any indication at that time that she wasn’t feeling the same way I was. And I feel sure, had she reciprocated, that probably we would have gotten married by the time I was goin’ off in the service. The only thing I know about her after that was that she went to New York and when I graduated from Officers School, by some hook or crook, we met in New York, and she told me at that time she was getting married to someone else. So I don’t know, really, what happened to her at all. I just remember that she was red-headed and pretty [laughs]. No, I don’t have a picture of her.

No, there was not really anybody else before my first wife. I think I mentioned to you that I was working with the Ben Bernie Orchestra before the war. We were on tour when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and I left the troup and came home to enlist in the Air Force. And I was first sent to Biloxi, Miss., where I took basic training and all the marching and all that stuff that went on. About the only time I did anything other than those quick trips to Chicago was we went into New Orleans–I hadn’t been there before–that was quite a thing just to remember all the things that went on [there]. We only went to one USO Service Club, I remember, but there was one of those. We spent quite a little bit of time just walkin’ around, seeing New Orleans, you know. Yes, that was an exciting place for a young man. Yes, the French Quarter was, you know–of course, it looked a whole lot different than it does now, ‘cause mostly old frame buildings and things like that.

But I’ll never forget Biloxi because Biloxi itself had about a population of 10,000, and there were 70,000 troops there at Keeser Field. So the poor Biloxis [laughs]–they weren’t too crazy about the military, you know [laughs]–just too many of us.

Anyway, I went to basic training there and I took a test–I wanted to fly–I wanted to be a pilot–took a test there and they said my eyes weren’t good enough. At that time, you had to have 20/20 vision to get in the flying service at all. So I went into communications and uh, was sent to Scott Air Base at Belleville, Illinois, for training in communications. And they told me several times that musicians were especially good at taking Morse Code and that was one of the things you had to learn to do. So I went through the three months’ school there, learning communications, and then decided that they were gonna make me an instructor and sent me to Sioux Falls, S.D., and I taught communications there–played on the post basketball team and the post bowling team. I have always liked sports.

Well, I always had a guitar with me, you know, and wherever I’d be, we’d be singing in the barracks and so on. And so I’d been teaching for–well, I guess about 2 ½ or 3 months–and they asked me if I wanted to go to Officers School along with some others who were there. And I certainly did. So I went to take the physical exam and they said that I couldn’t go with my group of friends and people that I’d been there with because my tonsils needed to be taken out. So I called the hospital and they said a minimum of ten days. And I had made a friend of a senator from South Dakota–his last name was Boswell–and had been to his home where the people would do that–they’d invite soldiers to their home for dinner on Sunday and so on. And I’d been several times. And I called him–I said, Is there anybody that you know who could take my tonsils out? And he said, The best man in the United States is here. And he said, He can handle the job. I said, Well, can he do it tomorrow? And he said, He can do it tonight. So I hopped a bus that went from the base into town and met him at 8 o’clock in the evening, and he took my tonsils out, and it was 33 below zero the next morning I went out–and I stayed overnight there–and the next morning I went out and got on the bus, went back to the base and the day after that passed the physical–he such a job–and went on to Officers School with the group of friends.

Yes, I was in a hospital for the surgery. It was like an outpatient. I spent the rest of the night at the hospital–only one night.

So I went to Officers School and when they sent me to Officers School, the first place we went was Valley Forge, Penn. As to the dates, I think I first went to Sioux Falls in late January 1943 ‘cause I’d been in the service and teaching–so I taught actually longer than three or four months–it must have been about six months because I went through three months of basic training and then three months of the school at Scott Air Base and then was sent to Sioux Falls as an instructor. So it was January of 1943 and then we left in February of ‘43 to go to Officers School, and we had six weeks in Valley Forge, Penn., and this was Signal Corps stuff where you were outside setting up phone groups and so on–phones and so on–and so we were working on that and the girls’ school Bryn Mawr wasn’t very far from Valley Forge. So once in a while, they’d throw a big dance and they’d just bring all these college girls [laughs] out to dance with the soldiers [laughs]. And I remember it well–some really beautiful young ladies.

Yes, it was a pretty high-class school. Very much a high-class school. And of course, we were always a little surprised that they would even consent to do this, you know. But they were doing their part for the war effort.

I had been given one deferment–I had had the draft come in–you know, they found out what I was doing in the middle of this entertainment and stuff so they gave me a deferment. But I didn’t try to stay out of the military. See, I was working with the Ben Bernie Orchestra–I think I mentioned to you that when the Japanese attacked, I left right away. And this was just that feeling of they have now–we’re in this and they’re attacking us and I want to be part of it. And it’s my duty. It motivated me to go ahead and join the service, no matter what was goin’ on.

And there was kind of an excitement in the air, too. Patriotism. I’ve often thought of what my thoughts were at the time and one thing I cannot remember is havin’ any fear about it. It was just go do it. And this is what I’ve got to do at this point.

So anyway, we had our six weeks of there at Valley Forge, and then they sent us to Yale University. I always like to say I went through Yale in six weeks [laughs], and I did. We had the rest of our officer training at Yale. And of course, I was still involved in communications wherever I was. Not Signal Corps but Signal Corps kind of work was what we were learning to do in Valley Forge. And that was setting up, you know, a base with phones and all this stuff. And then when we got to Yale, we were into the codes and all the things communications would do. So I graduated from there in June–I can’t remember the date–but June of 1943.

And there was a tech sergeant and I who had–you know, they let you choose where you were gonna be stationed upon graduation by how you stood in the class. And I was a buck sergeant when I went in and he was a tech sergeant and we ended up tied for tenth place–and it was 583, I think, something like that–students in the class. So we both had never been to California and we decided that we’d take an assignment at Hamilton Air Force Base in San Francisco ‘cause we wanted to see California. Well, I graduated from school and met this young red head I was talkin’ about–in New York–and my sister who was in Massachusetts came down–we had a sort of little get-together before I left there to go to California.

and at this point, I decided I was gonna get out of the music business–again I decided this–that I was goin’ to the war and just carrying around a guitar would be trouble enough, you know. So I sent everything home. And we boarded a train to go to California. We arrived in San Francisco at 10 o’clock at night and the next morning at 6 o’clock we were on our way overseas–I never did get to see [laughs] California at all. Only thing I remember seeing was Alcatraz at midnight [laughs]. Yes, I’ve seen it since–I’ve been back to California–but I remember that. But I couldn’t relive any California memories from that time because I didn’t have any [laughs].

So as soon as they sent us right overseas, we went to Hawaii. And this was still in June of 1943. And they sent us from San Francisco to Hawaii by boat–the only ship I was on during the whole war and you know, there’s nothin’ to do and it’s several hours trip and I think somewhere around there we found a bunch of comic books. And I went up on the top deck and lay up there reading those comic books. And I sunburned through my eyelids–sunburned my eyeballs–when we got to Hawaii, it was just really awful for a few days but they were able to cure it all, and get it all taken care of in a short time–relatively short time. But anywy, I was assigned to Hickam Air Base–Hickam Air Field in Hawaii–and was there...Yes, you could still see scenes of the bombing by the Japanese but not so much–of course, Hickam Field had been hit–but most of the town part of it had been kind of cleaned up and there were vacant places–most of the debris had been gotten rid of. There were a few of the barracks areas on Hickam Field that you could tell where they’d been bombed.

I don’t really remember if any of the ships that had been damaged were still lying in the harbor there–I remember one–and I don’t know which one it was–that was still there–had not been repaired and put back into service. But that was a year and a half, you know [after the bombing]–and a lot of it had already been taken care of.

So I was there for about two weeks-a little less than two weeks, I guess–and they decided to send me over to Australia. So I flew from Hawaii to Australia but the first thing I did, when I got to Hawaii and got over my sunburned eyeballs, was go downtown and buy a guitar. Yeah, I was lonesome for it. It was a little Martin guitar–I carried that–it didn’t have a case–I carried that with me throughout–almost 3 ½ years in the South Pacific.

And I was sent first to Amberley Air Base–Amberley Field–Ipswich, Australia–Amberley Air Base which is right near Ipswich, Australia. And Ipswich is about 25 miles from Brisbane–a lot of people say Bris’bane but it’s Bris’bin. And there were two other communications officers and me. And I got off the plane carrying that guitar along with all of my other luggage, and a bunch of guys saw me with that guitar and said, Hey, come on over to the Officers Club; we need to hear some of the old songs, you know. So we sat in there–and by the way, Australian beer at that time–a case was 48 fifths of beer and the beer was 16 percent–and so went over there and I had one or two of those during the night. Anyway, we sang some of the songs that were popular at that time–Frank Sinatra songs, you know–“As Time Goes By”–I’m tryin’ to think of some of the songs that we did sing of that era, you know–“Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree,” yeah–the Andrews Sisters’ songs. There was one–I’ve still--I’ve looked for the music for this song at different times for years–would like to find it. I believe it was Eddie Howard had a record out called “Goodnight, Wherever You Are.” And I really liked that song and at that time, I knew most of it–if not all of it–and some of the guys knew what I didn’t know. And we’d sing that one and it was a very popular song for a short time durin’ the war. But I have not been able to find music to it and I’ve searched [everywhere for it]. If you run across it [in the sheet music collection at the University of Alabama], I’d love to have it. “All or Nothing at All” was a Frank Sinatra tune that was popular then, and we did that. And then I did songs that I knew, you know, the Western stuff which they all appreciated.

My rank when I was commissioned was Second Lieutenant. I hadn’t done anything when I got to Australia so my rank was still 2nd Lt. You are 2nd Lt. for quite a little while.

Anyway, we got to Australia and when we were singing there at the club that night–I didn’t know it but the commanding officer was sitting in a chair hearing all this goin’ on. And the next morning I walked into the headquarters to report in as you’re supposed to do, saluted the commanding officer and reported in, and he said, In addition to your other duties, you’re Special Services Officer. Special Services Officer took care of all the entertaining and so forth. And we had three communications officers, no airplanes, no pilots–at that point–so nothing really for a communications officer to do. So I became Assistant Operations Officer, Assistant Supply Officer, Assistant Special Services Officer and all these things, you know, so I was doin’ this and that.

But the thing they put me to work mostly in was in Supply. And there was a Captain Tutwiler there, and one of things that ATC–this was with the Air Transport Command, by the way–and one of the things ATC did was they brought Fifth Air Force fighter pilots and bomber pilots and so on from the war zone where they were fighting for their R & R. And they’d fly down to Australia and come in there. And Tutwiler was quite a card player. So at the Officers Club anytime there would be poker goin’ on, you know, and he sent home $1,500 a month–EVERY month [laughs]–just about. These pilots would come in there with their back pay for, you know, MONTHS and they’d sit there and play cards and lose it all. Tutwiler was from California–a really sharp man, you know.

The adjutant of the headquarters was a major who was an infantry officer–and didn’t care much for the Air Force. And so he had asked for a transfer back to Infantry. Well, I guess we’d been there–well, I guess I could go back a little ways–there was a Army Airways Communications Service was sort of like attached to Air Transport Command–part of the communications situation–but different entirely in that it was...