One Christmas eve when I was nine years old, I lived with my parents and my eight brothers and sisters in the hills of Kentucky. This would have been 1945.
It had snowed five or six inches that day and we lived seven miles from town. My brother Quinton, who worked the factories up north was to come home for the holidays and had said he was bringing me something special.
As the cold blustery day wore on and darkness came, we realized that he could not get through on the rough country roads that had drifted with snow.
I had gone upstairs in the old farmhouse and gone to bed as the day seemed hopeless. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard shouts from downstairs. I jumped out of bed and ran down to see what the excitement was about.
We looked out the window toward the road and saw headlights bobbing in the distance. My brother Quinton had left his car in town and had rented a four-wheel drive Jeep.
My present was a big red colored Gibson guitar and three 78 rpm Bill Monroe records. The next morning I packed up my new guitar and my three new Bill Monroe records; I walked about three miles to where my friend Curly Jarvis lived. He owned a Gibson mandolin, and when Curly came to the door he broke into a big smile. I said “Get your mandolin, we’re starting up a band.”
Merry Christmas Everyone! -Tom T.Hall
2 comments:
That picture is all kindsa wrong!
But the Tom Hall anecdote, almost brought a tear to my eye, I think I might be having my 'lady time' though?
THat photo is almost as bad as the Christmas card I gave my husband this year, for which I will burn in hell. It is a photo of Bush praying in front of the deceased Pope John Paul II, who is glad in his red and white pope outfit. Bush is saying, "What happened to Santa?"
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