Honky Tonk Angel (3 page)

Sam, the father of Patsy Cline, was born August 16, 1889. As a teenager, he showed a love of his father’s land and great promise as a farmer. He stopped growing at five foot seven but was extremely strong. He carried his 175 pounds well. Sam, said Longley, was an outgoing, energetic, and mechanical-minded man.

He, too, developed a reputation as a ladies’ man but, suddenly, in 1912 quietly settled down and married Wynona Jones. In 1914, he signed up for World War I. He did service as a blacksmith on the front in France’s Argonne Forest and was discharged in November 1918 after the Armistice.

Sam returned home a different man. He lost interest in farming. On one of his father’s farms there was a limestone quarry used for grinding rock for mountain-road surfacing. Sol offered his son a job as one of the foremen, but Sam turned it down. He moved to the hamlet of Gore, Virginia, about thirteen miles from Winchester on Highway 50, and found work in a quarry where sand was processed into glass.

He and Wynona had two children, Randolph, born in 1919, and Tempie Glenn, born in 1921 and who died in 1989.

In 1927 Wynona caught pneumonia and died. Not long after, Sam, forty, met thirteen-year-old Hilda Patterson of Gore at a Sunday school picnic. According to Hensley’s diary, they married in 1929 after a whirlwind engagement. The couple settled on Solsburg and Sam reluctantly went to work for his father.

Tempie Glenn, eight, and Randolph, ten, went to live with and were raised by Sally Mann, their Elkton music instructor.

Randolph “Hobby” Robinson, an Elkton raconteur and the owner of Robinson’s Department Store, got to know the family well. He described Sam as “a hard-drinking, mean son-of-a-gun and hell-raiser.”

However, Longley said, “Sam was a complex person, but he was ordinarily not a heavy drinker and hell-raiser. A pint of liquor would last him two or three years and the only time I ever saw him raise hell was on the rare occasion when he got really mad. Sam was just plain folk, but he could put on the dog and be refined.”

Hilda became pregnant in December 1931. She returned to her family in Gore, where Virginia Patterson Hensley was born September 8, 1932. (A family member made the contention that Patsy may have been born two years earlier.) When Virginia was ten days old, Hilda returned to Solsburg.

Robinson has vivid memories of Virginia Hensley. “1 can still see her now, as a five- and six-year-old, skipping down the street, singing at the top of her voice. I adored Virginia and would wait on her personally when her mother and father brought her in, especially when Virginia needed shoes. I remember the friendly, rough time she gave me. Already she possessed a sassiness and the knowledge that she was someone special.

“Virginia was a bit high-strung and temperamental. She only wanted what she wanted, which was always Mary Janes, those black patent leather shoes with the strap. I’d tease her with another kind, saying, ‘Well, Virginia, I have these in your size. They’re very nice. Don’t you like them?’ She’d tell me in a minute, ‘No! I want the Mary Janes.’ And that’s what she got.”

When she was in the third grade at Elkton Elementary School, her parents began a series of moves. The first was to the Allendale farm, which Sam was to oversee. Then Sam bought a small house on Elkton’s main street, East Spotswood Avenue.

Virginia was given to daydreams and flights of fancy inspired by Saturday afternoons spent in the Elkton Theatre. When Virginia wasn’t accompanied by her mother, she’d climb the ladder to what was called the balcony and take one of the six seats in front of the flickering light. It was on the screen of the tiny theatre that Virginia saw a very wealthy woman in a luxurious bath. It was something she never forgot, something she’d always envy.

Sam found work as a fireman at the Virginia Military Institute in Lexington, where he stoked the boilers. The family relocated once again.

Margaret Hensley, Sam’s mother, died in 1938. That same year, Sol suffered a series of debilitating strokes that partially paralyzed him. Sam and Hilda returned often to Solsburg.

Sam and Hilda moved to Grottoes, about thirty-three miles northeast of Staunton in a region of the Shenandoah Valley famous for its natural caverns. Sam worked for the Duplan Textile Mill.

In 1941, Sam relocated his family in Portsmouth, where he worked as a master blacksmith and engineer at the nearby Norfolk, Virginia, Navy Yard. The Hensleys’ son, Samuel Lawrence, Jr., whom everyone was to call John, was born here.

Longley has a photo of Sol at eighty-four with his two-year-old grandson on the front porch of the stone bungalow. Sol has a full head of beautiful silver hair, which, according to Longley, would sparkle in sunlight.

Sol Hensley died November 27, 1943. Daughter Lelia was the executor of his estate. Because of mounting bad debts and the financial slide that began with the settlement of the paternity suit, she decided to sell off the various properties and divide what was left among the siblings.

After the war, Sam and Hilda returned briefly to Elkton with Virginia and Sam Jr. and lived on Rockingham Street. Not long after, Hilda gave birth to Sylvia Mae.

When times got tough, fourteen-year-old Virginia, passing for sixteen, got a job at a Rockingham poultry factory, where she plucked and cut chickens. She told friends about wearing hip boots because of the wet, bloody floors and complained about the foul smell and working conditions.

While Virginia, whom the family called Ginny, was in the eighth grade, the
Hensleys ended their nomad existence and settled in Winchester. Though Sam Hensley came from a monied background, the money was gone.

The house at 608 South Kent Street between Monmouth and Germain was in a working-class section a few blocks from downtown. It was a small, two-story frame structure with a living room, dining room, and small kitchen on the first floor and bedrooms on the second. A former neighbor described it as a clapboard house.

People who knew Sam and Hilda well reported “they often were on the outs and would separate.” Like millions of Americans, Sam was a hard-working laborer always looking for the next and best opportunity. That often meant a job far away from home. Hilda wanted a stable environment in which to raise her children. From time to time, Sam went his way, as was the case shortly after the move to town.

Virginia was often reminded by the kids in school and various townspeople that she came from the other side of the tracks, but her abundance of raw, natural talent compensated for her lack of material wealth. She said over and over again, “Just you wait. I’ll show you. I’ve made my wish on a shooting star. Someday I’ll be a country singer on the Grand Ole Opry. I’ll make records and everybody’ll know my name.”

When her mother, girlfriends, and boyfriends told her how difficult becoming a star would be, Virginia only became more determined. Like her grandfather, she was curious, adventuresome, and had the pioneer spirit. There was nothing she couldn’t overcome. Even the obstacles became advantages.

“I had a serious bout with rheumatic fever when I was thirteen,” Patsy Cline related in 1957. “I developed a terrible throat infection and my heart even stopped beating. The doctor put me in an oxygen tent. You might say it was my return to the living after several days that launched me as a singer. The fever affected my throat and when I recovered I had this booming voice like Kate Smith’s.”

Virginia sang in the Baptist church choir, where she did duets with her mother, and at socials. “Virginia had a lovely voice,” her mother said, “and people always made comments. She loved gospel and religious songs. Often she’d play them at home and church on the piano.”

But, at fourteen, when Virginia marched into the kitchen and told her mother she was going on the radio, Mrs. Hensley did a double take. “You’re doing what? Now listen, Virginia!”

“Mama, I’m tired of waiting,” she replied. “It’s time I made my move.”

Joltin’ Jim McCoy, a disc jockey on station WING, did a live show with his band, the Melody Playboys, on Saturday mornings. It became a favorite of Virginia’s, so it was natural she singled him out to introduce the phenomenon that was to become Patsy Cline.

“Someone buzzed me to say this girl was waiting to be on the show,” said McCoy, laughing. “We were getting set up to go on and I asked the band members if they knew anything about a girl singer. They didn’t, so I went to see what was going on.”

As he came into the reception area, there was this smiling girl all dressed up.
Since she looked a couple of years older than she was, McCoy had no idea she was only fourteen. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Joltin’ Jim.”

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“You’re Joltin’ Jim?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Virginia Hensley from here in Winchester. I listen to your show all the time. I’m more than a fan. I’m a singer myself and I want to be on your show. If you give me a chance, I’ll never ask for pay.”

“Honey, you think you’re good enough to sing live on the radio?”

“Yes, sir.”

Impressed with her naiveté and determination, McCoy decided to audition Virginia. As she sang, he wondered if anything, least of all a microphone that broadcast to thousands, could scare this girl. “Someday this gal’s gonna be a star!” McCoy thought.

She finished her song and stood before him.

“Well, if you got nerve enough to stand before that mike and sing over the air live, I’ve got nerve enough to let you.”

Hilda Hensley couldn’t believe what she was hearing on the radio that morning.

Philip Whitney, general manager of the station, recalled, “Virginia was quiet, a wide-eyed youngster. She wasn’t good, and her inexperience was obvious. Eventually, she developed a good style. Patsy always wanted advice and actively sought it. When you gave it, she took it seriously.”

She became a regular with the Melody Playboys. “Here was this child who walked in off the street one day,” McCoy observed, “and none of us knew what a find we had. How she’d impress and thrill us! But, to be a star, she knew she had to work hard, and she didn’t mind one bit.”

Mrs. Hensley concurred. “Virginia was dedicated. She had to be. I told her she was picking the most competitive business in the world. In those days it was difficult for a woman no matter what she wanted to do, but country music was dominated by men. It would be especially tough for a woman, but there was no talking her down.”

Virginia said, “Mama, others have done it. Why can’t I?”

Mrs. Hensley decided if Virginia was going to sing, she’d need more experience. She took her to meet a young pianist she knew from Winchester, William R. “Jumbo” Rinker, who played at the Melody Lane Club not far away in Martinsburg, West Virginia. “I was awfully robust as a child,” Rinker explained, “and that’s how I got that nickname. Even after I grew up and became quite skinny, the name stuck.”

Hilda asked Rinker to back Virginia on local dates whenever possible. “She was as pretty as could be,” he said. “When I asked her for a date and she told me she was fourteen, I gulped real hard and said, ‘I can’t believe it. No way.’ She looked so much older. I told myself, ‘Watch it, boy! You’re messing with trouble.’ But I plunged right ahead and asked her out anyway. When I told her I was eleven years older, she didn’t blink an eye.”

As Virginia began establishing herself locally, Hilda’s marriage to Sam was
deteriorating. A family member stated, “From the way Hilda talked, Sam’s heavy drinking might have contributed to the matter.” Years later, Patsy Cline gave the impression more than once to friends that her father tried something with her one night when he was drunk.

In September 1947, when Virginia was fifteen and her mother was thirty-one, Sam and Hilda, according to Herman Longley, had conflicts they couldn’t resolve. “He said there wasn’t another woman and hinted that Hilda was seeing another man, but I didn’t put much faith in that.” Sam deserted the family.

Patsy Cline’s early home life has often been described as unhappy. Except for those circumstances, it was far from it. She had a beautiful relationship with Hilda, whom she turned to time and again for support. “Virginia was born when I was sixteen, so even as she got older, we were more like sisters than mother and daughter. We had the type of relationship where we could discuss very personal things. If I never let her down, I can truthfully say she never let us down.”

Patsy told record artist, honky tonk pianist and Grand Ole Opry member Del Wood, “If I made a list of the people I admire, Mom would probably fill up half of it. She can do anything and everything, and she does for me. She’s the one person I know I can always depend upon.”

“I heard so much about Mrs. Hensley,” Wood said, “I thought I knew her. Patsy sang her praises so often I felt her place in heaven was all arranged. Once I kidded her, ‘Hon, I bet your mother never once took a switch to your behind!’ Patsy replied, ‘No, that’s not true. She whipped me many times!’ I said, ‘Thank goodness, she’s not perfect. She’s a child beater!’ Patsy apologized for talking so much about Hilda. I said, ‘Don’t be silly.’ Patsy gushed, ‘It’s just I love her so much.’”

Mrs. Hensley, an expert seamstress, couldn’t earn enough to support the family. The burden of helping out financially fell on Virginia, the oldest. “I could never have asked for a better daughter,” said Mrs. Hensley. “Virginia quit Handley High School early in her sophomore year and went to work at Gaunt’s Drug Store on Valley Avenue and South Loudoun downtown as a clerk and fountain attendant. She considered it her obligation, but I don’t know what we’d have done if it hadn’t been for her. It was terrible she had to leave school, but there was no other way. And the Gaunts became more than Patsy’s employer. They were true, understanding friends.”

Winchester photographer Ralph Grubbs met Virginia at Gaunt’s and played a small part in helping her get her career started. “I was thirty-six, but every afternoon I’d go in for a milkshake. I listened when she talked about her singing and she often asked for advice.” He first heard her in 1948 when he was on a committee of the 40 & 8, a civic organization sponsoring a talent contest at the high school. “Virginia and her friend Virginia Taylor put together a song-and-dance routine. They had Uncle Sam costumes Mrs. Hensley made. After I heard her sing, I told her she’d have a better chance of winning if she did a solo. But she insisted she couldn’t break up the act and lose a friend.”