Traveling from Florida up through the southern part of Alabama, I realized I had an issue. It was past 3:30 and I was trying to get to Georgiana, Alabama before 4:00. I was panicking, the GPS was not helping and I was trying to teach my 14 year-old son how to read a “real roadmap” as we drove along.
My son wasn’t very good with the map; I can’t imagine what he’d do with a rotary phone or better yet - a party line. I still remember when my grandmother had a party line. It was interesting to pick up a phone and hear someone you didn’t know talking on it.
It was even more interesting to be asked, “What are they saying?” It was entertainment, probably better than what is on television these days.
Realizing my predicament, I called the place I was trying to get to by 4:00 PM. A sweet lady’s voice answered the phone. She could tell I was in a bit of a tizzy when the first thing out of mouth was, “I’m below Andalusia, my son can’t use a road map and y’all close at 4:00.”
The sweet voice said, “Calm down, it’s all right, I’m not going anywhere, I will wait.” After I heard that, I felt a lot better about my situation. She went on to give me very specific directions that included gas stations, railroad tracks and chain link fences.
Before I hung up, the angelic voice said, “Take your time, don’t go over the speed limit, call me if you get lost and I’m not going anywhere.”
The directions were perfect. I was relieved that she was going to wait on me and that I didn’t have to rely on the GPS or my son’s map reading skills. He is a very intelligent boy; the folds (in the map) just give him a lot of problems.
At about 5 minutes before 4, we pulled up to a pretty white house surrounded by a chain link fence. It is the type of house I dream of living in. It was simple with a big wraparound porch and a lot of rocking chairs. We were in Georgiana, Alabama, at the boyhood home of Hank Williams, the Hank Williams - Hank Williams Sr.
"Ms. Margaret" was happy to see us. She was sitting inside, expecting us - a fellow who had to see this place and his son who can’t read a roadmap. In addition to Ms. Margaret, we were greeted by walls of pictures and memories of Hank Williams. It was absolutely wonderful.
We paid our five dollars (three for me and two for my son) and Ms. Margaret asked us to sign the guest book. We did. She noted that three fellows from Australia had been there a little earlier in the day. Australia? I guess those fellows were really from “the South.”
Well, I stood there in this wonderful house with wood floors. It’s a simple place, but with all the Hank Williams stuff, it gave me a good feeling. As they say in Georgiana, “This is where it all began – the talent – the genius – the love of music.”
The train tracks are still just about 50 yards from the house, a reminder of not only Hank’s songs, but also his daddy’s occupation (locomotive engineer). Ms. Margaret was quick to point out that Hank’s daddy was a good man who worked his way up with the railroad and although he and he Hank’s mother were not living together, he still did his best to take care of the family.
Ms. Margaret and I talked about sons, step-sisters and half-sisters and the value of the “Williams” name. She knew it all and spoke about it with a forgiving and understanding heart. That meant a lot to me, to think that Hank’s boyhood home and his reputation were being protected by such a wonderful woman.
This is where it happened. Hank Williams sold peanuts, shined shoes and was taught to sing and play with that “bluesy” sound by Rufus “Tee Tot” Payne in downtown Georgiana. Lord have mercy, this was wonderful.
Ms. Margaret showed us every piece in the museum, even moving the ropes back so we could get a better look. There was the guitar than both Hank and Elvis played, the spotlight from the Louisiana Hayride, the bench that 4 year-old Hank stood on to sing as his mama played the piano, interior and exterior parts of the home he shared with his wife Audrey and pictures on top of pictures.
Some folks sing about stuff they have no idea about, Hank Williams sang about the things he knew best.
There was the picture of Hank’s funeral and the thousands who paid their respects from outside the Montgomery (AL) Municipal Auditorium. Ms. Margaret and I traded trivia questions. I told her about seeing another famous Sydney Lanier High School Student (Montgomery, AL) student only a couple of days earlier (Bart Starr). She was impressed. Not so much with Bart Starr, but with the fact that I knew that Sydney Lanier was the last school Hank attended before quitting school and chasing his dream.
As we walked to one of the rooms in the back of the house, I said, “I’ll be doggoned.” Ms. Margaret smiled and took me to the window to see what I was hearing. I had heard the train whistle and she let me take pictures through the window; it was too perfect. We talked about the significance of trains to Hank Williams and my son and I took more pictures.
Ms. Margaret had “given us an hour” past closing time. It went by so fast. I told her about some of the magazines I wrote for, some having a Christian perspective. She smiled and pointed to a well used Bible that she had been reading while waiting on guests.
She said, “I’ve been reading the Book of Judges, they sure did have a mess there.” I simply said, “Yes Ma’am, they did.” The Book of Judges and Hank Williams – I won’t go there. I’m from Alabama, we remember the good stuff.
It was almost as though she didn’t want us to leave.
As we walked down the front porch stairs, a storm was quickly moving in. I turned to Ms. Margaret as she stood on the porch and told her, “I can’t believe how lucky I am. You are wonderful.”
She said, “Serendipity,” and smiled. Oh my goodness was it ever. I just didn’t know how serendipitous it was.
A few miles up the road, lightning had just hit a big tree and it had fallen across the road. I looked at my son and said, “Margaret did that.” He asked, “Made the tree fall?” I said, “No, kept us from getting hit.” He asked how.
I gave him a one-word answer.
“Serendipity.”
Julius H. Comroe, a surgeon and researcher, once described serendipity as: to look for a needle in a haystack and get out of it with the farmer's daughter.
I know what he meant. I went looking for Hank Williams and found Ms. Margaret and serendipity.
We got lost once more before we found the interstate. However, our wrong-way travels took us by a farm where we got to see a baby burro, or mule or jackass or something. He was a cute fellow running around with his mama.
Wrap me in serendipity and take me home now Ms. Margaret.
It’s worth the trip. You can find the Hank Williams Boyhood Museum at 127 Rose Street in Georgiana, Alabama. If you get lost, call Ms. Margaret at 334-376-2396. Tell her “The Tractor Guy” loves her and appreciates the serendipity she seems to spread around.
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Cranks My Tractor
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I'm BN Heard and I like semicolons, dogs and wearing my Hank Williams Boyhood Home and Museum trucker hat.
Serendipity means a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise"; specifically, the accident of finding something good or useful without looking for it. Sometimes it's so doggone good you think you don't deserve it. Trust me - you do deserve it and take it where you can get it.
great man :D
Posted by: bedroom furniture | 07/28/2013 at 09:49 PM