Paul Hemphill put in a lot of time and research to write this book. I am not really a true country music fan, but because country music is in part the history of the US working class, it’s an important book for me to read (and of course, I love memoirs and biographies in general).

Williams grew up during the Depression. Whereas some who would be music stars gave up a great deal for their shot at fame, Williams had nothing to lose. His father had departed, and his mother was a bully and a user who would later ask about his car, when he was dead, before inquiring about his death or the disposition of his remains. He learned that he could at least earn enough money singing and playing the guitar to earn his food and some pocket money…which would go for booze. LOTS of booze.

Before he was out of school, Hiram, whose name became “Harm” once the local accent was accounted for, had renamed himself the cooler-sounding “Hank Williams” and had jobs playing at road-houses and other local venues in Alabama. He had a small band which included the “new” steel guitar, and he had his own sound. At first he and his roadies were always safely stowed back at home by 10 PM so that he could be present at school the next day, but his genius was not a conventional one, and music meant more to him than anything the classroom of the time period could offer him. His illiteracy was in fact so complete that even after he began making a lot of money, he would trustingly empty all his pockets onto the counter at the local bank and instruct the teller that “I make it. You count it.” Before his life and career were over, he would play in concert venues all around the continental US and Europe.

Some of the places he played in initially were tough enough that chicken wire surrounded the band so that the talent would not be cold-conked by a flying beer bottle. Don Helms, his best-known steel guitarist, told the author that in some of the places that hired them, a prerequisite to playing was proving that one was armed, either with a billy club, bowie knife, shot gun, or even a broken bottle; the point was to show that no other protection was required and that the musicians could survive the night on their own.

Hank’s first wife, Audrey, who badly wanted to be his singing partner but appears, by all accounts, to have been talent-free and tin of ear, figured out that the best way for Hank to make himself known was to write (meaning create; he could not read music). In this way he became a scion of rural culture. Before his death at the tender age of 29, he had written 50 songs, and 37 of them made the Billboard charts.

As a child of the sixties and seventies myself, I did not listen to traditional country music except when bumming a ride from my father. In reading Hemphill’s biography of Williams, I was startled to find the origin of one of my dad’s favorite sayings, “…good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.” (“Creek” is pronounced “crick”.) I was also surprised how many songs I knew that turned out to be composed by Williams.

Hemphill offers a readable narrative, enough details to make the reader feel like a fly on the wall, at least at times, in Williams’ life, and he documents everything thoroughly without slowing the tale. It’s hard to tell whether his comparisons and speculations at the end are intended to provide filler, or whether there really has raged a Hank versus Elvis debate to which I have never been privy. I also found his unflattering description of Hank, Jr. and Hank III a little abrasive.

When all is said and done, I would respond, history marches forward, whether it is political, cultural, military, technical, or musical history. Nobody sings like Hank now because it isn’t the fifties, and cowboys are no longer in vogue. Hank’s death didn’t affect the style. I think if he had survived, he would either have had to adapt or seen his career wane.

My own musical tastes have tended more in other directions, and I never bought a Hank Williams collection, but I do own one by Hank, Jr. I got onto a popular computer thread and streamed some music by each of the three Hanks. The original Hank Williams is immortalized primarily as a song-writer, but also as the first American artist to add a yodeling type of element to his style, and of course for pioneering the use of the steel guitar in country music. Tee author classifies Hank III as a head-banging punk rocker, but when I watched a streamed performance, if anything Hank III appears to have really played up the rural working man’s angle to the hilt. The original Hank spent a bundle on clothing for his performances; Hank III flaunts a battered felt hat and sings in a stylized drawl that at least to me, appears to be unmistakably country in flavor. But of course it is not the same; technology, tastes, and the world of entertainment have all changed, and nothing in this world, including the music world, will ever stand still.

The argument about whether or not Hank “could have survived Elvis” is specious. One might as well ask whether he could have survived the Beatles. They are different, and the music world has held a time and place for each. It isn’t an exclusive category.

To sum up, it’s a good biography. I was lucky to find it; apparently (and this sounds crazy), the UK published his life story before any credible source in the USA got around to it. Whether or not you read, or believe, the speculations that take up the last 10% or so of the book, it’s worth your time and your money.

In the late twentieth century, Americans trusted “God, Walter Cronkite, and Bill Cosby”. Cosby is an icon, and Mark Whitaker is his biographer, author of the first comprehensive biography of the great comedian, actor, author and humanist. I have admired Bill Cosby my entire life, and it was an honor to be able to advance-read this well written, thoroughly documented biography. Kudos to Whitaker for a job well done, and thank you to Net Galley and Simon & Schuster.
Cosby grew up really poor, the child of a man his friends later described as a “wino” and a hard-working, ambitious mother who valued education. His teachers could tell he was very bright, but he had no interest in school work during his formative years, enjoying sports, friends, and jazz music more than academia. He would later change his mind. His college degree and graduate work were done legitimately; he respected education too much to ever accept an honorary degree anywhere. He was ready to show up to class after having become famous, but he was swarmed when he turned up on campus, and so an alternate method was devised. A string of children’s television shows shown on Public Broadcasting including Sesame Street and The Electric Company were created as a part of his doctoral program, and his studies determined that they made a difference in the educational success of the children for whom they were created.
Race is in the news more than ever as I write this; earlier this week Times Square was filled with people demanding an end to police violence as yet another unarmed African-American man was gunned down by police. It is a telling indictment of the US government and its police—and this is my own take, not Cosby’s—that Camille Cosby told their son Ennis not to drive her green Mercedes when he was visiting Los Angeles partly because she feared police would see a Black man driving an expensive vehicle and pull him over on account of it. From the day he was killed till this moment, nothing has changed. I’m telling you, it needs to stop.
But back to Bill Cosby. For those who don’t know, Cosby started out trying to break into the music business, but he was very funny, and made extra money here and there by sitting on a bar stool and making people laugh for a few minutes. Of course it grew. His early inspirations were the stories his mother read to him by Mark Twain; comedians Dick Gregory and Jonathan Winters; and his grandfather, who read to him from the Bible, creating the voices of Noah, God, and various others.
Ultimately, it was a combination of comedic talent, a sterling work ethic, and unusually strong social skills that created a successful career. Cosby made a point, once he was in a position to do so, of hiring as many talented African-American professionals as he was able. His generosity in the form of scholarships, endowments to his alma maters and well as the nation’s historic Black universities is legendary. Less well known is the world-class art collection he and his wife have collected. They have quietly accumulated art work by the finest Black artists, sending other representatives to bid for them at Sotheby’s and other auctions where items of interest were available.
Bill Cosby is known for shining his light upon the common humanity between races, enabling Caucasians who had been afraid of Black folks to understand that every one of us is a person. His goal, though, in creating the Cosby family on television in the late 1980’s (which was so closely modeled after his own that he occasionally stumbled during script discussions, referring to “Cliff Huxtable” as “Bill”) was to show African-Americans a positive example of their own culture. It is telling that while white journalists constantly asked whether the Huxtable family, which featured a doctor and a lawyer as parents, was ‘realistic’, African-Americans surveyed found it entirely believable. Cosby’s wife, Camille, deserves credit for encouraging him to avoid the stereotype of the Black working man, and Cosby created a whole new art form in creating a sitcom based around family stories, rather than one-line jokes and put-down humor.
Long a champion of the solid Black family, Cosby wants young men of color to help raise their children. His remarks at the ceremony where he received the National Medal of Freedom were taken out of context and upset some folks who thought he was making fun of Black youth. He says this wasn’t his intention, and I believe it. The book that followed, Come On, People, addresses the issue. I have a copy on my shelves; it’s a wonderful book. I got it partially because of its author and partially because my family is racially blended and it is relevant to me; consider acquiring it after you get Cosby’s biography, which will be released mid-September.
I have seen enough tragedy that I no longer tear up easily, but reading of the loss of Ennis, something I already had known about but which Whitaker made whole and present to me, made my eyes well up. The horror of losing a child is not something anyone gets over readily, and the casual way the robber disposed of “a n*****r” was appalling. When Cosby performs stand up now, he always has a sweatshirt that says, “Hello, friend!” because that was Ennis’s greeting, for which he was known in his New England community. After the loss of their son, the Cosbys found refuge in South Africa with Nelson Mandela, who gave them some time and private space in which to recover. This, too, was moving.
Perhaps you believe this review was so long that you no longer need the book. Trust me; I have barely scratched the surface. I made 157 notations in my e-reader, edited it down to 125, and still, this is a mere outline. This book is destined to become a classic, a story of success gained against the odds, success gained with talent, a work ethic that still hasn’t stopped, and a tremendous amount of heart.
Sometimes I tell readers that a book is worth reading if they can get it at the library or get it cheaply; not so for this one. If you can’t afford it, request it as a Christmas or birthday gift. You won’t be sorry. It’s one in a million!