In the South of long ago whenever a new man appeared for work in any of the laborers gangs, he would be asked if he could sing. If he could he got the job. The singing of these working men set the rhythm for the work.
Saving was slow and painful.
Nature was my kindergarten.
The blues - the sound of a sinner on revival day.
I knew the whistle of each of the river boats on the Tennessee.
My big ears indicated a talent for music. This thrilled me.