Where the Tennessee River, like a silver snake, winds her way through the clay hills of Alabama, sits high on these hills, my home town, Florence.

My big ears indicated a talent for music. This thrilled me.

Nature was my kindergarten.

Setting my mind on a musical instrument was like falling in love. All the world seemed bright and changed.

The name of my ailment was longing, and it was not cured till I finally went to the department store and counted out the money in small coins before the dismayed clerk. When I came to the house, I held up the instrument before the eyes of the astonished household.

I knew the whistle of each of the river boats on the Tennessee.

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.