Chapter 3-  Hear That Lonesome Whistle

 

 It was October of 1929. Many, many miles away, the stock market crashed, sinking the world into the Great Depression. Earl knew nothing of these events, but was sunk in his own great depression over the loss of Houndtooth and being on his own. He was a ten year-old boy with no education, and nothing more than his guitar and the clothes on his back. He was on a train, heading to a town he had never seen before.

When the train stopped, Earl got off and walked slowly into the center of the town. He didn’t even know what town it was. It seemed alien to him. If people looked at him at all, it was with suspicion. He just wanted someone to talk to him, to smile and say everything would be all right. He decided the best way to get the attention of the people around him would be his guitar; it had always worked before. Earl stopped outside a general store, opened his guitar case, and started to play. A couple people stopped to listen, and Earl could see them being won over, but then a big hand grabbed him by his collar. It was the storeowner, who said, “Get away from my store, boy. We don’t want no beggars ‘round here.” He shoved Earl, who near tears, grabbed his guitar and case, and ran back to the train station. He hopped on the next train smoking. He didn’t want to be around people for a while.

Earl spent the next few days riding the rails all over the place. He didn’t pay any attention to where the trains were going. He avoided people and towns, except occasionally for a meal. His money was running very low, so he mostly lived off whatever he found in fields near the railroad tracks. When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, he played his guitar almost constantly, because it helped keep his mind off his predicament.

One night, Earl was sitting in a boxcar. He had just finished playing a song when he heard footsteps. He crept back into a dark corner of the empty boxcar, fearing that it might be the engineer, who wasn’t likely to approve of a freeloader. A big, dark figure heaved his girth up into the boxcar. Earl caught a whiff just then, and knew immediately that it was Big Choo-Choo Williams. Earl ran out from the corner, shouting, “Hey, Big Choo-Choo!”

The big man, startled, jumped back about two feet. When he saw who it was, he wiped his brow, eased his facial muscles, and said, “Damn, boy, you can’t sneak up on a fat man like that. You likely to give me a heart attack.”

 

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  Big Choo-Choo and the boy fell into an easy routine. They traveled the rails together, stopping to play music on the streets or outside a store to make enough money for meals. They became accustomed to one another’s company, and had a strong musical bond between them. Earl soaked up all the knowledge the big man dispensed, whether it was about music, how to ride the rails for free without getting caught, or life in the city. They visited many places in the next few months- small towns, sleepy hamlets, and bustling cities. They traveled all over Mississippi. Earl enjoyed the freedom of the life. He could play his guitar whenever he wanted, and if they needed money, they would play on a street corner for a while.

One day they stopped in Greenville, Mississippi. They found a busy street corner in the center of town, and set up against the wall of a liquor store. They started playing, the young boy on his father’s old guitar, and the big older man on the harmonica. They were smoking that day, playing well off one another. Normally, they would play a few songs, collect their money, and move on. Big Choo-Choo’s philosophy was that you should always leave a crowd wanting more; never overstay your welcome or your usefulness. Besides, all they really needed was enough money to eat. But today they kept on playing. Even though it was early December, it was a bright, clear day, and not too cool outside. They kept playing, song after song, and the money was piling up in Earl’s guitar case. He kept expecting Big Choo-Choo to put away his harmonica and give the signal that it was time to move on, but he didn’t. Earl didn’t care. He was happiest when they were playing music together.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Big Choo-Choo took the harmonica from his lips, surveyed their stash, and said, “I reckon that’ll do.”

They packed up, but instead of heading back to the rail yard or to a restaurant, Big Choo-Choo led the boy down Greenville’s main drag. They stopped in front of a store with a sign that read “TOP O’ THE CHARTS MUSIC STORE.”  Earl had never seen a music store before, but was anxious to see what was inside. Looking down at the boy, who was almost quivering with excitement, Big Choo-Choo chuckled and said, “Alright, boy, let’s get in there ‘fore you bust.”

Earl had heard his mother Maybelle, and street preachers, talking about heaven. But if Earl was to picture his heaven, it would look a lot like the inside of TOP O’ THE CHARTS MUSIC STORE. They had dozens of guitars, a drum set, rows and rows of records, and posters of musicians all over the walls. The man behind the counter eyed them suspiciously, but Earl guessed he probably would too if he were that man. They were shabby and filthy. But Earl didn’t care a bit.

As he looked around, a record began playing in the store. The man on the record had a voice like none Earl had ever heard, like sandpaper. It was powerful. The man was almost growling the song, and seemed to exude a bluesy feeling. It even made Big Choo-Choo stop and listen attentively.

“Hell, I know that boy singin’ that song. Thas’ ol’ Charley Patton. I didn’t know he made no records,” the big man said. “Huh. Anyway, come on over here, boy, this is why we’re here.”

Behind the counter was a row of harmonicas. The white man behind the counter, who had oily, slicked-back hair, still watched them suspiciously.

“Go ahead, boy, pick one out fo’ yo’self. I figure you ready to start playin’ mo’ than one instrument.” Earl, stunned, began to reach for the one he had his eye on. As he did, the man from behind the counter shouted, “Hey boy, get your dirty hands away from there. These is for sale. You gotta have money.”

Big Choo-Choo stood up tall, reached into his jacket pocket, and produced the wad of money they had just earned. “How much fo’ that ‘un, suh?”

The man was astonished to see the money that the big man produced. “Where’d you get that money from, boy? You rob a bank or somethin’?”

“No, suh, I did NOT. We payin’ customers. You gonna take our money or not?”  Big Choo-Choo replied indignantly.

The man frowned, and grudgingly accepted the money. He took the harmonica from the rack and placed it in front of Earl. As they were leaving the store, Big Choo-Choo tipped his hat and said, “Good day to you, suh.”

 

__________

 

  Over the next month, the two traveled all over Mississippi, riding the rails and playing music on street corners for their meals. It was the happiest time Earl had ever known. Sure, they would occasionally get chased off by railroad men, cops, or storeowners who didn’t want them freeloading or playing outside their store. And sure, many people didn’t want anything to do with the two of them, dirty and shabby as they were. But this was freedom; they were masters of their own destiny. And then there was the music. When they got up in front of people and started playing, Earl would lose himself in the music and go to a place he couldn’t describe. It was the same feeling he had had those nights back in Corfu when he and Houndtooth would play in the moonlight by Murder Creek. Only now it was better, because he had an idea what he was doing. He had learned nearly all of Big Choo-Choo’s songs, and had even made up a few of his own. Earl had gotten so he could listen to someone play a song, and then be able to imitate it fairly well before long. On a couple occasions, he had gone into record stores and listened to the records they played. Once or twice, Earl sat outside an open window, listening to the radio playing within.

One day Earl heard that gravelly, deep voice of Charley Patton again. He remembered that Big Choo-Choo had said he knew Charley Patton, so the boy began to grill the big man on all he knew about Charley Patton. Earl was fascinated by Big Choo-Choo’s stories of Patton.

Charley Patton was born in 1887 in Edwards, Mississippi. By the late 1920s, he was a big star around the Mississippi delta. Big Choo-Choo allowed that ol’ Charley wasn’t the best guitar player around, or the best singer, but he was a consummate entertainer. He would play barn parties, juke joints, dances, wherever people would pay to hear him play. He always drew big crowds, and those crowds left satisfied. Big Choo-Choo said Charley Patton would stomp, holler, jump around, do just about anything to get the crowd going. He would work them into a frenzy. You wouldn’t think much to look at him, Big Choo-Choo said. Charley Patton was a runt, only 5’5” and 135 pounds. He also had a unique look, the result of a mix of black, white, and Indian ancestry. Not that that mattered much in the Delta; if you had one drop of black blood, you were black, and a second-class citizen. But Charley Patton was a big star, making a lot of money during times when people didn’t have that much. Big Choo-Choo believed that was why people were willing to pay what little money they had; Charley Patton and his music made them feel good, even if only for a little while.

As December 1929 moved along, the weather got cooler. Earl was obsessed; not only was he working on his guitar, but now he was also trying to master the harmonica. He bugged Big Choo-Choo constantly for lessons on the harmonica and for stories about Charley Patton. Earl couldn’t be sure, but he got the feeling that something had changed with Big Choo-Choo. The big man wasn’t as happy-go-lucky or talkative as he had been, and he didn’t seem as interested in playing music.

One night, the boy awakened to a strange sound. He looked around the boxcar until he found Big Choo-Choo curled up in a heap in one corner. He was wheezing, and every few minutes he would have uncontrollable fits of coughing.

“Big Choo-Choo, you O.K.?”  the boy asked apprehensively.

Big Choo-Choo hadn’t seen the boy there, and made a noticeable effort to compose himself. “Oh, hey boy, I’m alright, jus’ got me a cold. Be right as rain soon ‘nuff. You go on back to sleep.”

Earl wanted to believe the big man who had become like a father to him, but Big Choo-Choo didn’t look or sound well at all. As the boy turned to go back to sleep, he noticed that the ratty old handkerchief Big Choo-Choo had been coughing into was spotted with blood. It took Earl a long time to fall asleep. He could tell that Big Choo-Choo was trying to stifle his coughing fits, but was having little luck. Earl was worried.

 

__________

 

  “Bet ya’ don’t know what day this is, do ya’, boy,” asked Big Choo-Choo as they got off the train the next morning.

Earl had gotten used to life on the rails. He knew the time of day by the position of the sun, and he knew what season it was by the weather, but what did he care about dates or days of the week.

“It‘s New Year’s Eve, boy. Tomorrow’ll be January one, a bran’ new year. Lots of people’ll have a big ol’ party tonight. Then they start off the new year with what they call a resolution.”

“What’s a reza-… a reza-… that word you jus’ said?” asked the boy.

Big Choo-Choo laughed. “Yeah, thas’ a mouthful, ain’t it, boy. A resolution is like a promise. It‘s a promise to yo’self that you gonna do somethin’ diff’rent nex' year. Fo’ instance, some people give up drinkin’, o’ gamblin’. Some people aim to get better at somethin’.”

Earl thought for a minute as they walked. “Big Choo-Choo, let’s us make a reza-… one o’ them promises.”

“I already made me one, boy. An’ I’m gonna work on it today. But you go ‘head ‘n make you a resolution. But don’t tell no one what ‘tis, ‘cause then it won’t happen.”

Earl thought about it for a while, and could only think of one, to become the best guitar player in the world. “I got one, Big Choo-Choo, but I won’t tell ya’, O.K.?”

Big Choo-Choo smiled. “Thas’ alright, boy. I got me a pretty good idea what ‘tis.” They walked on in silence, the big man with one last mission to fulfill, and the little boy with dreams dancing excitedly in his head.

 

__________

 

  December 31, 1929 was a New Year’s Eve that Earl would always remember. Every New Year’s Eve after that, he would think back to the night he first met blues legends Charley Patton, Son House, Willie Brown, and Robert Johnson.

Big Choo-Choo, his cough sounding worse and worse, led Earl into a town named Rosedale that Earl had never seen before. They stopped at a restaurant in town, where Big Choo-Choo treated them to a big meal with money he had been saving. “Eat up, boy, you gonna need yo’ strength. It‘s a brand new year, an’ I got a feelin’ lots is gonna happen to you this year.”

Earl was shoveling in the food. It had been a long time since he had had a big meal like this. But he noticed that Big Choo-Choo wasn’t eating much, just kind of picking at the food in front of him. The big man noticed Earl’s gaze, and said, “Ain’t too hungry today, boy. Bet you ain’t never seen a man my size turn away good food, huh?” Big Choo-Choo patted his ample belly. The big, smelly old hobo smiled down at the boy, and pushed his plate across the table. “Go ahead, boy,” he laughed, “you need to grow much more’n I do.”  Earl paused for a couple seconds to see if Big Choo-Choo was joking, then dove into the second plate with abandon. Big Choo-Choo watched the boy, smiling fondly.

After the meal, they walked out just beyond the edge of town and found a comfortable spot by a tree in a field. “Time to earn yo’ keep, boy. Pick up that there guitar o’ yours.”

Earl did as he was told. “What song you want me to play, Big Choo-Choo?”

“No, suh, I’m done teachin’ you. You gotta do yo’ own thinkin’ from now on. I tell you what. If I’s to tell ya’ I was gonna take that guitar away from ya’ in five minutes, an’ you wouldn’t never see it no more, what song would you play?”

Earl thought about that for a minute, then closed his eyes and started to play. He lost himself in the music, and had no idea how long he played. When he stopped and opened his eyes, Big Choo-Choo was looking at him very seriously. When he spoke, it seemed like he was ready to cry. “Thas’ my last lesson for ya’, boy. Play like you ain’t never gonna play again.” Big Choo-Choo wiped away a tear, and coughed harshly into his handkerchief. “Now get some sleep, boy, you gonna be up late tonight.”

 

__________

 

  With all that food in his belly, Earl slept deeply that afternoon. He had a dream about the old shack he had grown up in, and Houndtooth was down by Murder Creek, sitting on that big rock playing the guitar. When Earl finally woke up, the afternoon had turned into dusk.

“Thought you was gonna sleep the night away, boy. Well, now you up, so get yo’ stuff. We got a party to go to. You reckon you wanna hear ol’ Charley Patton play?”

Earl jumped up excitedly. “You bet I do, Big Choo-Choo.”

“Yeah, I guess you do, boy,” Big Choo-Choo said, laughing. His laughter set off another coughing spell, and the big man’s body shook uncontrollably. Earl couldn’t watch, and turned his head away.

They walked along the tracks between Rosedale and their destination, Dockery’s Plantation. Dockery’s Plantation was a 10,000-acre sawmill and cotton farm owned by Will Dockery.  The plantation was big enough that it warranted its own rail connection. A rail line named the “Peavine” connected the plantation to Rosedale. By all accounts, Will Dockery treated his workers better than most. While he took no particular interest in the music played by workers on the plantation, he allowed them ample opportunity to play after their work was done.

Charley Patton was playing that night in a huge barn on the plantation. Dockery had allowed Patton to play there in return for a healthy cut of the money people were charged to see the show, Big Choo-Choo told him. Earl thought that Mr. Dockery must be pretty smart, because there were more people there than he had ever seen in one place.

Charley Patton was playing on a raised platform at one end of the barn. Earl and Big Choo-Choo moved off to one side, and Big Choo-Choo pointed out Charley Patton and Willie Brown, who was playing guitar with Patton. Earl thought Willie was a very good guitar player, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Charley Patton. Patton was a small man, dressed to the nines. But when he opened his mouth to sing, a noise came out that Earl would never have expected from the small, well-dressed man on the stage. It was a deep, gravelly voice, almost like a growl. He didn’t have any amplifiers, but his big voice more than filled that huge barn. Patton was a ferocious singer, and seemed to hypnotize the audience. People were moving, swaying, dancing. The music seemed to liberate the people, who drank, yelled, and danced like they were possessed. Charley Patton whipped the crowd into a frenzy, stomping his feet, roaming around the stage, playing the guitar behind his back.

Earl was transfixed. Even though Patton and Willie Brown played for hours, it seemed to go by quickly to Earl. Big Choo-Choo had to go sit down, and when Earl glanced over between songs to check on him, Big Choo-Choo was talking to a tall, thin man who looked very serious. Earl was disappointed when Patton and Willie Brown quit playing and people started to leave.

“Hey, boy, come over here and meet somebody,” Big Choo-Choo called. “This here’s Son House,” Big Choo-Choo said, gesturing to the tall, thin man he had been talking to earlier. “He’s a damn good bluesman. Just got outta Parchman. Thas’ a prison up yonder.”

Noticing that Earl took a step back when he heard Son House had been in prison, Big Choo-Choo laughed, setting off another coughing fit. “Boy, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Son House is a good ol’ boy.”

Son House stooped down and laid a big, bony hand on Earl’s shoulder. “It’s true, boy, I been up at Parchman. I done a bad thing, but that’s all behind me now. I’m right with God, and Jesus shows me the way.”

Big Choo-Choo hesitated a minute, then said to Earl, “I… I gotta go take care o’ some things, boy. I’m gonna be gone a while, ‘n where I’m goin’, you can’t go with me. I been talkin’ to Son House here, an’ he’ll look out for you for a bit. You be careful to mind him now, boy, ‘cuz House don’t take no mess, ya’ hear.”

Earl nodded. “When are you gonna come back, Big Choo-Choo?”

He saw tears form in the corners of the big man’s eyes, which looked very, very tired. Big Choo-Choo turned away and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Can’t say, boy. You jus’ remember what I tol’ you today. You remember, right?” Earl nodded, wondering where Big Choo-Choo was going, and why he couldn’t go with him. “Remember that, an’ you gonna be all right, boy.” With that, Big Choo-Choo rose, shook Son House’s hand, and looked down at Earl tenderly. “Goodbye, boy.” Big Choo-Choo shuffled off toward the door. Earl suddenly ran after him, catching up to the big man and wrapping his arms around his waist in a big hug. “I’ll miss you, Big Choo-Choo. Come back soon.” Big Choo-Choo, overcome with emotion, patted the boy on his head, broke the grasp, and headed out the door.

After Big Choo-Choo left, Son House said to Earl, “So I see you like music, boy. I’m pretty good on the ol’ guitar myself. I used to play with Charley Patton sometimes. Me ‘n him met a few years back in Tula, Mississippi. We played together a number o’ times. ‘Course I ain’t seen him in a while, on account of me bein’ up at Parchman. Whaddya say, boy, you wanna meet Charley Patton?”

Earl was still unsure about Son House and his new arrangement, but nodded eagerly. Picking up his guitar case, he followed Son House over to the stage, where Charley Patton and Willie Brown were sitting in chairs on the stage, drinking. They were surrounded by a group of women, and a black man in his late teens, clutching a guitar and looking admiringly at the bluesmen on stage.

“I’ll be damned,” exclaimed Charley Patton, looking past the women to Son House. “If it ain’t ol’ Son House. Heard you was up at Parchman for killin’ a man.” Patton’s exclamation startled the small group assembled by the stage, and the women looked fearful. Earl looked up at Son House to see if it was true he had killed a man. Son House’s face seemed to harden, his jaw set, and then unclenched.

“Was up in Parchman, but they turned me loose. I got me religion. I’m a god-fearing, respectable man now.” Son House seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. He seemed eager to change the subject. “Sounds like you ‘n Willie got better since I seen you last.”

“Yeah, we packin’ ‘em in all over the Delta. Charley Patton’s the hottest thing these ol’ country folks ever seen. Ain’t that right, Willie?” Willie continued to sip at his whiskey, not responding to Patton, though that didn’t seem to slow Patton down. “I even made me a record earlier this year. You probably didn’t get to hear it, bein’ up in Parchman and all.” The little group chuckled nervously at Patton’s joke, not wanting to offend Son House, who they had just learned had been jailed for murder. Perhaps sensing himself he shouldn’t go too far with a man fresh out of jail, Patton added, “Who’s that boy you got with you there, House? You ain’t just outta Parchman too, is you boy?”

Now the group laughed out loud, knowing no one would be offended by this joke. Earl shook his head nervously, as everyone was now looking at him. “No, sir, my name’s Earl Johnson.”

“This boy come here with Big Choo-Choo. I’m gonna be lookin’ after him for a spell,” Son House replied.

“Big Choo-Choo, huh?” Charley Patton replied. “Guess that makes you Lil’ Choo-Choo.” This elicited another round of laughs from the small crowd at the stage. Little did Earl realize then that the nickname Patton gave him would stay with him his whole career.

In the silence that followed, the teenager with the guitar spoke up nervously. “Excuse me, Mr. Patton, sir. I was wonderin’ if you could show me a thing or two on the guitar.  I think you the greatest. I’m jus’ startin’ out, and I sho’ would appreciate anything you could teach me.”

Willie Brown now spoke up for the first time. “I seen you before when we played. Whas’ your name, boy?”

“My name’s Robert Johnson. I wanna learn guitar, and be the best guitar player in the whole world… ‘cept for you, of course, Mr. Patton,” he said, realizing his ambitious words might offend his hero.

“Boy, we just done a show. We wanna relax, get us a drink, and maybe get friendly with these fine ladies here,” said Willie Brown, winking at the women standing by the stage. “We ain’t got no time to be teachin’ you nothin’.”

“Aw, lay off the kid, Willie,” replied Charley Patton. “Can’t you see he’s bustin’ at the seams to learn to play that thing.” Patton took a big pull off his whiskey bottle and gestured to the young man. “Go ‘head, Robert Johnson, play us somethin’. We’ll see if you worth teachin’.”

Robert Johnson fumbled to pull the guitar into his lap, nervous now that everyone was watching him. He took a deep breath and started to play. It was evident to everyone from the first couple notes that Robert Johnson was not the world’s best guitar player, nor even a good one. Lil’ Choo-Choo confirmed his opinion when he saw Charley Patton wince and make a face on stage. Robert Johnson struggled valiantly on, stumbling through an almost unrecognizable version of a Charley Patton song.

“Whoa, whoa, stop that noise, boy,” yelled Willie Brown. “Damn, boy, thas’ gotta be the worst guitar playin’ I ever heard. Sounds like two cats fightin’ on a tin roof.” Robert Johnson’s head drooped at Willie Brown’s words.

“Willie, that ain’t no Christian way to act,” said Son House, jumping into the conversation. “Sho' he can’t play a lick, but ain’t no call to insult the boy.”

“Hell, House, you heard that racket. It was a hot mess. Givin’ that boy guitar lessons’d be like puttin’ a silk hat on a pig,” Willie Brown replied. “I bet that lil’ boy there can play better ‘n this Robert Johnson.”  Willie Brown pointed to Earl. “You there, boy… Lil’ Choo-Choo we callin’ you, right? You got a guitar case there. Come prove me right.”

Lil’ Choo-Choo wasn’t sure what to do. He looked up at Son House, who shrugged. Lil’ Choo-Choo didn’t really like the way Willie Brown was treating Robert Johnson, and he didn’t want to embarrass the young would-be guitarist. But he also wanted to impress Charley Patton. He set his guitar case down, pulled his father’s guitar out, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started to play. Willie Brown, who had been chuckling before Lil’ Choo-Choo started to play, suddenly fell silent. When he finished playing, Lil’ Choo-Choo opened his eyes. Charley Patton was leaning forward in his chair, staring intently at the boy. Willie Brown stood with his mouth wide open. Son House was looking down at him smiling. Robert Johnson stared at him menacingly, then grabbed his guitar and hurried out of the barn. Nobody in those parts would see Robert Johnson again for years.

“I was jus’ playin’ with the kid. Damn,” said Willie Brown, still looking at Lil’ Choo-Choo. “Big Choo-Choo taught you but good, boy.”

Charley Patton continued to appraise Lil’ Choo-Choo, then finally turned to Son House. “House, can you still play?” Son House slowly nodded. “Well, if you interested in makin’ some money, stop by an’ see me in a couple days. An’ be sure to bring Lil’ Choo-Choo with ya’.” With that, Patton and Brown packed up and took off, escorted by the small group of women.

Son House smiled down at Lil’ Choo-Choo. “Boy, you got you a gift from God. C’mon, les’ go find a place to get some shut-eye.