The Man Behind The Music

My siblings are interested in penning perhaps Jimmy Cook's first authorized biography. I've been asked to take on the bulk of the task, since-as I am reminded-I am the writer in the family.
"We have quite a story to tell", Teri assured me. They have. While my knowledge of my natural father growing up was limited to "Undisclosed American Musical Celebrity"-as was scribbled on official documents--they can personally recollect his glory days performing with the best old time country music had to offer. They remember him in the studio with good friend Hank Williams Sr, posing for press photos with Minnie Pearl, laughing with Little Jimmy Dickens and passing time at the house with constant cohorts Hank Snow, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs-the duo responsible for TV’s Beverly Hillbillies theme. He recorded “On The Wings Of A Dove” with Ferlan Husky and “Wabash Cannonball” with his best friend in the world, Roy Acuff-for whom my brother "James Roy" was named. He knew Buck Owen, Porter Wagoner, and Red Foley and (as famous for being a ladies man) he was rumored to have once romanced hill billy beauty and radio queen Lulu Belle-who later married “Have I told you lately that I love you?” songsmith Scotty Wiseman. [My siblings believe they were at the very least close friends, judging by the undated recordings of them speaking and singing sweetly to one another, found after his death.] But perhaps most memorable to my still smitten sisters were the times he and their mother Wanda spent having drinks and discussions with boyhood pal Elvis Presley himself, late into the sultry southern night.
"I remember the first time I met him [Elvis] as a child", Teri dazed, recalling the striking young man she calls 'the most gorgeous sight' she's ever seen. He'd gently taken her into his arms and she refused to get down, holding on with all of her heart. "He was always so kind to all of us kids. We absolutely loved him." The oft recanted tales of Elvis’ generosity of heart are not exaggerations. He touched my own birth family in such a profound and beautiful way that my siblings-some fifty years later -still quiver with excitement and tearful longing remembering this dearly departed friend. For thirty seconds of regrettable envy I pondered how much fun it must have been to be a cook kid in those days. Music, money, wild adventures on the road with a busload of brothers and sisters-serenaded by the boys in the band and cuddles in Elvis Presley’s lap. Do things get any better than that?
"Wow", I mused, admittedly jealous. My life would have been very different, had JD raised me. I would perhaps have also known Hank or Roy or Elvis and had a leg up in the music business but I would probably be even less stable emotionally.

[ADD SOMEWHERE IN THESE PARTS ABOUT THE SONG JD WROTE THAT I USED TO PLAY ON THE HARMONICA AS A CHILD, NOT KNOWING UNTIL YEARS LATER THAT IT WAS HIS SONG.]

"Be glad he didn't raise you", Patti scolded me. "He was great fun when he wasn't drinking but when he was...." According to my sisters, life with J.D. was wrought with drama-but not all of it was desirable. This glimmering star had a dark side unseen by the public which only his closest friends and the immediate family know about. They claim that he wasn't only a womanizing drunkard but could be a violent, abusive father who was capable of a great many evils-if what a few of my sisters contend is to be believed. The former reporter in me senses a story, a scoop-a scandal, but I'm not sure I want to touch it. These are things I am not sure I want to know about the man who fathered me. Things I'd rather leave buried with him.
“Please don’t tell me anymore”, I begged, overwhelmed. “Let me absorb the good. I can’t handle the bad right now.” The bad, was bad. Too bad to mention here.
I was blessed with the world's greatest adoptive parents. We were not without our disputes while I was growing and I admit I wondered if we would ever get past the pain and have any kind of meaningful relationship but today I am proud to say we as a family have grown through therapy, love and the Grace of God--in wondrous ways. I am so proud of them, and the example they have and continue to set for me and my own son. Mom and I have always gotten along well. She is a diamond of a woman-strong, sweet, spunky and without a lick of fear-and I wish I were more like her. We're quick to point out our differences but I think in some ways I am very much like my father. He is headstrong, straightforward and speaks his mind. He is honest and hardworking. And though it can be difficult (for me at least) to penetrate his emotional armor and get close to him, he can be tremendously loving-as he was with me as a small child and as he is now with my own son. He is a fantastic grandfather. I don't think he ever knew just how much I have always loved and respected him. I don't think he ever realized how desperately being loved by him meant to me. Though I surely chased my birth father's ghost in my quest to better know myself, this precious man who raised me was the only Daddy I ever knew. He is my rock. He has never failed me.