Honky Tonk Angel (57 page)

In March 1963, according to Federal Aviation Agency [FAA] testimony reviewed in 2007, Randy’s Piper Comanche had sixty gallons of fuel upon take-off. It was determined that the plane wasn’t excessively loaded. Billy Walker noted his friends were traveling lightly: Patsy with only a makeup case and two dresses, “one white, one red,” and the men with a change of clothes for the Kansas City shows.

No flight plan was filed as Randy’s exact route couldn’t be determined. Due to inclement weather, he’d “hedge-hopped” upon takeoff from Kansas City, making a brief stop at 3:15 P.M. in Rogers, Arkansas, to add fuel.

At 4:58 Randy notified the Service Flight Station [SFS] at Dyersburg Municipal Airport that he’d be landing in five minutes.

The restaurant there received a call from the regional FAA center asking if they would stay open because a plane was coming in.

Airport manager William Braese, thirty-five in 1963 and now in his eighties, recalls Randy “remarking how tiresome it had been traveling all day. He wanted to top off the fuel tank and be weather briefed.” Braese found the landing gear door flapping, and Randy assured him it would be fixed.

As Patsy, Cowboy, and Hawk entered the restaurant, Carolyn Fay Jones, a twenty-two-year-old waitress, had just dropped a dime in the restaurant jukebox and selected “Crazy.” Patsy made a beeline to the restroom.

Records show twenty-seven gallons of one-hundred-octane fuel were pumped into the wing tanks and the oil brought to the proper level. Paying the bill, Randy made small talk with bookkeeper Evelyn Braese, the manager’s wife, who asked if he wanted to tie the aircraft down. He replied, “Let me first check the weather.”

He was briefed by SFS specialist Leroy Neal that visibility was five miles with winds of twenty knots per hour and gusts of thirty-one knots, some rain, light snow, and overcast skies. Neal assessed conditions as “marginal” under Visual Flight Rules. He cited weather concerns throughout the area and pinpointed observation markers, such as highways and streets with lighting, though he warned these might not be visible because of clouds. Randy asked for the time of sunset and was informed it would come early due to the clouds. He inquired if the runways would then be lighted in case he had to return. Neal said they would be.

Randy made the call home. On hanging up, he informed Mrs. Braese, “My wife told me the sun just broke out, so we are going on.’”

He apprised Neal of the call. “The sun at Nashville most likely is going to be brief,” he replied.

When Fay came to take the orders, Hawkins asked, “Do you know who’s singin’ that song?” She replied, “Why, that’s Patsy Cline.”

Patsy joined them and Hawkins, ever the practical joker, waved Fay over. “How would you like to meet Patsy Cline?” he wanted to know. She replied, “I’d love to!” He blurted, “Well, this is Patsy Cline!”

“I almost fainted,” gasped Fay years later. “It was a good thing I wasn’t holding a pot of hot coffee! Patsy was dressed all in red—red coat, red dress, red shoes. I asked her for an autograph and she complied.” Fay remembered what everyone ordered: Hawkins and Copas had corned beef and cabbage, a special saluting upcoming St. Patrick’s Day; Patsy had shrimp salad and iced tea.

Randy joined them, ordering only coffee, then left to check again with Neal. When Braese heard Randy was going on, he became quite concerned. “It boiled down to Mr. Hughes not having enough training to fly into weather. He wasn’t aware of the thunderstorms that passed through, which was puzzling since he told me how rough flying had been.”

On a map, Braese pointed out to Randy that as he ascended to two thousand feet, Kentucky Lake, four miles east, would be his “fade out point”; and that there were few visual guidance points in the sparsely settled area. In his Civil Aeronautic Board (CAB) report, he made no mention of offering Randy his station wagon for the continuation of the trip.

Ten minutes prior to takeoff, Braese overheard Randy and Patsy conversing. He says it might have been Patsy who was anxious to get back. “She didn’t want to be late for some appointment. She told Mr. Hughes, ‘If you want to stay, we’ll stay. If you want to go, we’ll go.’”

Randy did a thorough preflight check. The passengers entered—Patsy in the left rear, Copas [whom Braese referred to as “the youngest and smallest man”] at right. Randy entered over the wing. Hawkins had the co-pilot’s seat. Randy revved the engine a few minutes to get the oil to takeoff temperature.

Braese called the takeoff at 6:07 normal. “I don’t know what more I could have done. They were just in a hurry to get home.”

At 6:30, Samuel Ward, an experienced pilot, was in his office four miles west of Camden. He heard an aircraft engine and went to investigate. He didn’t see the plane but, from the sound, estimated it was traveling in a northerly direction. “It was running perfectly, just above the tree tops [about three hundred feet]. I thought the pilot must be lost and trying to orientate by the lights and highways. Then, I saw
a white light going toward the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. The engine was cut and there was a dull crash and thereafter complete silence.”

He contacted the Highway Patrol and a few minutes later gave trooper Troy Odle the estimated location as two miles north of Sandy Point village.

The crash site is five miles west of Camden off US 641 and Mount Carmel Road. Wreckage was spread over three hundred feet.

In 1979, Faron Young, discussing Randy’s attempting the flight’s last leg, surmised, “He was hardheaded. The Randy I knew as my sideman and manager would never have done that. It wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t have such a big head. Money and success managing Patsy changed him. Suddenly, he thought he was Colonel Parker [Elvis’s manager]. The reason Randy bought his puddle jumper was envy. I had a plane, so he had to have one. He needed flying lessons. I warned him that when you spot dark clouds or a storm, don’t think you can fly around it; just turn back.”

Rose Marie Flynt vividly remembers an incident on March 16, 1963, ten days after Patsy’s death. Faron Young was headlining at the Washington, D.C. Coliseum (where the Beatles performed their first North American concert) with Don Gibson and Connie Smith. It was a show Patsy had been scheduled to do. Dottie West filled her spot.

“Patsy had sent me tickets,” explained Flynt, “so I went, assuming there’d be tributes from Faron, Don, Connie, and Dottie. Backstage, I was stunned to see Charlie. As broken up as I’d heard he was, I thought he’d be in mourning. He asked me if I wanted a drink. I replied, ‘You know I don’t drink.’ Faron was pretty snookered. His guitar cases were crammed with whiskey bottles. Charlie wasn’t too far behind, but he could walk and talk. Dottie, my sister, and I had pushed Faron out of the dressing room and up a steep flight of steps to the stage. He kept saying, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t go on.’”

It was too late; the MC had introduced him. As the women strained to get Young on, he was still whining. The promoter panicked, saying “The place is sold out. If he doesn’t go on, I’ll have to give everyone their money back!”

As screaming fans stomped their feet, the guitarist in Young’s band stepped to the microphone and told them, “Folks, the Sheriff’s gonna be out in a few minutes—as soon as he sobers up.” The audience, thinking it was part of the show, howled.

“God bless Dottie,” Flynt remarked. “She was trying to pump Faron up by saying, ‘Sheriff, get it together so you can do the show or else no one’s going to get paid!’ He muttered, ‘Hell, yeah, I’m gonna do the show. Nobody’s gonna stiff me!’”

When the announcer introduced Young a third time, the women gave him a push and out he went—smack dab into the microphone, knocking it over.

“Faron stumbled to his guitar,” Flynt laughed, “and, by some miracle, started his hit ‘Hello, Walls.’ I don’t know how he did it, but he got through the show. Maybe he’d done it so many times, it was automatic.”

After they got Young onstage, all shared a laugh. Charlie told Flynt, “You need a drink after that!”

In February 1964, almost forgotten now, Loretta Lynn, wanting to explain Charlie’s desperation, wrote and recorded the poignant ballad “This Haunted House”:

True to Lynn’s song, living in Patsy’s “dream house” became too much for Charlie. He sold it in 1965 to singer Wilma Burgess, who accidentally discovered Patsy’s “rainy day” stash in the bricks of the fireplace. She also discovered much more.

When Charlie departed, he’d left behind an archive of acetate radio transcriptions saying he would return for them. When he didn’t, Burgess sold or gave them away to relatives and friends. A cousin ended up with the transcription of Patsy on
Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts.
Acetates of Patsy live at Tulsa’s Cimarron Ballroom ended up in the hands of artist Tommy Overstreet.

Burgess swore the house was haunted: “There were strange occurrences. You’d be upstairs and the toilet downstairs would flush. Doors would open and slam. I’d be downstairs and it would sound as if a bowling ball was rolling down the upstairs hall. Sometimes, I’d hear music as if Patsy was singing.”

Owen Bradley, who also produced Burgess, told her he could account for what was happening. “If Patsy’s anywhere,” he laughed, “she’s in that house!” Dottie agreed, saying the house represented Patsy’s “blood, sweat, and tears.”

When her career slowed, Burgess sold the house. It was eventually purchased by the H. R. Nash family, who were careful to keep the dining room mural Patsy was so proud of and those specks of gold in the downstairs bath. Mrs. Nash also made quite a find: Patsy’s diary from the 1950s. As excited as Patsy must have been about winning
Talent Scouts
and being hired as a regular, her entry for January 22, 1957, reads simply: “Started on Godfrey show. Saw Godfrey & talked.” The next day, making her professional debut on national TV, she penned: “Was on morning show of Godfrey. Went to Decca. Got $25.00 from Paul Cohen.”

Many consider Foggy Bottom to be Patsy, Cowboy, Hawk, and Randy’s grave and their respective Winchester and Nashville cemetery sites symbolic mourning places.
The property owner deeded the area to Camden and an etched boulder was placed near the impact point.

W. J. (Jeffrey) Hollingsworth and his son Jenners, among the first at the scene, squirreled away the plane’s tail section with part of the identification number and the belly. In 2001, the
Winchester Star
reported two brothers had secured the belly and attempted a sale to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which rejected the offer. Later, they purchased the tail section. The pieces were put on eBay, stated one of the brothers, “so the whole world could kind of get in on it.” After protests, the items were pulled. The brothers informed eBay that they had cleared the sale with family members, and the auction was reinstated. The original low bid was $100,000, later reduced to $50,000; but the pieces didn’t sell.