Read Luck or Something Like It for Free Online Page B

mine. Plus a face-to-face meeting with Eddy Arnold! It would take another thirty years or so for me to become a true country singer, but I sure felt like a country star that day.
    I was ushered backstage to meet Eddy, and he let me play his big blond Gibson L5. I got a chance to talk about how much I loved his No. 1 hit ballads like “What Is Life Without Love” and “It’s a Sin,” and he said something nice about my yodeling. What a night.
    That contest was one of the first times I felt the thrill of performing, but it also produced, years later, another one of those don’t-take-yourself-too-seriously moments. I was in Knoxville to receive a career achievement award, “The Froggy,” from radio station WIVK, and as fate would have it, Eddy Arnold was the presenter. By this time he was a legend, having spent more than 145 weeks in the top spot on the country charts, a record at the time. This was the second high honor Eddy had presented me in my life. His speech started off on a high note: “I like this guy. He’s had so many big hits. He’s done so many good things for country music.” He kept going on and on about how I so richly deserved this award, until he finally said, “I really do like this guy, but for the life of me, I can’t remember his name!”
    That line took me right back to grade school.

Chapter Four
    Moving On Up
    None of the Rogers family minded hard work, including me. I’m still a hard worker, though it’s not the hard physical kind these days. My seven sisters and brothers were all workers, too. Before my older brother, Lelan, got involved in the music business, kind of leading the way for me, he worked at Wormser Hat Store in downtown Houston, selling hats. When I was eleven, he got me a job down there sweeping the floor and squeegeeing windows. At a dollar and a half a day, six afternoons a week, I brought home a weekly paycheck of $9, money my mom used to help keep the family afloat.
    Every day, right after school, I’d catch the bus downtown for a nickel, put in my hours, then ride it back home for another nickel. One payday before I caught the bus home, I decided to stop in at the penny arcade down the street. Just this once, I told myself, I deserved it. I walked in planning to spend a dollar, tops—and walked out penniless. I had blown my entire $9 pay. This presented two problems: How was I going to face my mom? And how was I going to get home?
    I started panhandling on the street, and in an hour collected about fourteen dollars. In a very short time I had gone from “ just this once ” to “ boy, I have blown it ” to “ look at all this money !” The last guy who stopped was my bus driver. He looked at me with a stern face, and said, “I won’t give you any money, but I’ll give you a transfer pass. Use it to get home.”
    It was a humiliating end to my short career as a panhandler.
    I started hitchhiking to school every day once I entered junior high school at George Washington Junior High on Shepherd Drive, something no one would do today. If that makes me sound like a tough, daring kid, I wasn’t. In fact, I was still afraid of the dark. As shy and self-conscious as I was, though, I realized by junior high that the only real way to attract girls, my continuing passion, was either to be a star athlete or to play in a band. I had loved music since I first saw my dad play the fiddle on Grandpa Rogers’s front porch, but I thought sports would be a faster way to gain recognition, so I went out for football. I was excited about being a player because I was particularly interested in a gorgeous cheerleader named Leah Ray Bloecher and being a jock seemed like the path to her heart.
    Late summer in Houston was hot and humid, the pads and helmet were heavy, and sweat was running off my face in sheets. Convinced I was ready for the punishment, I went out on the field and started running laps with the rest of the guys. Ten minutes later I was passed out cold on the ground.