Tootsie

Another essay from a retrospective on life, coming eventually from my book “A Ghostly Rider On A Cracked China Platter.”

Tootsie

It was after midnight in Nashville town when I strolled down 4th Avenue to Broadway. Curiosity and a gentle rain pulled me into Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge.

A guy in a big black hat played to a crowd of one, Tootsie.

It was an old Hank Williams tune that he never released, and I can understand why. It wasn’t his best, maybe his worst. His boy, Junior, did record it. I’ve never been a fan of Junior, but I interviewed him in the 70s.

“There’s a tear in my beer

’Cause I’m crying for you, dear

You are on my lonely mind.”

It seemed a lonely place mid-week — except, of course, for Tootsie Bess, with her plain dress and modest bee-hive hairdo at the end of the long bar.

She was perched on a stool reading a newspaper, the Nashville Banner. She wasn’t paying much attention to the singer in the cowboy hat as he packed up to leave. She had seen real stars come through her saloon.

Floor to ceiling, walls were covered with signed album covers, yellowing news stories, and all sorts of notes paying homage to the bar and the lady who was its queen. One day, I’d write a story about Tootsie…