Hank Williams

by Colin Escott

  Between four and five o’clock, Hank and Charles Carr stopped at the Hollywood Drive-in on Bell Street. The Hollywood was a take-out stand that sold beer, sandwiches, and coffee, and Hank saw Leo Hudson’s car parked outside. Hudson was a member of the Montgomery local of the American Federation of Musicians, and had helped organize the Sunday night party. Hank got into Hudson’s car and told him how much he’d enjoyed the party, then asked Hudson to drive him to Ohio. “Charles is a good boy,” said Hank, “but I don’t trust his driving like I trust yours.” Hudson said he couldn’t help. He was on his way to a gig in Selma. Hank picked up a six-pack of Falstaff beer and left Montgomery heading north on Highway 31 toward Birmingham. It was raining and unseasonably cold.

  At 4:30 p.m. that day, just before Hank left Montgomery, Lilly phoned Toby Marshall. She told him that Hank had recently undergone a “highly upsetting emotional incident that had caused him to resume his drinking.” She asked Marshall to go to Charleston, West Virginia, and minister to him, then go on to Canton and return with him to Montgomery. “I accepted the assignment without reservation,” said Marshall in a memo he wrote a year later from his prison cell in Oklahoma.

  Around the time that Marshall left Oklahoma City, promoter A. V. Bamford left Nashville for Charleston. He had assembled a bill for the two shows that, in addition to Hank, included the comedy team of Homer and Jethro and local star Hawkshaw Hawkins. The supporting acts were Autry Inman (who had written “I Cried Again,” a song Hank performed during his last weeks in Nashville); Bill Monroe’s fiddle player, Red Taylor; as well as “Jack and Daniel” (Autry Inman and future pop star Floyd Robinson); and the Webb Sisters, one of whom was married to bass player Buddy Killen. It was an all-star revue, but the posters made it clear that Hank was the headliner.

  Hank wouldn’t bring a band, but he had hired Don Helms for the two dates. Presumably the other supporting acts would double as the house band. Red Taylor would play fiddle, Floyd Robinson would play electric guitar, Autry Inman would play rhythm guitar, and Buddy Killen would play bass. Bamford sweetened the deal for Killen by offering to buy a new set of tires for his ’51 Pontiac.

  Hank and Charles Carr didn’t get very far on December 30. Contradicting what Lilly told Toby Marshall, Carr remembers Hank in good spirits, singing a few songs along the way. They stopped in Birmingham and tried to get a room at the city’s premier hotel, the Tutwiler, but Carr, who had pulled a U-turn and parked illegally near the hotel, was pulled over by the police. Hank told Carr to remind the officer who he was driving for, but that didn’t seem to carry as much clout in Birmingham as it did in Montgomery, and Carr was told to move along. They drove on to the Redmont and took two rooms there instead. Within thirty minutes of checking into the Redmont, three women had invited themselves into Hank’s room. He asked one of them where she was from. She said, “Heaven.” “Well,” Hank said, “in that case, you’re the very reason I’m goin’ to hell.” The women eventually left, and Carr ordered two meals from room service.

  Early the following morning, Hank headed northeast, and got a haircut, shave, boot-shine, and breakfast in Fort Payne. He drew a small crowd and enjoyed the attention. Charles Carr says that Hank bought a bottle of bonded bourbon, but Fort Payne was in a dry county, so it’s likelier that Hank visited a bootlegger. Sitting in the front seat, he asked his young driver what he thought of “Jambalaya.” Carr said he didn’t much care for it because it seemed a little nonsensical. “That’s ’cause you don’t understand French,” said Hank. Carr told him he’d studied French in school. Hank just said, “Awww.” Then he started singing a few songs; the last that Carr remembers was Red Foley’s hit “Midnight.” “Red would like that,” said Hank.

  By now, Hank realized that he was running late, but he stopped in Chattanooga for some lunch. Hank played Tony Bennett’s “Cold, Cold Heart” on the jukebox and left a fifty-dollar tip. It was snowing when they set out for Knoxville, and by the time they arrived, around 1:00 p.m., Hank realized that the only way he could cover the 315 miles to Charleston was by plane. The first show was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. and the second for 10:30.

  The 3:30 flight would put Hank into Charleston with time to spare, but now there were one or two hours to kill in Knoxville. Hank told Carr to phone Cas Walker at WROL and promised to make an appearance on Walker’s noontime Dinner Bell show. Walker, who died in September 1998 at age ninety-six, had a long career in the Knoxville music scene, but couldn’t remember much about that day. He said only that Williams “never showed up, and it was probably because he was not feeling well.” So how did Hank fill those hours? Murray Nash says that a nurse at St. Mary’s Hospital remembered Hank coming in to get a shot from his “usual” doctor in Knoxville, who was at the hospital to deliver a baby. Perhaps he went there.

  For some reason, Hank took Charles Carr with him on the plane. It would have made more sense for Carr to drive on to Charleston so that Hank would have transportation for the ongoing trip to Canton and back to Montgomery or Nashville. This became a moot point when, ninety minutes or so into the flight, the airplane turned around because of bad weather, arriving back in Knoxville a few minutes before 6:00.

  Carr booked Hank and himself into the toniest hotel in Knoxville, the Andrew Johnson, at 7:08. The assistant manager, Dan McCrary, didn’t see Hank and noted later that Carr appeared nervous. Hank had been sipping from the bottle of bourbon, although Carr insists that Hank didn’t drink on the plane. Two porters carried him up to his room. Carr ordered two steaks, but Hank couldn’t eat very much because he’d developed hiccups. He lay on the bed fully clothed, and later fell onto the floor.

  Charles Carr phoned Lilly to tell her where they were, and possibly to relay his concerns about Hank. Lilly phoned Toby Marshall, who had arrived in Charleston and was waiting for Hank with Clyde Perdue. Although no longer Hank’s manager, Perdue had booked these dates and wanted to be on hand to collect his percentage. Marshall phoned Charles Carr, and on his instructions, Carr called down to the front desk for a doctor because Hank’s hiccups were now sending his body into mild convulsions. Dr. Paul H. Cardwell came to see him. Cardwell lived and worked about three blocks away, and later described Hank as “very drunk.” He administered two shots of morphine mixed with vitamin B12 for hiccups, then apparently declared Hank fit for travel. Someone at the front desk of the Andrew Jackson notified Marshall that Hank could leave, and Marshall phoned Charles Carr, ordering him to go at once. He probably thought that he needed some time to get Hank in shape to perform, and didn’t want Hank to manipulate Carr into bringing more liquor to the room. Marshall had been in touch with A. V. Bamford and had been told that the Charleston show had been canceled, so he ordered Carr to drive straight to Canton.

  Up in Charleston, the musicians arrived to find the theater closed up. Don Helms drove in just in time to see someone locking the doors. Floyd Robinson called earlier from Minnesota and was told that the shows would probably be canceled, so he didn’t even leave. Buddy Killen and the Webb Sisters skidded off the road several times en route to Charleston, and arrived just in time for the show, only to see the musicians milling around on the sidewalk. Bamford had sold around three thousand dollars’ worth of advance tickets to the show that would now have to be refunded; he’d hired a full program of artists who would have to be paid their guarantees; and he would lose his deposit on the Municipal Auditorium. If Hank showed up drunk in Canton, he would be doubly out of pocket, so he probably brought pressure to bear on Marshall to get Hank to Canton in shape to perform. He and the other musicians bundled up and headed for Canton. The Canton matinee was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. on January 1. More than four thousand tickets had been sold at $2.50 apiece.

  On Marshall’s instructions, two porters put Hank into a wheelchair, bundled him into the back seat of his car, and laid his overcoat and a blanket on him. Hotel manager Dan McCrary told Marshall that Hank appeared to be very groggy. It was 10:45 p.m. when Carr set off from Knoxville on the Rutledge Pike. Marshall l
ater said that he and McCrary arranged for a relief driver because Carr had been driving since early that morning, but Carr denies this. An hour out of Knoxville, Carr was stopped near Blaine, Tennessee, by patrolman Swann H. Kitts, who was from Roy Acuff and Carl Smith’s hometown, Maynardville. Carr had pulled out to pass and had almost hit Kitts’ patrol car head-on. Kitts turned around and chased Carr, pulling him over around 11:30. Kitts noted that there was a serviceman sitting with Carr in the front seat, although this could have been a taxi driver in uniform. The mystery codriver has never come forward.

  It is from Kitts’ after-the-fact investigation that we have some knowledge of Hank’s last hours. “I seen him back there and I asked the driver about him — if anything was wrong,” said Kitts. “The driver said, ‘No, he’s been drinking a beer and the doctor gave him a sedative.’ I remember I said, ‘He’s not dead, is he?’” Carr replied that he wasn’t, but Kitts later voiced his doubts. Kitts was a rookie (he’d joined the Tennessee Highway Patrol in 1950), but he was driving with a sixteen-year veteran, Grainger County sheriff J. N. Antrican, and it’s unlikely that Antrican would have let the suspicion that Carr was transporting a corpse pass so easily. Carr asked the patrolmen not to wake Hank, and followed the patrol car into Rutledge, Tennessee. He was arraigned before Justice of the Peace Olin H. Marshall, tried, convicted, and fined twenty-five dollars with costs. Carr says that he paid the fine out of his own pocket, intending to get the money back off Hank.

  It was 1:00 a.m. when Carr left Rutledge and carried on with his eerie journey. He was now a very apprehensive and nervous young man, tired to the point where his mind was reeling. What had seemed like a dream job that would pay next semester’s tuition had turned sickeningly wrong, and would haunt him the rest of his life. By the time they reached Bristol on the Tennessee-Virginia line, Carr had been traveling for almost twenty hours. He turned north on Highway 19, going a short distance through Virginia before crossing into West Virginia at Bluefield.

  Around 4:30 a.m., Carr pulled into a gas station, filled up, and asked about hiring a relief driver. Someone directed him to the Doughboy Lunch Restaurant. Carr later said that Hank got out in Bluefield to stretch his legs, but didn’t go into the restaurant. This is possible, but it seems inconsistent with Hank’s condition in Knoxville. Carr also told investigating officers that Hank tried to get a morphine shot in Bluefield, but either couldn’t find a doctor or couldn’t find one who would administer it. If true, Hank might have gobbled the remainder of the chloral hydrate tablets that Dr. Cardwell had noticed in Knoxville.

  Waitress Hazel Wells said that Hank Williams came into the Doughboy Lunch Restaurant, identified himself, and asked for another driver, but it seems likelier that Carr came in, told the waitress that he was driving for Hank Williams, and asked for another driver. Hazel Wells says she pointed to Don Surface, a thirty-seven-year-old driver for the Bluefield Cab Company, seated in one of the booths. The two men had a brief conversation, and, after Surface extracted a promise of extra money for the return bus fare, he took over the wheel for the drive through the mountains. One of the few things that anyone remembers Surface saying about this ride was that he didn’t speak to Hank. Perhaps the chloral hydrate tablets had taken effect, or perhaps it was already midnight for Hank Williams.

  Carr says he and Surface stopped for a sandwich and beer in Princeton, West Virginia, and insists, less plausibly, that he paid off Surface at some point in West Virginia. Surface died in April 1965 without being interviewed, but newspaper reports place him at the wheel as the car neared Oak Hill, West Virginia, around 6:30 a.m. on January 1, 1953. Carr and Surface told the authorities in Oak Hill that they’d found Hank dead when they’d pulled over to get gas and coffee outside Oak Hill, and it was later assumed that they’d stopped at the Skyline Drive-in, a small cinder block restaurant south of Oak Hill. Once again, this seems unlikely because the Skyline was closed on New Year’s Day, and Carr remembered a sign saying that they were six miles from Oak Hill, while the Skyline is just three miles out. Carr and Surface had probably stopped a little further south in the small town of Mount Pleasant, and it was probably there that Carr first suspected that something was wrong. He noticed Hank’s blanket and coat had fallen off. Hank was lying on his back, his arms crossed in a V on his chest. Carr pulled the blanket over Hank’s hand, then noticed that the hand was stiff, and he sprang back. He went inside a restaurant, where he remembered seeing a potbellied stove in the corner. An older man came out with him. “I think you got a problem,” the man said.

  According to the police account from Oak Hill, Carr and Surface pulled into the Burdette’s Pure Oil station and asked Burdette for directions to the hospital. Carr asked Burdette to call ahead to the police station. Officer Orris Stamey was on duty, and he called deputy sheriff Howard Janney. “It was about seven, seven thirty in the morning,” said Janney. He told Carr to stay at the gas station, and drove down to find Carr and Surface standing beside the car. “I looked in the back and I knew he was dead, so I escorted the car to the hospital.” Janney later told researcher Brian Turpen that Hank was still lukewarm to the touch, but that rigor mortis had set in on the arm.

  At Oak Hill Hospital, two orderlies picked up Hank by his armpits and his feet and carried him into Emergency. An Italian intern, Dr. Diego Nunnari, pronounced him dead around 7:00 a.m. on January 1, 1953. Carr says that he went into the hospital lobby and phoned his father. Then he says he phoned Lilly, who didn’t seem overly surprised. “Don’t let anything happen to the car,” she told him.

  Several questions remain unanswered. Where exactly did Hank die? Did he live to see 1953? Charles Carr said that he last spoke to Hank in Bristol, Tennessee, then changed his mind, saying that it was in Bluefield. He says that Hank got out and walked around the car in Bluefield, and the waitress, Hazel Wells, says that Hank came into the Doughboy Lunch restaurant. The problem with both accounts is that rigor mortis had set in seventy-one miles up the road. Rigor mortis usually begins in the face, and is inhibited by cold. Hank’s car was a convertible and would thus have been very cold that night, so if rigor mortis was afflicting his arms between 6:00 and 7:00 a.m., he had probably been dead awhile. Swann Kitts concluded after the fact that Hank had died in Knoxville, but researcher Brian Turpen has concluded that Hank was still alive in Bluefield and surmises that his death probably occured between 5:30 and 6:45 a.m. Hank’s light body mass, says Turpen, would have meant that rigor mortis could set in quite quickly. Oak Hill police officer Howard Janney asked Dr. Nunnari how long Hank had been dead, and Nunnari said two to four hours.

  A strange twist in the tale came from Dr. Leo Killorn, a Canadian intern working the New Year’s overnight shift at Beckley Hospital, West Virginia, fifteen miles down the road from Oak Hill. Killorn claimed that Carr drove up to the hospital and asked him to come take a look at a man in the back seat. Killorn said that the fact that the driver told him it was Hank Williams caused him to remember the incident. He told the driver that Hank was most assuredly dead but there was no coroner on staff that morning so he should drive on to Oak Hill. Killorn returned to practice in the Canadian maritimes, and was not an attention-seeking man, which makes it hard to totally dismiss his story. Carr, though, has always unequivocally denied it.

  Carr and Surface were nervous enough to invite suspicion that foul play had been involved in Hank’s death; that suspicion was reinforced by a welt on Hank’s head. The local magistrate in Oak Hill, Virgil F. Lyons, called the Fayette County prosecutor, Howard W. Carson, and decided that there should be an inquest. Hank’s body was taken from the hospital to the Tyree Funeral Home. By 1:00 p.m., Lyons and Carson had impaneled a group of six local citizens, and they were led upstairs at the funeral home. Hank’s body was under a sheet, and the six jury members looked at it for about fifteen minutes. They all remarked how emaciated and unhealthy looking it was, and they noted the needle marks on the arms. A pathologist from Beckley hospital, Dr. Ivan Malinin, was brought in to conduct it. Faye
tte County coroner J. B. Thompson was there, together with Howard Janney, Orris Stamey, and West Virginia state troopers William Seal and Ted Anderson. Joe Tyree’s assistant, Jim Alexander, was also there and took blood from the body. A corked bottle of blood together with a package of some internal organs was handed to trooper Ted Anderson, with the instruction that it should be taken to Charleston for analysis. Anderson looked at the bottle, turned green, and walked into the broom closet.

  The autopsy was quite thorough for 1953, although Dr. Malinin didn’t test for drugs. He found hemorrhages on the tongue, which would be consistent with an unconscious death, and found that Hank had been severely beaten and kicked in the groin recently, something that no one remembered doing in the tributes that were about to flood out. He stated that “death resulted due to insufficiency of right ventricle of heart due to the high position of the diaphragm with following external edema of the brain, congestive hyperemia of all the parenchymatous organs and paralysis of the respiratory center with asphyxia (punctate hemorrhages).” Several of Malinin’s findings were consistent with alcoholic cardiomyopathy, but the key issue seemed to be Hank’s position in the car, which led to a high diaphragm, combined with the respiratory system depressants that he’d taken (alcohol, chloral hydrate, and morphine). The combination of his traveling position, his drug intake, and his already weakened heart probably killed him. The respiratory depression he’d suffered en route to Houston ten days earlier would probably have had the same outcome if Tommy and Goldie Hill had not got him out of the car and walked him around.

  Hank was embalmed in Oak Hill. The embalmer had extreme difficulty locating Hank’s veins; excessive administration of intravenous drugs had collapsed them. The jury reconvened, reviewed the autopsy, and decided that there had been no evidence of foul play. The official cause of death was listed as heart failure, aggravated by acute alcoholism. The jury entered its verdict on January 10, 1953. By then, Hank Williams had been in the ground six days.