Every Night Is Saturday Night

by Wanda Jackson

  That was one Ken Nelson was a little worried about because of the subject matter. The lyrics are written from the perspective of a woman who’s been abandoned by her man. He even took her wedding dress, leaving only “the box it came in” in her closet. He gave the dress to another woman, so the lyrics describe that the box he’ll soon be in will be lined with satin. I thought it was great, but Ken was always a little scared of courting controversy. I always liked feisty songs, so I convinced him we should do it. The gamble paid off, resulting in a hot streak. Twenty of the next twenty-two singles I released hit the charts, and more than half of those broke into the Top 40.

  One that only got up to number 46 was “This Gun Don’t Care,” which had me warning a woman who might take my man that a gun doesn’t care who it shoots. That was another feisty one, which might have reinforced my reputation as the sweet lady with the nasty voice. Wendell and I really thought that one would be a big hit. We flew to Hollywood just to do a photo session of me holding two pistols. Capitol used the photo in an ad in Billboard, but it didn’t become a big hit. I was surprised when the follow-up single was the one to hit the Top 10. “Tears Will Be the Chaser for Your Wine” was a great song, but I really thought “This Gun Don’t Care” would be the one to take off. You can never predict what will or won’t catch on, but I was carving out a voice in that era for songs from a strong and fiery female perspective. My rock-and-roll attitude was informing my country success.

  Shortly before that streak of hits began, I’d released an album called Blues in My Heart. That was my first LP that appeared on the Billboard country chart, and it’s one of my personal favorites of my albums. I got to sing The Delmore Brothers’ “Blues Stay Away From Me” and Marty Robbins’s “Don’t Worry About Me.” I loved those kinds of songs. I had great vocal backing by The Jordanaires and my old friend Marijohn Wilkin from the Ozark Jubilee. I look back very fondly on recording that album in Nashville.

  By 1969 I was deep into a string of successful country singles that included “Both Sides of the Line,” “A Girl Don’t Have to Drink to Have Fun,” “My Baby Walked Right Out on Me,” and “My Big Iron Skillet.” That one came from a guy named Bryan Creswell who had gone to school with Wendell. We would see Bryan and his wife, Wilda, at reunions and that kind of thing. We socialized with them occasionally, but when Bryan told us they had written a song I thought, Oh no. Everybody’s got a song. I braced for the worst. But it turned out it was a good song, so I recorded it. I still perform “My Big Iron Skillet” in my shows. Even though the rock audience doesn’t know it well, I just mention that you can’t understand the full scope of my career if you don’t know about the country years. Plus, I love to do that one for the girls, who always enjoy it.

  I was enjoying my success in the late 1960s, but Wendell and I were always looking to try new things and push my career into new territory. I had been releasing a steady stream of studio recordings for the better part of two decades, but always felt like I was at my best on stage. One thing I’d never attempted was a live album. In 1969 Ken Nelson and I decided to give it a shot. We booked two nights at a club called Mr. Lucky’s in Phoenix, where I always had great crowds. I remember it was the same week that the astronauts first walked on the moon, which everyone was talking about. I brought my own band, but we also added some Nashville musicians, including guitarist Fred Carter and drummer Willie Ackerman, to enhance the sound. Willie was a studio player and was not used to pounding the drums the way I wanted them in a live setting. I want the drums to kick me in the butt! He played his heart out, but we felt sorry for him when he showed up on the second night. His hands were all wrapped with tape because he’d gotten blisters from playing so much more aggressively than usual. I said, “Oh no! Willie, I’m so sorry about your hands.” But he didn’t care.

  “Wanda, I’ve never had this much fun in my life!” he said. “I don’t normally get to cut loose like this.” He was so happy. And so was I.

  The only thing I wasn’t happy about, in terms of my career, was that I was working with Ken Nelson less and less in that era. He came and produced the live album at Mr. Lucky’s, but for the two years prior to that, I’d been assigned to producer Kelso Hurston. I had always been so comfortable with Ken and trusted his judgment, so it was a big change to get used to someone else being in charge in the studio. I liked Kelso fine, but, to me, Ken Nelson was Capitol Records.

  By 1970 it seemed that Capitol was regularly changing A&R men on me. I never knew who was going to be overseeing my sessions. After Kelso, George Richey became my producer. He’s best known for writing songs like “The Grand Tour” by George Jones and “Till I Can Make It on My Own” by Tammy Wynette. He later married Tammy and became her manager. George was a hot producer in the early ’70s, but I felt like he was more interested in the musical tracks than in my performance. He wasn’t making any suggestions, paying me any attention, or giving me any feedback. That just made me mad. Even though I had a Top 20 single with “A Woman Lives for Love,” a song George produced and co-wrote, I said I didn’t want to work with him anymore.

  After George I was assigned to Larry Butler. He produced several of my sessions, including the one that spawned “Fancy Satin Pillows.” It fell just shy of the Top 10 and was my last country single to land in the Top 20. Larry was talented, but it was a struggle to recapture the feeling I had working with Ken. Maybe the times were changing and producers, in general, were becoming stars in their own right, but it wasn’t the world I was used to. Ken Nelson had faith in every artist he worked with and let us shape our own destinies in terms of selecting and arranging songs. He listened to us because he trusted our instincts. He had an uncanny knack for signing artists for who they were and letting them follow their own voice. That’s why he had so much success with Hank Thompson, Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, and so many others.

  I might have been mourning the loss of working with Ken on a regular basis, but I was being recognized by the industry during the 1960s in a way that was gratifying. In 1965 I was nominated for a Grammy award for Best Country Vocal Performance for the Two Sides of Wanda Jackson album. My second Grammy nomination came several years later for “A Woman Lives for Love.” I had the chance to perform at the show in March of 1971. That was really exciting. I got a beautiful gown, and Wendell and I went to Hollywood for the live telecast. Charley Pride had the male nomination, but they had me perform his song and him perform my song. I was disappointed. I did, however, enjoy getting to meet some of the other celebrities there. John Wayne was a part of the show, as was Aretha Franklin. I remember meeting The Jackson 5 backstage. When I found out their name was Jackson, I had to meet them. That was the day the future King of Pop met the Queen of Rockabilly! Though I was riding high with my career, a big change was coming later that year that I could never have imagined.

  Chapter 21

  I SAW THE LIGHT

  By 1971, I’d had seventeen Top 40 hits on the Billboard charts and had traveled the world. Wendell and I had been married for a decade, had two wonderful children, and lived in a beautiful home. I had all the material things I could possibly want, but I was unhappy with myself. Sometimes I would lie in bed at night with a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was missing. I felt restless and anxious. Then I would feel guilty for feeling restless and anxious. After all, I had everything that a person could need or want. But I still couldn’t shake that dull but persistent sense of emptiness inside.

  Looking back now, I realize our marriage was probably in trouble. I don’t think we ever would have divorced, because that’s not something that either of us wanted. Yet there was no denying that being away from the kids, the long hours, the late nights, the heavy drinking, and Wendell’s jealousy issues had all taken a serious toll on us. I felt like I didn’t have a solid footing in my own life, and I knew down deep that the pressures were coming to a head. I felt like maybe I couldn’t handle it anymore. That thought scared me. I imagined what it would be like to quit touring
, but our entire family depended on my career. Would I be letting them down? How would Wendell react? Would we be okay? I tried to chase away the internal whispers that were telling me something wasn’t right, but they never stayed away for long.

  Around that time a lot of people were talking about The Living Bible, which was a brand-new paraphrase of Scripture in contemporary language that was easier to understand than a lot of translations. I thought maybe I could find some hope or wisdom from that, so I got a copy and started reading it out loud to Wendell when we were traveling on the road. I would go over several passages and Wendell and I would discuss it together. It seemed to me that there were contradictions in the Bible, and I was having trouble grasping many of the passages. A lot of it just didn’t make sense to me, but I wanted to understand it. It wasn’t until later that I understood that the Bible is God’s love letter to Christians. If you’re reading it, but you’re not a Christian, that’s a good thing, but it’s almost like reading somebody else’s mail. You can’t fully understand it. But we were trying.

  Mother and I had, of course, started attending South Lindsay Baptist Church when she and Daddy and I first moved back to Oklahoma City from California in the late 1940s. Over the years my church attendance decreased as my career took me out of town most weekends. Mother, however, remained faithful. In fact, she kept my kids, Gina and Greg, most weekends and, just as she’d done with me when I was a little girl, she insisted they attend Sunday School.

  A new minister named Paul Salyer came to South Lindsay in 1971, and our kids were very excited about Brother Paul. They wanted me and Wendell to come meet him and hear one of his messages. We told them we would go as soon as we could, but we never made it a priority. I was glad that my kids enjoyed going to church, but, truth be told, I just wasn’t that interested in getting up early and getting myself together to attend. I don’t think Wendell was, either. Even though we were open to trying to understand the Bible during those long stretches of interstate, we weren’t that anxious to go hang out with a bunch of church people. That wasn’t really our crowd.

  Brother Paul had been at South Lindsay for about six months when he saw my name on the church roll. He knew who I was and was aware of my singing career. He knew my mother came, but noticed I was never there. Paul asked some folks around the church about me, and they explained that I was traveling a lot and they didn’t see me often. For whatever reason, he and some of the members of the church decided to start praying for me and Wendell. Of course, it wasn’t until later that I figured it out, but now I realize that those prayers coincided with that period when I was feeling something stir within me. I now understand that those were the early rumblings of God working in my heart and drawing me toward Him.

  One day Brother Paul called our home seemingly out of the blue. None of the other preachers who had served at the church had gone out of their way to talk to me. He called and said he’d like to take us to lunch. I’m kind of surprised that we accepted, but we did, and we were amazed at how much we liked him right away. There was just something so easy and simple about talking with Brother Paul. He made us feel really comfortable, asked good questions, and gave us the space to talk about our lives. He’d sprinkle some spiritual references into the conversation, but he didn’t pull out a giant Bible and beat us over the head with it. He wasn’t judgmental and he certainly didn’t tell us we were going straight to hell or anything like that. It seemed like he genuinely loved us, even though we’d only just met.

  Paul said a couple of things during lunch that stuck with me. Maybe I’d heard these concepts before, but there was something about the way he explained them that really resonated. First, he said, “Everyone needs Christ, no matter who you are.” Then he said, “Sometimes people are afraid to admit they need Christ, and they’re afraid to turn to Him because they feel like they’re not good enough or they’ve done some things that make them feel like God couldn’t possibly love them. But He does. He loves every single person and, in order to know Him, you don’t have to change anything about your life. You don’t have to give up anything. You just come to Christ as you are and then, if there are changes that need to be made, He’ll make it clear to you, and then He’ll give you the strength to change them.” That made so much sense to me, and I walked away from that lunch feeling like the answer to my restlessness was starting to come into focus.

  After our lunch with Paul, Wendell and I headed out for a two-week run of shows in Alaska. Every day we were there I felt God pulling on my heart. Later I learned that Wendell was feeling it, too. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t know how to talk about it. Subconsciously, we were probably scared at the prospect of surrendering our lives to God. Instead of embracing the lure of His love, we tried to make it go away. All I remember about Alaska was drinking. Everywhere we went we tried to drink the place dry. We were running. Running from the reality that our marriage was suffering. Running from the fear that our lives were unraveling. Running from Brother Paul’s words that everyone needs God. Running from facing the hard truth that we needed God, but were ignoring Him. Looking back, the trip was a complete blur.

  When we returned home from Alaska, it happened to be a weekend. That was unusual because I almost always worked on weekends. The kids were excited and made us promise we’d come to church to meet them after Sunday School and go to the morning service with them. When Sunday morning came, we were hung over. We thought, Oh, gosh. The last thing we want to do right now is go to church, but we said we’d meet them there. We were late getting out the door and, by the time we arrived, Mother and the kids had given up waiting for us. She had gone ahead and taken them home so she could fix a late breakfast for Daddy after church. “The kids are gonna be so disappointed,” I said out loud to nobody in particular. “I guess there’s not much point in us sticking around.” I turned to Wendell. “Let’s just head on over to Mother and Daddy’s house,” I suggested.

  Wendell shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’re here, so we might as well just go ahead and hear Brother Paul preach. He seemed like a nice guy, so we’ll listen to him, say hello, and then go get the kids.”

  I look back on that Sunday morning, and I think God knew just exactly what He was doing. He didn’t intend for our children to be there, because He didn’t want us to be distracted, and He didn’t want us to feel self-conscious about our kids watching us. Instead, He wanted us to hear His voice. I don’t even remember the details of Brother Paul’s message that day, but I know that when he was done, he invited anyone who felt compelled to come forward and accept God’s love into their lives by beginning a personal relationship with Jesus. It wasn’t an audible voice, but I heard God speak to my spirit just as clearly as if someone were sitting next to me having a conversation. He said, “Walk with me.”

  I would have walked through fire at that moment if I had to, but I knew I was giving my life to Christ. I turned to Wendell. I hoped God was speaking to him in the same way and that he would come with me, but, either way, I knew I had to go. I said, “Honey, there’s something I’ve got to do.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  We both stepped out, took one another’s hand, and headed down that aisle while the congregation sang the old hymn “Pass Me Not O Gentle Savior.” On June 6, 1971, the old Wanda and Wendell were changed. We prayed with Brother Paul and were reborn as God’s children. After we got up off our knees everything was different.

  That afternoon we went to visit friends of ours who had just moved into a new home and invited us to come see it. As soon as we walked in they said, “What do you want to drink?” Wendell said, “Oh no thank you. I’m going to be baptized tonight.” They weren’t quite sure what to make of that! As the days progressed and we saw other friends, they all began wondering why Wendell and I were suddenly different people. All of a sudden, friends would come over to discover we didn’t have drinks to offer and Wendell’s jokes were a lot cleaner. It was as if our thinking, our priorities, and everything just changed so fast.<
br />
  The first thing we noticed was that God gave us a hunger for understanding His Word, the Bible, and what it meant to live a life of service to Him. We went to church twice a week—on Sundays and Wednesdays—attended conferences and Bible studies, hosted meetings in our home, fasted from midday Sunday until midday Monday, and tried to pray together for an hour every day. It was all just so good and wonderful that I couldn’t soak it all up fast enough. I had a lot to learn, but God was teaching me. We were surrounded by some of the greatest people who came alongside us and shepherded us as we grew in our faith. I felt like, at the age of thirty-three, I was just learning what it really meant to live life to the fullest. God didn’t just save our souls. He saved our marriage, too, as Wendell and I came together in pursuit of spiritual maturity. Our priorities were realigned and we were both filled with an indescribable sense of peace. My selfishness and Wendell’s jealousy and possessiveness that caused so many problems for us early on faded into the past. Wendell joked, “I was so mean and jealous in our early years you should have just shot me!” Thanks to God’s healing power now I look back on those days and just laugh about the immaturity we displayed before we let God get a hold of our hearts.

  Not only did God shake up my personal life in the best way possible, He also opened new doors of opportunities in my career. I had never really liked gospel music very much, but when I became a Christian I got a gospel album by The Oak Ridge Boys and played it over and over. Then we got an album from The Florida Boys. All of a sudden I was collecting gospel LPs.

  I gave my very first gospel concert on October 3, 1971. It was held at South Lindsay Baptist Church, which was fitting. Wendell shared his testimony that night, telling the crowd about how God had changed his heart and his life. Six people dedicated their lives to Christ that evening, and the event was a tremendous success. A week later, I sang four songs at First Baptist Church in Houston, Texas, where John Bisagno was the pastor. Wendell shared his testimony once again and received a standing ovation. We were so warmly received, and we felt like we were doing exactly what God wanted us to do. It was during that trip that Wendell and I both felt like God was calling us to stop working in nightclubs and bars in order to dedicate ourselves to the ministry. At that time, between seventy and eighty percent of our family income came from my nightclub work, so deciding to give it up was a leap of faith, to say the least. We believed it was God’s plan for our lives, and we believed God would somehow provide. It was a little scary, but I clung to a favorite Bible verse from Matthew 6:33, which encourages God’s people not to worry about material things, since He already knows exactly what we need. In the Living Bible it says, “He will give them to you if you give Him first place in your life and live as He wants you to.”