Daddy and I pulled into the KTOC radio station parking lot in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, on a hot July afternoon in 1955. When a traveling artist was scheduled to play a show in those days, they’d make sure to arrive in town a few hours early to appear on the local airwaves. Radio stations weren’t bound by a particular format then, so you had to time your arrival to coincide with when the country programming was on the air. The idea was to have the DJ play your record, ask you a few questions, and give you a chance to invite the listeners to that night’s show.
There was another reason why those radio appearances were so important. It’s no secret that many of the legends of country music used to like to have a good time. And often that good time was accompanied by a few drinks. As a result, some of them—Hank Williams was one of the first—earned a reputation for being, shall we say, less than one hundred percent dependable when it came to showing up for a scheduled performance. Heck, George Jones even came to be known as “No Show Jones” back in his younger and wilder days. So going on the radio not only gave us artists a chance to promote our live shows, it also gave advance ticketholders the assurance that we had, indeed, arrived in town and would be appearing that night as advertised.
My show in Cape Girardeau was to be a package show, meaning several artists were on the bill. One of them was a young singer who was rapidly gaining a strong regional following throughout the South. I had been told that he would also be joining me for the interview. As you know from my response to dueting with Billy Gray, I’ve always kind of enjoyed having the spotlight to myself. But this guy was headlining the show, so even though I’d never heard of him or his records, I decided not to let it bother me.
Daddy and I arrived at KTOC first. We headed inside and were greeted by a friendly young woman at the front desk. Just as I was introducing myself, the door opened behind me. I turned around to a bright blast of summer sunshine streaming around a silhouette in the doorway. The door closed behind him, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, the first thing I noticed was that this guy was pretty cute. He flashed a shy smile. “Hi there,” he kind of half mumbled, “I’m Elvis Presley.” He moved toward me with his hand extended. I wish I could say the heavens opened and I heard angels singing, but it wasn’t anything quite that dramatic. Still, I have to admit; it did seem as if a presence had entered the room.
Of course, I recognized right away that Elvis was handsome, but I was actually a little taken aback by his outfit. He was wearing black slacks and a black shirt with a yellow sport coat. I’d never seen a yellow sport coat in my life! In 1955 that just wasn’t the kind of clothing a typical man would wear. But I guess he wasn’t a typical man. He also had curly hair that day, which I later found out was because he’d gotten a perm. I thought that was pretty funny, but there was no question that this guy was magnetic.
I took his hand. “I’m Wanda Jackson,” I smiled back. “I’ll be playing on the show tonight.” Our eyes met for a few seconds. Elvis suddenly broke his gaze and glanced at the floor.
He seemed almost fidgety as he replied, “Oh, yes ma’am. I’ve heard your records and I know we’ll have a good time tonight. You’ve got a very nice voice and I look forward to working with you.”
My smile widened. Suddenly Daddy was standing right next to me.
“I’m Tom,” he announced as he held out his hand toward Elvis. “I’m Wanda’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” Elvis replied. “It’s a real pleasure. You’ve sure got a talented daughter here.” Suddenly, Daddy was smiling, too.
Over the years I’ve been asked about Elvis Presley more than any other topic you could imagine. If I’m honest I have to confess there have been moments in my career when I’ve gotten a little tired of the Elvis questions from well-meaning interviewers. I certainly understand why people are fascinated by the King of Rock and Roll, and I know why they want to hear about him. It’s not an understatement to say that Elvis changed the world. But there have been times I’ve wanted to scream, “There’s a lot more to Wanda Jackson than my experiences with Elvis Presley!”
With time, however, I’ve come to embrace my history with Elvis. Not only did he change the world, but he changed my world. It was Elvis who believed that I could sing rock and roll before I believed it myself. It was Elvis who took the time to help me understand the new musical revolution that was exploding all around us. And it was Elvis who, for a short time in the mid-1950s, won my heart as I was just beginning to understand what it really meant to fully embrace my femininity and express myself as a young woman. Today I very much enjoy talking about Elvis and reflecting on the warm memories that had such an influence on my life and career.
When I first met Elvis, I was seventeen years old and had just graduated from Capitol Hill High School a few weeks earlier. As you know, graduation couldn’t come soon enough for me. It was hard to devote myself to my studies when I was putting records on the charts and playing at the legendary Grand Ole Opry. Even if it hadn’t exactly been an ideal experience, it was still a big deal. I earned $1,126.56 that month alone from record royalties, publishing income, and a handful of live shows with Hank. That was some serious money for a seventeen-year-old girl in 1955. We’re talking about what would be the equivalent of more than $10,000 by today’s standards.
I knew the only thing I was interested in was being a singer, and I bring up those accomplishments only to make the point that I seemed to be finding success doing just that. I didn’t see much reason to be in school, considering that my career was already well underway. I never stopped begging Daddy to let me just drop out and hit the road for an extended tour, but he wasn’t having it. He said, “You graduate first.” That was so important to him. My dad’s father was a sharecropper and their family was almost literally dirt poor. Mother’s people had a farm, where they raised pigs, grew gardens, and pretty well provided for themselves. Daddy finally earned his high school diploma at the age of twenty-one after having to regularly take time off school so he could work picking cotton to contribute to the basic survival of his household. With that kind of background, you can bet he wasn’t about to let his only child throw away an opportunity for an education. But that didn’t stop me from asking, begging, pleading, whining, pouting, and stomping my feet. I wanted out.
I can remember several of my girlfriends crying on graduation day because they felt like the best years of their lives were over. I loved my friends, so I hugged them tight and did my best to console them. Inside, however, I was bursting with joy. I was finally free to make music without any other responsibilities to hold me back. Sure, I would miss seeing Beverly and the girls every day, but so many adventures were calling me, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
Now that I had my diploma firmly in hand, Daddy was as excited as I was to hit the road and help me take my career to the next level. He was a wanderlust at heart, and was ready for whatever adventures awaited us on the road. By that point most of my professional work had been with Hank Thompson. I had appeared as a single performer on a handful of out-of-town gigs, but not many. One that stands out in my mind is the famous Big “D” Jamboree, which was broadcast on KRLD from the Dallas Sportatorium every Saturday night. The facility was best known for hosting professional wrestling matches, and the round wrestling ring in the center of the arena doubled as the stage for the Jamboree shows. They drew thousands of audience members every weekend, and it was a thrill to perform for those loyal country fans. I enjoyed being the focus of the audience on that stage, and I knew that if I wanted more experiences like that, I would need to become more than the girl singer with Hank Thompson’s show.
Daddy knew it, too. What we didn’t know was how to get a manager, or what a manager even did. There was no roadmap in that era for how to build a country music career, but I knew that’s what I wanted to do, and Daddy knew he wanted to help me. Soon after I graduated, he went downtown to the newsstand and picked up a copy of Billboard magazine. Don’t worry, we paid for it. My criminal days were long behind me by that point! Billboard was the premier source of information about the entertainment industry back then, and it continues to be well known today for its charts that track the popularity of music in various genres.
Daddy brought the magazine home and was thumbing through it at the kitchen table when he spotted an ad for the Bob Neal Talent Agency in Memphis, Tennessee. “I think I’ll just give him a call and see if he’d be interested in booking you,” Daddy shrugged as he got up and moved to the living room. I followed, watching him closely. I sat at the edge of the couch, pulling my legs up underneath me without breaking my gaze on Daddy’s face as he picked up the telephone receiver.
“Mr. Neal? My name is Tom Jackson and I’m calling from Oklahoma City regarding my daughter, Wanda Jackson, who records for Decca Records.” I studied Daddy’s expression as I tried to imagine the other side of the conversation. “Oh, you’re familiar with her? That’s great. The truth is we’re looking to book some more shows for Wanda, and we thought you might be able to help.” Daddy reached for a pencil and a piece of paper and began scratching down some notes. “Elvin Presley, you said? Oh, I’m sorry. Elvis…. No, I can’t say I’m familiar with him…. Next month? That sounds good to me…. Yes, that will be fine. We’ll see you then, and I thank you, sir.”
Daddy set the receiver down with a straight face and pretended as if nothing had happened. He liked to tease me like that. “Well, Daddy, what did he say?” He finally gave me a wink.
“Good news, honey. You’ve been getting some good airplay in Memphis, and Mr. Neal knows who you are. He said our timing is perfect because he’s booking a young man who is apparently getting popular really fast down there. He was actually already looking for a girl singer to join the bill on a few of his performances, so we’re gonna meet up with them in Missouri for a show on July 20th.”
“It sounded like you said his name was Elvis,” I laughed. Nobody around Oklahoma knew who he was because they weren’t playing his records there yet.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Daddy smiled.
“Well, that’s just about the strangest name I ever heard,” I giggled.
“It’s a little different,” Daddy nodded. “But they’re gonna pay you $50 for each show, and that’s more than twice what you’re making with Hank. I think this could be a good thing.”
Daddy wasn’t about to let me go out on the road with a bunch of guys. He said, “Wanda won’t take care of business, and she’s got no business being out there with a bunch of men going to a different town every night.” Mother and Daddy put their heads together. She had the better job at home. Daddy was still driving a cab, but he gave it up to become my manager and driver. I don’t know how they made it work financially in those early days, but I didn’t care. As long as I got to sing and play guitar I was happy. Daddy took a percentage, but he didn’t rob me or anything. I always had the money I needed, and we were in it together.
Cape Girardeau, Missouri, is about six hundred miles northwest of Oklahoma City, so Daddy and I set out in the very early morning before the day of the show. This was before we had interstate highways, so road trips were kind of slow going in those days. It was still dark when we left the house, so I lay down in the backseat as Daddy headed out of town on Highway 62. I catnapped for a little while, but I remember waking up as the sun began to appear on the horizon. I felt happy. I had my guitar. I had my daddy. And I had an audience on the other end of that road that was going to listen to me sing my songs. It’s funny now to think we’d drive hundreds and hundreds of miles on those old two-lane state highways to earn $50 for sharing the bill with a singer with a funny name we’d never heard of. But Daddy and I felt like we were living our musical dream.
After a long day of driving, we stopped for the night in Pocahontas, Arkansas, to get some rest. The next morning Daddy was up early. He slipped out of the room to grab a newspaper and came back with a cup of coffee from the diner next door. I like to stay up late at night, so I’ve never been a morning person. I was already on rock-and-roll time before I ever knew there was such a thing as rock and roll. “We’d better get on the road pretty soon, Wanda,” Daddy said quietly. I pulled the covers over my head and groaned. “Here, I got this for you,” he chuckled as he set the coffee cup on the nightstand. “You’re gonna have to develop a taste for it if this is the life you’ve chosen. Now come on and let’s get moving.”
It probably sounds old fashioned now, but in those days there was just no such thing as rolling out of bed, throwing on sweatpants and flip flops, and shuffling to the car half-asleep. Daddy certainly would have never allowed it, but I wouldn’t have allowed it for myself, either. Presentation was—and still is—very important to me, both on and off stage. I really do believe that a lady should always look her best. I see some of these gals go onstage today wearing an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and I just can’t help but wonder if they’re getting ready to entertain an audience or if they forgot to change clothes when they got done cuttin’ the grass! I guess things are just different now than they used to be, but I still kind of like the old way of doing things.
Daddy headed out to the car to read the paper while I got ready. I applied a fresh coat of fingernail polish, put on my makeup, and slipped on the three-quarter length yellow skirt I’d laid out the night before. I had a cute matching yellow short-sleeve blouse, which I accented with a black rose pin. I strapped on my heels and opened the door to the motel room to let Daddy know I was ready. “Finally,” he smiled. “I think the show’s already over by now!” I rolled my eyes and flashed him a big smile.
Four hours later I was standing in that radio station lobby shaking hands with the humorously named new singer. Once all the introductions were made, Elvis and I headed into the studio for our interviews while Daddy went out to the car to listen to the broadcast on the radio. Thanks to my daily show on KLPR back home, I probably had more live radio experience at that point than Elvis had. I wasn’t nervous as I answered the deejay’s questions, but I was a little distracted. It was hard for me to take my eyes off this new singer from Memphis. I found him very attractive, but he also seemed a little strange in a way that fascinated me. I was certainly drawn to him—and I hadn’t even heard a note of his music yet! He had an undeniable charisma, but he wasn’t like anyone I’d encountered before. He seemed like a confident man, but also had a boyish charm and slight shyness about him that made for a peculiar mix.
After the radio appearance Elvis and I headed out to the parking lot and said our goodbyes. I told him I’d see him at the show later and headed across the parking lot. I slid into the passenger seat of our Pontiac where Daddy was waiting. I pulled the door shut, but Daddy didn’t say anything. He was staring straight through the windshield shaking his head from side to side. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that,” he clucked as I followed his gaze and spotted Elvis, with his yellow coat and funny hair, sliding behind the wheel of a bright pink Cadillac. A man driving a pink Cadillac in 1955? This was before there was such a thing as Mary Kay Cosmetics, and nobody had ever so much as heard of a pink Cadillac. Elvis might as well have been getting into a rocket ship! Daddy just about drew the line there. “You might should stay away from that one, Wanda,” he said flatly. “I think this Elvis character could be a nut!”