Me and Mad Dog

Arley Wanderdale,

who teaches music once a week at our school,

though Ma says he’s no teacher at all,

just a local song plugger,

Arley Wanderdale asked

if I’d like to play a piano solo

at the Palace Theatre on Wednesday night.

I grinned,

pleased to be asked, and said,

“That’d be all right.”

I didn’t know if Ma would let me.

She’s an old mule on the subject of my schooling.

She says,

“You stay home on weeknights, Billie Jo.”

And mostly that’s what I do.

But Arley Wanderdale said,

“The management asked me to

bring them talent, Billie Jo,

and I thought of you.”

Even before Mad Dog Craddock? I wondered.

“You and Mad Dog,” Arley Wanderdale said.

Darn that blue-eyed boy

with his fine face and his

smooth voice,

twice as good

as a plowboy has any right to be.

I suspected Mad Dog had come first

to Arley Wanderdale’s mind,

but I didn’t get too riled.

Not so riled I couldn’t say yes.

January 1934