I love Patsy Cline. She was a country singer who died an untimely death in a plane crash in 1963. She was one of the most consequential vocalist of the 20th century. I am not a country music fan, but my wife is – she loves all music.
I grew up on “Doo-Wop,” Motown and the Sounds of Philadelphia. I do not believe I ever heard a country song, let alone Patsy Cline, until I joined the Marine Corps right after high school in the mid-1960s.
Stationed at Camp Lejeune, in North Carolina, home of the 2nd Marine Division, is the first I heard her. She sang about life’s hurts and heartaches so soulfully. Her songs were classics –“Walkin’ After Midnight,” “I Fall to Pieces,” “Back in Baby’s Arms,” “Always,” “Leaving on Your Mind,” “She’s Got You,” “Sweet Dreams,” and “Crazy.”
Camp Lejeune is adjacent to the City of Jacksonville, North Carolina. Yes – Jacksonville was named after Andrew Jackson – and lived up to his racist reputation. I would occasionally take the bus into Jacksonville, usually by myself, and have to walk down the main street that catered to Marines – clubs, bars and restaurants. I could not go into them, but I heard the music passing by – I go out walkin’ after midnight…I walk for miles along the highway – sung by the “late great” Patsy Cline. If I heard Patsy, I knew I had to keep walking. I had to walk the entire main street, and yes, had to literally cross railroad tracks to get to where I was welcome. A few ragtag structures that served as bars and “speakeasys.” No Patsy Cline.
Later, when I went to Pensacola, Florida, a Navy town, for special training the same fate awaited me. Take the bus into town, walk the main drag – You walk by, and I fall to pieces – streaming from bars and clubs that I was forbidden to enter. I had to find my way to the “colored” part of town. It was not referred to mostly as the “colored” part, it was commonly referred to as [N –Word] town, but not to my face. No Patsy Cline.
I was assigned to go to Okinawa after Pensacola. Okinawa is the home of most of the 3rd Marine Division, Army Special Forces and the huge Kadena Air Force base. I did not realize that racism was an exportable item, but the Japanese who catered to American servicemen got the message. Most of the bars, clubs and restaurants were not for me. I had to walk or ride in a “skoshi” cab past them – I’m back where I belong, back in baby’s arms – to get to a town named “Koza” and to a few block area known as the “Four Corners,” reserved for people who looked like me. No Patsy Cline.
On special assignments on board U.S Navy aircraft carriers, I experienced the same thing. When the carrier berthed at the giant U.S. Navy base at Subic Bay in the Philippines, it repeated. You leave the main gate, walk across a small bridge and enter into the town of Olongapo. Olongapo in the mid-1960s would make Las Vegas look like a lounge act. It serviced the U.S. Navy’s 7th Fleet, in more ways than one. The bars, clubs and restaurants, with their neon signs and music would stretch for a mile up the main street – Days may not be fair always – sung either by Patsy herself on a jukebox or by a Filipino singer – who usually was almost as good – blasted from the venues. But I had to keep walking until the dead end of the main street, to a few bars and clubs that were reserved for me. It was called “the Jungle.” Racism really is exportable. No Patsy Cline.
The same thing was true for Japan’s main islands. At the large U.S. Navy base in Yokosuka, I would walk off of the carrier, go through the main gate into town and hear Patsy – Don’t leave me here in a world filled with dreams that might have been – but I had to keep walking until I reached an area called “the Hole” where I could go. There, people who looked like me could get a meal by standing in line at the back door of a restaurant and have “Mamasan” serve it to us in paper plates and we sat down to eat on the curbs of the back streets. No Patsy Cline.
But I learned to love Patsy Cline, more for than just her music. Patsy was not a “siren” to me, she was not an evil temptress that would lead me to harm by going into places that were dangerous for me; she was my “mermaid” that warned me of the dangers ahead – Crazy for trying and crazy for crying and crazy for loving you.
I still love Patsy Cline.
Albert S. Dandridge, III (adandridge@schnader.com), is a partner of Schnader Harrison Segal & Lewis, LLP. He is a Marine Vietnam Combat Veteran, who received, among other awards, a Bronze Star with Combat “V” for Valor and a Purple Heart, and is the editor-in-chief of The Philadelphia Lawyer.
