Unwanted Dog-Prologue

Recorded by Jean Shepard in March of 1973, "Slippin' Away" reached the Number 4 slot on the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart. The Bill Anderson-written Hit fit snug with my mood that day as I made my journey. I kept singing the song's refrain and let the words filter through my mind. They indicated beyond doubt how I felt about my life in general in the moment.

A long-time personal friend, a story I will save for another day, "The Whisperer," as Bill is famously known, penned "I can feel it slippin' away. Slowly, slowly, slippin' away."

I sure wished Hermitage Hall would slip away. The sooner the better. You may not be familiar right now with what Hermitage Hall is. Stay around, and before the robins migrate South for the Winter season you will be.

Over the course of the last fifty years or so, what Hit Country music recording has Bill Anderson not written or been involved with? His accolades are too numerous to list in my simple autobiography. However, I will be eternally grateful Bill arranged for me to sit on the stage while the Grand Ole Opry performed one Saturday night. A pleasure I may never experience again.


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UNFATHOMABLE. A SIMPLE WORD MEANING INCAPABLE OF BEING FULLY UNDERSTOOD TO THE HUMAN MIND, AS THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION WAS TO MINE. And, while it may seem unfathomable, I was adopted by an unknown stranger I begged money from in a Walmart parking lot. Allow me to take you through that adventure.

Like all stories to enrapture, there must be a commencement. So, let's start alongside an examination of Andrew Jackson's famous residence known as The Hermitage. Located about two miles from the Cumberland and Stones Rivers, the 1,120 acre site can be discovered in a secluded meadow. The famous former home of the seventh President of the United States began life as a cotton plantation. In 1910, the Hermitage Hotel launched operations. Since those early days, the site boasts the claim of having accommodated many celebrities and Presidents. Still does.

Noble and impressive in appearance, with an admired style, the red brick Davidson County Hermitage Hall Complex stood at 2121 8th Avenue South in Downtown Nashville near one of the finest examples of everything the city offered, the popular and glorious Broadway Street. What was the significance of this road as it meandered along its run through the heart of the Downtown area? To this day, Broadway Street has remained the home of many of the finest restaurants, bars, and music venues Music City has ever provided.

Room 3B, on the Veranda Wing of the complex, was where I was supposed to be living. However, there were no open-walls, or roofed porches, attached to the exterior of the building. No rails surrounded the structure. Nothing indicated welcoming verandas at all. The residential facility provided crisis intervention, on-site educational programs, and 24-hour staff supervision for the proper care of boys with no place else to go.

Nashville of that era saw Freddy Hart's "Easy Loving" become a Country Music Song of the Year. If loving was so easy, I sure didn't get very much when those portions were doled out. Other happenings around town back then included drive-in theatres being all the rage. I heard attendees pulled up to their spots, parked their vehicles in the darkness, and whiled away the time in make out mode as the movie they were supposed to be watching droned on and on and on. I've often wondered if that was how I was conceived?

For Nashvillians, Woody Allen's films debuted at the popular Loew's Crescent Theatre Downtown on Church Street. And, kids actually got out of their scholastic endeavors to attend the annual State Fair. On television, everyone watched "All In The Family" featuring Archie and Edith Bunker. As I write my autobiography, I find that comical because I never possessed family bonds.

Many times throughout my earliest years, various staff members of Hermitage Hall, in their unique tone, informed me I had been unceremoniously placed in the facility upon birth by royal decree of someone named Davidson County Juvenile Court Magistrate Josiah Ellington. We never formally met. Much too young to recollect this event, I did not harbor his erroneous decision against him. There was no animosity, no distaste, no resentment, and no anger. At least, none directed straight at the individual. I'm sure he only performed the task necessary as required by his lofted position.

My official entrance records into Hermitage Hall indicated to me the male half of the two people most prominent in my conception had been murdered in prison by a lifer. Shed no crocodiles for me, Matilda. I never knew the bank robber found bludgeoned to death in his cell by overnight correctional officers after serving seven months of a three decade stretch.

Her name redacted, those records further enlightened me three facts about the female side of the aforementioned equation. She was the product of a bad relationship. She was a mere child of fifteen when I plopped out of her womb, and, she died soon thereafter.

Do I own verified evidence of the fates alleged to have befallen either one of these two persons? In truth, no. I simply have versions of tales relayed by Hermitage Hall staff members. I will admit their insights changed on more than one occasion. Most of them held agendas of their own as to what may have been realistic in its application to my parentage. Par for the course for Hermitage Hall.

I have never shaken family trees, or searched genealogical wonders, in a quest to locate any kin. To my knowledge, I have no known blood relatives. If they existed, none have ever stepped forward to claim this waif. Honestly, as I approach the waning years of my life, and extermination is bound to soon follow, I do not give two shakes to a shit whether they managed to keep the wolf from their doors, ever drew a breath of fresh air, or rotted in the deepest open pits of the fires of Hades.

I have much more important, and pressing, issues to confront. To begin with this insidious monster known as Basal Cell Carcinoma, and the thirty-four documented tumors I have had to date. That nonsense would slow anyone down, and affect all areas of their lives. One of the biggest for me has been the ailment tries to cut into my writing time. There are days when I do not have the energy to post, edit, review, or much of anything else. Especially not on the scale I once did.

The physical location of Hermitage Hall placed it eight blocks from what became famous as Music Row on 16th Avenue South. Music Row was considered the Heart of Nashville's Entertainment Industry. The group home was also located in close proximity to what, some twenty years or so later, became my all-time favorite restaurant, Monell's. Here, you "Enter as strangers and leave as friends" as the amazing staff there liked to claim.

Monell's offered much more than wonderful Country banquets served family-style. Remember to pass everything to the left around the table. If you leave hungry it is your own fault. I have often come to Monell's to write. In fact, I have penned many of my articles, both for FanStory, as well as a myriad of others I have sold to the highest bidder in my Freelance Writer days, right here at Monell's. It is kind of a home away from home for me.

You stroll down a sidewalk that leads to their entrance, which happens to be in the back of the 1880s Victorian manor. As you round the corner of the building, you encounter a small cement pond full of nishikigoi. You can feed these colorful carp with the pellets Monell's provides for this purpose. But, no fishing allowed.

Past that point, you observe a scenic gazebo, with wooden swings, in the middle of a Venetian garden. I have spent countless hours enjoying the serenity of this gazebo. Because Monell's is almost always packed with guests, the gazebo is ideal for those with a social bend. I definitely recommend Monell's to everyone who visits my fair city.

This morning, in an effort to bring them to you, I have come to Monell's to attempt to reacquaint myself with memories that have been mostly suppressed for some 50 years now. Looking back into the far reached corners of my mind, I could write a book on the roads I took and the lessons I learned. I invite you to tag along on my journey.

(TO BE CONTINUED:)

NOTE: Chapter One will recount the altercation I got into, and one of the reasons I strayed from Hermitage Hall, on the most fateful day of my life.