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He always dreamed of success— but he knew, too, that fame wouldn't mean much unless he could lay it at the feet of someone he loved
By JIMMY CASH
IN everyone's life, I think, are a few days which stand out above all the ups and downs and trials and trixunphs of daily living, and which are so overwhelmingly important and personal that they sear themselves into one's memory, never to be forgotten.
I've had two such days.
The first was the day in June, 1936, when Camille and I ran off to the office of a justice of the peace in Benton, Arkansas, and were married.
The second was the night last October when I sang for the first time on the Burns and AUen radio show.
The first was more momentous
Proud of Jimmy's success are his wife, Camille, and Utile Bert a Sue.
for me, as I shall try a little later to explain.
My first broadcast with George and Gracie was more dramatic, and I imagine that thousands of people I don't even know were sharing in some part with me the high excitement of that occasion.
It's swell to make good. For one thing, it's rewarding to know that all the hard work you've done pays off at last. But making good can be an empty thing, too, as I found out six years ago. It's no good, unless there's someone to make good for — and that's where Camille, and that other Red Letter Day in 1936, come into the story.
I had been singing, after a fashion, since I was six when I appeared for the first time before my mother's missionary society.
We lived on a farm in Arkansas, so our social life was confined, for the most part, to sociables at the
MAT, 1942
One day Jimmy Cash was a grocer's clerk — the next, singing star for NBC's Burns and Allen.
church and parties in our home and our friends'. The entertainment was spontaneous, and it usually included a generous concert by me. I didn't have to be coaxed^-except to stop. I loved to sing.
My parents wanted me to study singing, but there was no money for such fripperies. They made no objections, however, when I decided to leave home for a job in town, and a salary which ultimately would provide for lessons.
I went to Arkadelphia because it was the town closest home. And I've always thought fate had something to do with it, too, for Camille lived there.
I didn't Continued on page 48
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