Every good fiddler worth his salt knows the story of ol' Uncle Jimmy Thompson, the lovable, hard-livin', hard-drinkin' old coot whose fiddlin' launched an entertainment icon: th' Grand Ole Opry. But not too many folks know that there is a man behind Uncle Jimmy's legend; so Old Man Fiddler figgered he might as well set ye straight about that tight-fisted ol' fiddlin' devil, so's ye kin tell yer friends that what ye heard was th' absolute truth!
Jesse Donald Thompson was born in 1848, in the town o' Baxter, near Smith County, Northern Tennessee. He had at least 2 brothers, neither of whom distinguished themselves musically. Little is known about the rest of Jimmy's family, short of the fact that they were somewhat Scottish in origin. Shortly before the Civil War, the family moved to Texas, where Uncle Jimmy's two brothers eventually settled; and where he himself often visited from time to time. Though he was too young a whippersnapper to have actually taken part in the Civil War itself, by age 17 he had mastered a unique repertoire o' fiddle tunes, includin' his personal favorite, Flyin' Clouds. He kept on a-learnin' fiddle tunes, some o' 'em from men who'd not only fought in the Civil War, but also had a memory's worth o' tunes in 'em, stretchin' as far back as pre-Colonial Era days.
Basically a farmer by trade, young Jimmy Thompson travelled widely during his teens and early 20s, eventually returnin' t' Smith County, where he met and later married his first wife, Mahalia Elizabeth Montgomery. The resultin' union spawned two sons, Jess and Willie Lee; and a daughter, Fanny. Fanny's sister, Sally, died in infancy. By 1902, Uncle Jimmy had made his first return trip to Texas, settlin' thar near the town of Bonham, close to the Texas-Oklahoma border. Though he continued to farm, little by little he began to devote more time to fiddlin' in public. In 1907, some 6 years after he'd put down roots in Bonham, he took part in that 8-day fiddler's marathon contest that he'd so vividly describe on that night he would toss his fiddlin' across the Amerikey, as he often put it. Little is known as to who his opponents were, but just knowin' that Uncle Jimmy won the durned thing at all tells us that he'd picked up a lotta that 'longbow' style which most Texas fiddlers are accustomed t'.
Around 1912, Uncle Jimmy, now aged 64, and his 3 children all grown, returned again to Tennessee --- this time, to the village of Hendersonville, where he tenderly cared for Mahalia while she underwent the horror of the cancer that would subsequently kill her. Meanwhile, Mrs. Eva Thompson Jones --- his niece, who would play the piano to accompany his fiddlin' on that first night --- had begun teachin' music therapy in rural schools across Tennessee. In 1915, a chance meeting between Eva and Uncle Jimmy's son Willie Lee led to young Willie gittin' hitched t' Miss Katherine Womack. As husband and wife, Katherine, who played banjo, assisted Willie, who played guitar, as back-up musicians for Uncle Jimmy.
At the ripe ol' age o' 68, Uncle Jimmy decided to tie th' ol' knot again. He chose fer his second bride Miss Elly Manners, from nearby Wilson County --- and, as you Good People often say, 'twas a marriage made in heaven! For Auntie Elly, as she'd later be known, was as high-spirited and as full o' life as Uncle Jimmy himself. Whether it was buck-dancin', er guzzlin' a jug er two of good ol' Wilson County white lightnin', er even chasin' one another 'round their own house wi' their own loaded guns, Uncle Jimmy and Auntie Elly were prob'ly the wildest couple in th' whole o' Tennessee! Afore long, they settled down in the town o' Laguardo, where they remained fer th' rest o' their lives.
Now, not a lotta folks knows whether or not Uncle Jimmy did any 'para-professional entertaining' afore he ever hit the airwaves, but you can say this: he did enjoy a reputation as a regional fiddler, travelling across Tennessee long afore the Great War; and eventually makin' more journeys when he got too old t' do any kinda farmin'. So 'twas only a matter of time afore he just up and quit th' farmin' profession, and devoted himself to full-time fiddlin'. And he an' Auntie Elly would just perform and dance --- he on the fiddle, she with her legs --- and they'd just pass th' hat and busk fer donations, because that's the way we old-timers lived back then!
And Uncle Jimmy knew how to travel --- when he needed to. He pioneered the creation of the family camper long afore there ever was a Winnebago, as you younger folks call it. He took a Ford sedan, added a truck bed onto it, and then built his very own house right onto the back! It had its own floor coverin', a cot, a water-bucket, a dipper, a washpan, a towel --- and even his own wooden stove, too, so that he could drive all night --- and camp out whenever he wanted!
So now, it's 1923, and Uncle Jimmy, now 75 years old, decides to drive on back t' Texas. Now back then, a trip like that took from a month to 5 weeks, but Uncle Jimmy had no problem with that, apparently. "When I got tired," he recalled in an interview with The Tenneseean, "I'd jus' drive the ol' camper on into th' first open place I could find by th' road, and then ask to stay the whole night. Once they said yep, I'd jus' drive the thing on in, fix up th' bed, and then git out me fiddle." Uncle Jimmy at th' time had hoped to be a part o' yet another fiddlin' contest. Which he musta done, 'cuz he came back with a gold watch with an engravin' on th' back. But he came back with somethin' else, too: the desire to share his fiddlin' with th' whole durned world!
There are various versions about how Uncle Jimmy found his way into the WSM-AM Radio studios. One relative of Auntie Elly tells it like this: one member o' the Manners family took the old-timer to the studio jus' t' tour th' place; but once Uncle Jimmy mentioned that he was a fiddler, they asked him t' play a little. What Uncle Jimmy didn't know was, the station engineers had turned on their transmitter, so that other folks could hear him fiddlin'. A similar version o' this tale says that it was George Dewey Hay himself, then WSM's Program Manager, who led that same tour. (It was on a Thursday night, y'see.) When Mr. Hay heard about about Uncle Jimmy's fiddlin', he invited him to return the next night to be recorded fer broadcast.
But th' way Eva Thompson Jones tells it, the whole thing started with her. She'd been a singer and piano player durin' her time at WSM, and she'd been given a mandate by Mr. Hay because he wasn't happy with the quality of the station's programmin'. And that's when she suggested Uncle Jimmy. That Friday evenin,' November 27th, 1925, Eva took Uncle Jimmy to her home, so's he could meet up with Mr. Hay. Well, "The Solemn Ol' Judge" was impressed by Uncle Jimmy's fiddlin', and invited him to come to the studio the very next night!
And that, as the legend sez, is exactly what happened that November 28th, 1925, when the 77-year-old Uncle Jimmy, armed only with his beloved old fiddle, Ol' Betsy, began the WSM Barn Dance with a spirited renditon of The Tennessee Waggoner. Mr. Hay then announced that Uncle Jimmy'd be more'n happy to take requests from the listeners. And soon, telegram after telegram poured into the WSM offices.
Finally, when an hour had passed, Mr. Hay wondered if ol' Uncle Jimmy was gittin' a bit exhausted after all that fiddlin'. Of course, Uncle Jimmy knew exactly what to say about that: "An hour? Fiddlesticks!" he snorted. "A man can't git warmed up in a hour! Why, I won me an 8-day fiddlin' contest down at Dallas --- and here's me blue ribbon t' prove it! Far as I'm concerned, this 'ere program's got t' be longer!" And at that moment, Percy Craig, WSM's boss, entered the studio to announce that the station had recieved a telegram about Uncle Jimmy's fiddle-playin' from practically every single State in the Union! And so, fer the rest of that December, Uncle Jimmy with Ol' Betsy 'neath his bearded chin, Eva at her piano, and Judge Hay, with his boat whistle, played every Saturday night on WSM, and would do so indefinitely from thenceforward. By January 1926, Uncle Jimmy was the talk of every newspaper from Boston to Bangor!
It was also in January 1926 that Uncle Jimmy received a challenge from an old-time fiddler from Maine: Mellie Dunham. Henry Ford -- yep, th' car-maker --- had just named ol' Mellie "World's Champeen Fiddler" and was gaining increasin' popularity across the northern part of the country, when he got wind of rumors regardin' a certain renegade fiddler from the South. That renegade, of course, was Uncle Jimmy. Mellie soon challenged Uncle Jimmy to a fiddler's duel, bow t' bow, one-on-one. Uncle Jimmy was only too ready to accept, but the story goes that when Dunham's representatives learned that there was nothin' for their man to win at this 'fiddler's duel,' they refused to allow Dunham to take on the challenge, leading Uncle Jimmy to subsequently declare --- on th' air, mind ye! --- "That ol' fool's affeared o' me!" In the end, the contest itself never came to pass. But other contests did, and for the rest of 1926, Uncle Jimmy was takin' part in fiddle contests all across the South.
It was the peak of the old-time fiddlin' craze that had swept the nation, spawned largely by the enthusiasm of Henry Ford. By the second week of January 1926, the Ford dealerships of Tennessee, Kentucky and Indiana were sponsoring a series of fiddle contests. Aside from fosterin' fiddlin' in general, a key objective of these promotions was to encourage folks to see the new Ford automobiles; and at least, in that respect, that mandate proved successful. Though the winners of these local contests didn't git much in th' way o' cash, they were blessed with th' honor o' advancin' to the regional contests. For those in Tennessee, such a contest was held at Nashville, from whence 6 fiddlers would go to Louisville, Kentucky, where they'd compete fer the title o' "Champeen Fiddler o' Dixie" --- and the one who won that one would have the chance t' be personally greeted by Henry Ford himself!
Well, Uncle Jimmy won that contest; and he and his two best competitors ---one-armed Marshall Claiborne, who played left-handed and held his fiddle between his knees; and old-timer Uncle Bunt Stephens --- journeyed to Louisville that very next weekend. But to everyone's disappointment, an Indiana fiddler, Mr. William H. Elmore, won the competition --- and surprisingly, Uncle Jimmy ddn't even finish among the top three. According to some folks, certain unknown parties had a familiarity with Uncle Jimmy's love fer moonshine, and filled him up with so much o' the stuff, by the time he was called upon t' play, he could barely make it on to the stage! (Heh-heh!) But he was still #1 in the hearts o' his radio listeners, and continued to headline the WSM Barn Dance for the first 6 months o' 1926. That May, he busted up his fiddlin' arm; but by July 3rd, he was back on th' air, an ready t' cut loose!
But as 1926 was drawing to a close, Uncle Jimmy began appearin' on the show less and less. Again, there are probably a lotta reasons fer this. Keep in mind, first o' all, that he was 77 years old when he made his radio debut; shortly after that, he suffered a stroke that left him blind in one eye. It was gittin' even more difficult fer him just to git around, and the 30-mile journey from Laguardo t' Nashville wasn't all that easy in the 20s. But a more significant problem had t' do with the fact the Barn Dance --- shortly to rename itself the Grand Ole Opry --- was becomin' a bit more formal and structured; and Uncle Jimmy was more accustoimed to the leisurely 19th-Century style of performin', as opposed to the hectic, clock-watchin' methodology we're used to today.
As I told you young'uns afore, Uncle Jimmy loved nothin' better'n a jug or two of good ol' Wilson County white lightnin' t' lubricate his fiddle arm; but eventually, it reached a point where he and George Hay came to loggerheads over his passion fer white lightnin'. In his last few years, he kept on tourin', farmin', and fiddlin' fer his friends and family. For him, passin' the hat was a lot more fun than bein' on the radio --- and it paid more money, too!
Even Uncle Jimmy's death is shrouded in mystery. What we do know about Uncle Jimmy's passin' are basically two things: one, its cause --- pneumonia; the other, the time and date in which he died --- 3 pm in the early hours of Tuesday, February 17th, 1931. There are at least five accounts o' how Uncle Jimmy contracted that pneumonia in the first place. One such story alleges that on the night in question, he passed out after guzzlin' down his beloved moonshine, and afore long froze t' death. Another story says that he caught the pneumonia while attemptin' to repair his camper durin' a snowstorm. The most credible account, the one comin' from the Thompson family, says that on February 17th, 1931, Uncle Jimmy's house caught fire. Dressed only in his long johns, Uncle Jimmy managed to put out that fire by drawin' buckets o' water from the nearby well --- but in so doin', he inadvertently drenched his underwear. The effect triggered some form of hypothermia, and the ol' coot fell ill the next mornin'. The day of Uncle Jimmy's funeral was a cold, dreary affair; and Eva Thompson Jones, who'd been with Uncle Jimmy from the beginnin' of his radio career, was the only Barn Dance cast member to attend the service.
Today, there are a good many fiddlers all over the world who remember the story o' Uncle Jimmy Thompson with profound affection and admiration. What's more, and in spite of a recent attempt on the part o' its corporate ownership to present the durned thing less and less, the Grand Ole Opry and WSM Radio continue to endure, never compromising, and always legendary. Why, Uncle Jimmy would have been furious if he found out that the Opry was bein' sacrificed in th' name of the corporate bottom line. But an outcry from the people of Nashville soon made WSM's corporate hierachy think again about messin' with their beloved radio station. The world, they said, has enough all-sports-all-the-time radio stations. The Grand Ole Opry and WSM are LEGENDS --- and you just don't go about messin' around with a Legend! And that means NEVER!
But thank goodness, the Opry and WSM are full o' Good People who are more'n determined to keep ol' Uncle Jimmy Thompson's ghost happy. That bein' the case, why, I'll betcha he might say somethin' like this:
"Folks, I'd jus' like t' thank'ee fer allowin' me to fulfill me wish and throw me fiddlin' music out all across the Amerikey. (Heh-heh!) Thanks t' you, I still have a place t' call home --- even if I been dead fer 60 years or so. The point is, fiddlin' was all I ever lived fer. Makin' music fer everyone was all I ever lived fer, too. I'm jus' lucky that, in the short time that I was on this Earth, I got me wish t' make as many people happy as I wanted. Today, there are a whole lotta fiddlers who're followin' in me footsteps --- and you better do well t' tread lightly, because you, the next generation of fiddlers, have a whole lotta fiddlin' history to pass along to yer children and theirs. And jus' so's ye knows, me and me fellow fiddlers from time immemorial will still be up here, watchin' and listenin' .... and makin' sure you git it right!
"And thank goodness, the Opry's still here, too --- which means I got another of me wishes fulfilled: that o' havin' the show be as long as it wants t' be! So I guess I did leave th' world better'n when I came into it. But, o' course, me an' Ol' Betsy will always be here, hauntin' the Grand Ole Opry, makin' our music --- and makin' good folks like you happy! (Heh-heh!)
"In th' meantime, here's a selection o' some o' me favorite books about fiddlers and fiddlin'. I hope you'll have th' chance to read one er two o' 'em:
"Well, enough words o' wisdom from me. I got some fiddlin' t' do --- an' a legacy t' uphold, too! Y'all come back an' see us soon, now, y'hear?"