Prologue

I haven’t got one myself⁠—yet. I ain’t been lucky enough to meet a woman who would be a good pal as well as a sweetheart. I want my wife to be like mother used to be.

I love to have a man love their mother.

I wished mine was still here. Like Carl Williams said in his speech last night⁠—if she was still here, maybe she would be a little proud of me.

I’ll bet she would.

He made quite a speech, all right. He said the boys expected me to make Irving Berlin jealous. I said I didn’t want to make nobody jealous, but I wanted to make my friends proud. I said my only regret in going to New York was on account of leaving so many good friends behind, and as soon as my songs begun to sell up in the hundred thousands, and my dreams came true, I would invite them all down to visit me on Broadway and show them the sights.

Is that what you are? A songwriter?

Not the music part; just the words. Lyrics, they’re called.

It must be wonderful to have a gift like that.