My younger brother was a fiery little cuss, as Webb Pierce found out one day.
Pierce was one of mother’s best Hayride friends in the early ’50s and for years to come. Dad, a Texarkana policeman, enjoyed Pierce’s colorful company as well.
Our little house in Texarkana was a haven for Pierce. He would bring his girlfriend there late on nights when he needed to escape pressures in Shreveport, and he would come to work on songs with mother.
Pierce arrived one afternoon while Ricky, who wasn’t old enough yet to start school, was in the house, and he laughed as he gave mom a big, long hug. Protective little Ricky thought Pierce was hurting mom. He charged the singer and kicked Pierce in the shin.
Pierce laughed. Mother didn’t. Ricky was banished to the back yard