My bride, Carol, and I arrived in Chicago barely in time to catch the Detroit flight, a short haul away. An athletic honeymoon followed by a draining cross country flight through the blizzard was not a set-up for the half  mile long full-out run through O’Hare just before the Detroit gate closed

We sighed in unison as the jet taxied to the starting line of the runway, The wait was stretched out, then we heard the pilot’s reassuring voice. ”We have a slight delay. In order to take off, we need a mile of visibility. We should take off momentarily.”

Looking outside, the terminal began to blur though a shroud of snow when the pilot announced, “We have no visibility for take-off. We’ll have to return to the gate.”

 Jet fatigue set in. We snared the last available rental car at O’Hare. Needing something to do, Carol drove. The Interstate began to vanish under a relentless snowfall We were flanked on both sides by towering snow banks. Thankfully, we were just outside of Valparaiso, Indiana..

The windshield wipers were impotent, even at full speed, forcing Carol to pull over to the side of the road when we entered town. Ahead, the ghostly forms of Highway Patrolmen were working a long line of cars, telling the drivers something that my instincts told me was not good.

I wrapped myself in Carol’s brick-red high fashion coat, got out, and walked to one of the patrolmen. “The Interstate is shut down,” he said through blue lips.” You’ll have to stay in town till we plow the road.” Nothing to do but find a motel and wait it out.                     

                 It was The Martin and Howard Show  minus 3 days.

The Holiday Inn was mobbed with stranded motorists. I trudged through the deep snow into the lobby greeted by the din of  people begging for shelter. Some demanded service because, I guess, they regarded themselves as more important than the rest of us. This storm was a great leveler. The desk man stood up on his desk and hollered, “We are sold out, and so are all the other motels in town. You can find a seat in the lobby and rest, though The dining room is open. Make yourselves at home”.

 I went dejectedly back to the car to tell Carol. “Nothing to do,  but wait it out.”

 I looked into her forlorn face and couldn’t stand it. Then, a perverse feeling came over me. “I’m going back in and see what I can do,” I said, with renewed spirit.

“Why? What do you mean?”  She asked, totally confused.

 I marched back in to the desk and eye-balled the clerk..

“Are you sure there are no rooms here?” I asked in my full bore jock voice.

“Weeell, we have the Grand Honeymoon Suite,” he said, like we didn’t qualify “We’re on our honeymoon, I’ll take it,”

“But, it’s 35 dollars a night.” He seemed to want to raise the ante above my limit.

“I’ll take it!” I shot back, ready to fight him for it. 

Carol gave me a “my big strong hero hug” and unpacked the car while I stayed outside. Looking toward the entrance to the parking lot, I saw a line of idling diesel 18 wheelers aimed toward the road. The driver of the lead truck was engaged in a lively conversation with a highway patrolman who saw me coming, and broke it off. His patrol car fishtailed away from us as he took off  in the deep snow..

 The driver, a big dark haired man with Popeye arms, stayed waiting by his rig.

“I’m Harry,” I said, “How long do think we will be here?”

 “I’m Millard,” He said amiably. He had obviously seen me nail the last room.

             ”Put it this way. I jist been talking  (tawkin’) to my good buddy, the highway feller and sleet is coming down like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock.”  

We initiated the Grand Honeymoon suite until we collapsed, and woke up famished late that afternoon. The return to the frantic lobby brought us back to the stark reality that I was marooned with no hope of escape, to Detroit and Day 1 of the show.

. The line into the dining room made glacial progress, appropriate for blizzard conditions. Then we saw the reason for the hold-up. A sole beleaguered waitress was working the dinner time throng. Carol and I got the same idea together. We broke the line and asked the manager if we could help.

This was like in those old 1938 Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland  movies where Mickey proclaimed to Judy, “You can sing,  I can write music and play the trumpet.

We’ll have the greatest show you ever saw.”

The motel manager was short of everyone except a part-time cook and one waitress, because no one else could make it to work. I walked up to him with a big grin.

I became the show Director like Mickey, and told him I could help fill in for the cook, and Carol could wait tables.

Apparently, I  didn’t fit his profile of what a cook should look like. “Have you ever cooked before?”  He asked incredulously. Actually, I had  worked Officer’s Mess in a  short Merchant Marine trip from Port Arthur thorough the Canal and up to San Pedro. “I can cook breakfast,” I blurted out .“I can cook eggs any style.” 

He bought into it, because, well…. we were the only show in town. He said ”Okay, but cook only scrambled eggs. That’s all you’ll have time for.”

I did not notice Millard standing by us. When the manager left, he said, in a country version of Mickey Rooney’s speech. “I can play guitar and my brother plays fiddle. My buddy  plays the piana, and I seen one in the lobby. We’re gonna do a kick-ass  show tonight.”

 “Have you ever played publicly before?“ I asked in a neutral tone.

“You kiddin’ me? We are the best damn pickers and grinners in our hometown of Plumtree Tennessee.” he said with a proud look on his weather-beaten face. My full name is Millard Cupit. My brother is also a Cupit but I call him Stupit. The other guy’s real name is Stan., but we go by the name of  Cupit, Stupit and Hopeless. You never heard of us? Whatsa matter, Don’t you know nuthin’ ‘bout country music?”

“I hope to kiss a calf I do,” taking his good  ol’  boy  put on. to the next level..

Your name is humongous in country music circles, Millard.”

              He knew I was funnin’ him, but he was delighted that I played along. “Come on and hear us tonight We’re gonna throw a whoop de do, and play a buncha good ol’ country songs. I mean real country songs.”

            Carol had walked up in time to hear about the concert. She pulled me to the side and I nodded yes and she walked back to Millard, and said “If you and the boys want to go up to our room and take a shower, feel free. Hare and I are going to be busy serving  dinner..” Millard’s face lit up. He took my key and ran to tell the other two boys. 

Carol put on an apron and began taking orders from the beleaguered mob that had swooped down on the Holiday Inn. She soon became an automaton, serving plate after plate of scrambled eggs.

One malcontent tried to order a steak, and Carol told him, “All we have is scrambled eggs”.

He told her testily, “I am really hungry. I demand a steak.”

She smiled diplomatically, and said in a rational tone, “If you are so hungry, why don’t you eat the scrambled eggs?

He blew up and shouted,” You can’t talk to me like that!”

She said quietly, “Yes I can. I don’t work here.” 

I could hear Cupit, Stupit and Hopeless tuning up in the lobby. I wouldn’t have missed it. Once they got rolling, they played stuff that was straight out of the Tennessee back country, but had migrated to the road houses in the southwest where I grew up.  There was a lot of Blue Grass that set everybody to stomping.

Millard sang a song familiar to the crowd., “Wreck on the Highway.” They didn’t know ”On the Wings  of  a  Snow White Dove,” but they didn’t care. Millard’s Jim Reeves-type voice and this magnificent song transported them.

Then, Millard looked straight at me. like this was an important test.. He asked me, with all eyes on me, if I knew a song called, “Peekin’ through the Knot Hole of my Grandpa’s Wooden Leg.” I surprised the hell out of him by singing a verse of it.

       I humorously topped him by singing a song he didn’t know, but he sang alto anyway..  

        ”Little girl! Little Girl! What did I do to make you treat me so unkind?  

You caused me to weep ‘n you caused me to moan, ‘n you caused me to lose my mind.” 

Millard was impressed, but my test wasn’t over.

“Hey buddy. Do you happen to know that well known country song,” Ninety Nine Bulldogs?  ”I laughed and said, “You play it and I’ll sing it.” He vamped and I sang

“I got ninety nine bulldogs and one ‘ol shaggy hound.

 I got ninety nine bulldogs and one ol shaggy hound.

It takes ninety nine bulldogs to keep that shaggy dog. down.”   

Everybody loves good country music, especially if they are snow bound. 

 Cupit, Stupit, and Hopeless wound up an hour long concert with Millard singing a trip hammer version of Hank Snow’s “I’ve Been Everywhere.” He told the crowd that this song was his favorite because he had, by God, been everywhere. 

Early the next morning, I again wrapped myself in Carol’s brick red high fashion coat which was styled with a long drape that she flung over her shoulder for dazzling effect. on her. but not on me. I ran to our car across the roofs of snow-buried cars, looking like a gay Champion of Justice. I was surprised to find Millard already there. “Gimme the key:, he said. “I’ll warm up the car.” Then, matter-of-factly, “Get Carol. You’re leavin’.

“What?” I felt my knees start to collapse.

“You got one fine little lady. Harry. She told me about the fix you’re in. I talked to a Highway Patrol sergeant who’s a buddy of mine and he told his boss, and they passed the word up the line about how you wuz a big radio star whose ass was in a sling. and the Highway Patrol boys have  fixed it so you can go all the way through to Deetroit.

“Tell me that again, “ I begged, like I had won the lottery and couldn’t believe it..

He was totally enjoying the moment. ”The snow plows have cleared a  single lane each way  from here through to Deetroit.  And the best news is: Stan is goin’ there anyway, so he’s gonna  guide you to work at… uh”..…   ”WXYZ!” I shouted.

“There’s only one thing I ask,” He said in a suddenly serious tone.

“Anything,” I said, about to lose it. “Anything.”

He paused for effect. “Will you play Hank Snow for me? 

I could have hugged him, but his huge waist was a formidable barrier.“ 

I called a vastly relieved Specs, and told him to put another chair at the table.      

Hopeless, going way out of his way, escorted me to the gates of WXYZ  before pointing exaggeratedly at the station, waving, and peeling off in his giant rig.

A startled night watchman unlocked for me at four that morning with two hours to spare. Carol slept on the studio couch, oblivious to all the big band music and silliness.

            I knew the corporate Programmers in New York had us going on their audition line so they could monitor our ground breaking show .Imagine when I dedicated Hank Snow’s “I’ve Been Everywhere” in the first set to Millard Cupit.  

I had won the first two rounds playing a lone hand. The third hand was dealt by Millard, a mystical dealer, who fixed the game so I could score the Trifecta.