I’d go to town on Saturday, after I would get through with my tractor, and sit on the street corners with my little guitar. I had a red Stella guitar, and I’d play and I’d sing, starting with gospel all the time. I’d sing me a gospel song and people would — and I guess I was kind of smart in a way because I knew where the white people passed and the black people passed, so I’d sit right at that corner where the white folks had to pass me going this way and that way and the black folks passed me going this way and that way. So, some or all would stop and listen to me because I guess I made enough noise. I had my big hat sitting down there, or a bucket or something for them to put tips in. And, people that would ask me to play, or request a song — when I finished playing it, if it was a gospel song they would pat me on the head and the shoulders and they would applaud. “Boy, that was nice. Keep it up. You’re going to be good one day.” But they didn’t put nothing in the hat. But, the people who would ask me to play a blues would always put something in the hat. Now you know why I’m a blues singer. That’s how it started.