Transcript
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Now the rest of the story. Bud Penniman's business was also his pride and joy. Little cafe on Woodliff street in Macon, Georgia, called the Tip In Inn. You could eat lunch or dinner there, order a beer if you like. There was a jukebox, so local youngsters often met there after school to listen to music, sometimes to dance. Nice clean place, the neighbors referred to it. Nobody was prouder of that than the owner, Bud Penniman. But there was one customer who, although he showed up often, was not welcome at the Tip in in. The young man's name was Frank Tanner. The entire Tanner family was bad news in Macon in those days, and at least one of their kin was in some sort of trouble at any given moment. But one autumn night, 1951, it was Frank's turn. Earlier that evening, Bud had caught him trying to steal change from the inn's peanut machine. Frank improvised some lame excuse or other, but found himself withering under Bud's hot gaze for the remainder of the night. It was late when out came the firecrackers. The main room at the Tip in end was heated by a cold stove, you see. And when nobody was looking, Frank Tanner tossed in one of those little firecrackers and delighted himself with the various startled reactions of the customers. Bud Penniman warned Frank repeatedly, no, it wouldn't happen again, the offender facetiously promised. But then it would happen again. So Bud did what he probably ought to have done hours before. He threw Frank Tanner out of the cafe. And it was shortly after that that the real trouble started. The next thing Bud knew, there was a commotion outside. Some shouting, occasional drunken sounding laughter. The crowd noises were getting louder. Bud peered out the front window. And there he saw Frank Tanner with what seemed like a horde of his rowdy friends. And that did it. Bud went into the back room, got his pistol just in case, then hurried out into the dark street where Frank Tanner was waiting for him. And Frank drew his own gun and shot Bud Penniman dead. Bud's 18 year old son, Rick, arrived home late that night to find his mother slumped over the living room sofa, sobbing. What on earth had happened? The now trembling young man wanted to know. Rick's mother lifted her face from her hands long enough to say, it's your daddy. He's been shot. He is gone. Rick felt the bewilderment and the grief and the anger welling up inside of him all at once. Who did it? He demanded. But Mother, fearing her son might rush to revenge on the spur of a terrible moment, would not say who did it. And it was then that young Rick, composing himself as best he could, sat down on the couch beside his mother and made her this promise. I will do whatever it takes, mom, he said quietly, to provide for you and for the rest of the family. Well, Rick did whatever it took. If it took washing dishes, he washed dishes. If it took singing a little, he sang a lot. And thus was written a new chapter in the annals of American popular music. For Once Upon A Tale of the Chip In Inn there was a hard working father who left his family before his time. And yet to fend off the family's poverty that would surely otherwise ensue, Bud Peniman's teenage son became hard working also. Of course you know Rick Richard Wayne Peniman. But you know him as the singer, composer, piano player who revolutionized rock and roll, Little Richard. Only now you know the rest of the story.