Our grandmother egged us on in the fantasy; the five sisters, and two girl cousins. We did everything in a pack. Of course, there were occasional squabbles and meanness. But overall, there was a sense of solidarity and community. There were enough of us to stage plays, have exciting card games, and play team scrabble. At Mama’s house there were strict rules. No talking during Lawrence Welk. That was how we got the idea. We would be the next Lennon sisters.

The older girls took charge, coming up with the play list, and drawing elaborate costumes. The part about hitting the big time was easy – we just had to sing, loudly, in public, riding in cars, anytime we got the chance. Sooner or later, and this was what would make it a great story, we would be “discovered”.

As the hot Texas summer dragged on we became desperate but not despondent. The most extreme plan was to lie down flat in the street. Lawrence Welk would screech to a halt, and we would jump up and burst into song.

Meanwhile, while we were waiting to become famous, Mama had us practice our singing. She had a flair for the dramatic; gathering us around her elaborately carved Victorian bed. Plumping up the pillows, and arranging her white hair as she lit a cigarette, she gave us our stage directions. “Sara Francis, you stand over there, Mary Ellen, get over on this other side, you little ones get up close where I can see you.”

“ Now when you sing the part about the silver spade, I want to see you really digging, and when you sing about the golden crown, put your hands up high like this, and wave your fingers, like you’re wearing a crown on your head.”

We gathered ‘round and sang her favorite song with all our hearts: “You Can Dig My Grave with a Silver Spade”, (‘cause I ain’t gonna be here much longer!) Mama cried, like she always did, and asked if we could sing it just one more time.