ABSTRACT
In 1943, the editors of Time magazine did something that for them was rare. They recognized a country music performer. In those early days, the big national periodicals preferred to ignore such topics, hoping they would go away, but in this case they could not. The particular artist in question, headquartered over KMOX in St. Louis, was reaching an audience of over two and a half million, and was recognized by most standards as the leading radio act in the nation. And this act wasn’t Bob Wills or Roy Acuff or Gene Autry or any of those slick-sounding country crooners who had a band full of muted trumpets and accordions. This was a high-spirited mountain performer who sang at full throttle, frailed the daylights out of a banjo, and played the blues by squeezing a blownup rubber glove. And this wasn’t some white-bearded old mountain man, but a vivacious blonde who blazed the trail for the Dollys and Rebas yet to come. Her real name was Cynthia May Carver, but all her fans knew her by her radio name: Cousin Emmy.
