(With all due apologies to Paul Harvey.)
Louise Harrison Caldwell was used to being a fish out of water.
She grew up in England, fell in love and married an engineer for a coal mining company — 15 years her senior — and soon found herself living on the other side of the globe, in a small town in southern Illinois.
One of her biggest passions was supporting her brother George, a teenage musician eager to make a name for himself.
His group, The Quarrymen, showed promise.
Louise’s mother often sent letters, updating her on her brother’s exploits.
“George got his motoring license today.”
“George was in Germany with his band. He sent me $2.”
Louise, more than a decade older than her brother, wanted to help any way she could.
She sent records of her brother’s songs to local radio stations, appealing to DJs near and far to give the songs a listen. 
Almost always the answer was no.
Louise wasn’t one to give up easily, even with some of the commentary she received.
“Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”
Louise filed away the letters for safekeeping as well as those from her mother and the occasional correspondence from her father.
Despite the stream of rejections, she remained undaunted.
