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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

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The Brothers of Friday the 13th

They say Friday the 13th brings bad luck. But, for Jack Anglin and Johnnie Wright, it brought something entirely different. It brought love, brotherhood, and the country music that carves its way into the soul.

Jack and Johnnie were destined to sing. Their childhoods were steeped in gospel, church choirs, and the rhythm of the land. They met as they met most things in life—through music. And they married as they did everything else—on a Friday the 13th. Jack wed Louise, and Johnnie took her sister, Muriel, as his bride. This made them brothers-in-law, but their voices had already made them brothers in spirit, their bond unbreakable.

They began touring as Johnnie & Jack, their harmonies tight as barbed wire and twice as sharp. They sang of sorrow and salvation, of trains leaving and lovers staying. And behind them, always, stood the sisters.

Johnnie’s wife, Muriel, had a soft voice. It could’ve gone unnoticed if not for a quiet evening at home. She hummed along to a song Johnnie was working on. He stopped strumming, looked at her, and knew.

“You need a stage name,” 

He said. 

“Something people will remember.”

He thought a moment, then grinned. 

“Kitty Wells.”

She laughed at the name, but it stuck. Kitty Wells soon became the Queen of Country Music. Her voice turned the tide with It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels. The song gave women in the country their place in the spotlight.

In a later interview, Johnny recalled that the name “Kitty Wells” came from an old spiritual recording. He used to play it during his early days working at a radio station. The name stuck with him. When it came time to give Muriel a stage name, it felt like the perfect fit. It was familiar, timeless, and filled with meaning.

Life moved fast. Fame came. Tours blurred together. But Jack and Johnnie were always together—on stage, on the road, in life.

Then came March 1963.

Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas, and Hawkshaw Hawkins—all killed in a plane crash returning after a charity concert. The country music world was shattered. A memorial service was planned, and Jack insisted on going.

“Gotta pay respects,” 

He said. 

“We’ve all come up together.”

But he never made it.

On the fateful morning of March 8, 1963, Jack Anglin was en route to the service. Tragically, he lost control of his car and crashed. His life was taken in an instant. The news reached the church before Johnnie’s arrival. They say the moment he heard, Johnnie was overcome with grief, falling to his knees. The man who had been his constant companion on every stage, in every storm, was no more.

It was a heartbreak no harmony can fix.

Johnnie went on as best he could. Kitty sang. The spotlight stayed, but something had shifted. There was a silence beside him now where Jack’s voice used to be.

Still, the music lived on.

Two men, two sisters, two voices joined by fate, and a wedding date no one forgets. Friday the 13th had given them everything—and, somehow, had taken it all back.

Yet, their songs endure, a testament to their enduring legacy. In every old record and radio play, their voices still resonate. Jack and Johnnie were brothers in music and marriage. Their harmonies echo through the years. It is a timeless tribute to their bond and art.