Coal Miner's Daughter

by Coal Miner's Daughter (Expanded

  We also thought we were getting things for free that we weren’t—for example, we had to pay to rent the hall. Then we found out there were unpaid funeral bills, and the attorneys figured they’d better clear them up first. Everyone thought we had over a million dollars, but our expenses ran higher than I would have liked. A few people charged us expenses for every phone call they made for months; meanwhile, I was paying for my own airplane trips. Anyway, when all the bills were paid, we still had around $91,000.

  This money was in a trust fund to go for education for the widows and their children. But about a week later, we heard that some of the widows wanted their share of the money right away. Well, I could understand that: they had bills to pay and kids to feed. But that wasn’t what we gave that benefit for. We wanted to do something special. We held out and didn’t give ’em the money, but the widows kept asking for it. They’d call up my office or make a statement to the press that Loretta Lynn was taking their money. I know how they felt; they didn’t do it for meanness. It just tore me up. It was hard to believe they’d turn on me.

  They kept after my lawyers until finally, in 1972, my lawyer advised me to split it up. You’re gonna be driven crazy, he told me. He said I’d have to put up with it for the rest of my life.

  Only one of those children received any education from the money. We split the money into thirty-eight equal shares of around $2,400, and that was it. I don’t know what they did with the money. Since then I’ve heard some of ’em remarried, which is good, because nobody should be alone; and I’ve heard some of them ran into trouble in their little towns. They got to be known as the “rich widows” because of the insurance and benefits.

  Anyway, I tried to do something at Hyden and I’m sorry we didn’t succeed. But if any of these people from Hyden read this book, I hope you’ll know I was on your side. I never thought I was better than you; I just wish we could have done better.

  24

  The Truth about My Health

  The way I let you treat me,

  It’s enough to make me sick…

  —“What Makes Me Tick,” by Loretta Lynn

  The deal with the Hyden show broke my health because it came at the time of the separation from the Wilburns. My health got so bad there were all kinds of rumors going about me.

  One of the rumors was I was drinking too much, another rumor was I was having a nervous breakdown, another that I had cancer, and another that I was taking some kind of pills or dope. That’s a pretty exciting combination for a girl to have, ain’t it? The truth ain’t as exciting, but at least it’s the truth, and this is where I set the story straight.

  The breakup with the Wilburns caused me to lose my appetite. I couldn’t eat or sleep right. I started to lose weight during 1971 and people said I looked different. The Johnson girls were so afraid of me losing my spunk that they’d say anything just to get me riled up. Loretta Johnson would just tease me until I started rassling with her. Then she’d laugh like a maniac, because I was getting back to the mean old country girl she knew. But in truth, I was getting worn down.

  I remember one time at the Disc Jockey Convention in 1971, when I stayed up all night giving interviews until I couldn’t sit up straight. Around midnight, I was supposed to go to a club to get some kind of award. But I was so tired, and then some guy I knew reminded me it was time to go, and I started yelling at him in words I’m not about to repeat. I didn’t realize I knew those words. But this guy wasn’t aware of how bad I was feeling, and he started shouting back at me. I kept getting louder and louder, saying those words over and over again. They tell me that everybody was staring at me—I hardly knew what was coming off.

  Now, I don’t know what you’d call this feeling. Some people would say I was “overwrought” or “overtired.” Some people would say I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t good. And I suspect my health was the cause of most of it.

  With my periods, always irregular, I’d get such bad cramps that it would be difficult for me to perform for three or four days. The older I got, the worse they became.

  I’ve also had migraine headaches since I was around seventeen, but they got even worse around this time. Some people believe migraines are caused by tensions in your job or in your marriage. But I feel like mine are just a family weakness. I remember my daddy had ’em. He’d pace the floor just holding his head and sobbing. Now it was starting to catch up with me. I could feel this ache coming on, and unless I’d lie down and sleep, it would turn into this headache that would make me just pass out. Then I started passing out onstage.

  Now, friends, if you really want to try something unusual, try passing out in front of five thousand people. Fortunately, the boys in my band have learned to tell when it’s coming. They just take me by the elbow and help me sit until it passes, or else they help me off the stage. One time I was off the stage about forty-five minutes and when I came back, Don Ballinger and the boys had done such a good job playing and joking that nobody cared whether I came back or not.

  But what bothered me was hearing some fans afterward. “She must have been drunk,” some fans said.

  I couldn’t believe it. I hardly ever drink, and there’s a good reason. Have you ever known an Indian who could drink? My daddy, who was part Indian, couldn’t drink, either. Give him one sip and he’d be just about drunk. My mommy had some homemade brandy once and went right to sleep. It’s just a curse we Indians have. The most I can take is a sloe gin fizz once in a while, and never near a performance. I don’t even take coffee, much less alcohol. None of it’s good for you. I feel sorry for people who drink.

  But can you believe it? They thought I was drunk. Now when I don’t feel good, I make an announcement that I’ve got a migraine, but there’re still people who don’t believe it.

  When I feel a migraine coming on, I just go crazy. I start crying or talking or banging my head against the wall or I cut my hair. A few months ago I just cut and cut and couldn’t get it right and I got madder and madder until I finally gave up. If I hadn’t stopped, I would have been as bald as a rock.

  These migraines kept getting worse. I passed out in Calgary, Alberta, in Canada. Then backstage I said, “Let me go back to the hotel so I can die in peace.” The doctor said he had migraines himself and sent me to the hospital. He gave me a shot to make me stop vomiting (that’s one of the sure signs of migraine—nausea always either comes with it or follows it). After lying there twenty-five minutes, I was fine, but as soon as I stood up the whole room started turning on me. I lay down again and stayed for three hours. They let me out of the hospital and gave me medicine, which helped for a while. But it got to be a regular problem.

  When me and the Wilburns got into a lawsuit over me leaving them, I couldn’t sleep, even at home. One time my right index finger was all swollen, and I went to see a doctor in Nashville. I keeled over, right in his office. The doctor said I should go to the hospital but I told him I had to go on the road. Doo figured if I had to go to a hospital, it might as well be at home, so they put me in the hospital in Nashville and fed me through my veins for a week. When I left, they gave me nerve pills, but they didn’t do me much good. I ended up in another hospital soon afterward. The reporters, the patients, and the nurses managed to find me anyway, even though I used another name.

  I got over being exhausted, but in 1972 I had a checkup, and they discovered a tumor in my right breast. Now, that is always a rough thing for a woman to face, knowing it could be cancer. With Betty Ford and Happy Rockefeller both having a breast removed, it’s been in the news, and of course Shirley Temple Black was one of the first women to make a public statement about it. But there wasn’t much discussion about it in 1972, so I didn’t know much. I was just plain scared they might have to do that to me, so I kept postponing the operation until they finally made me go into Baptist Memorial Hospital under a false name.

  I was really worried because I had never been baptized, and I was afraid of what w
ould happen to me if I died. It didn’t help when the doctor said, “When you have an operation, your chances are from zero to death. And let me tell you, your chances are not zero.” I was terrified until they told me the tumor was not malignant. But they also told me that while I was on the operating table my heart stopped for a second. It was a real depressing time for me.

  They did a little plastic surgery after taking out the tumor and told me to be careful. But I kept getting blood poisoning and was all blue and swollen from the waist up. One side of me looked like Dolly Parton—noted for her country singing and her figure—but only from the infection, I’m afraid. So I was back in the hospital again. They drained out all the infection—and found another tumor, which they removed. They absolutely forbade me to sign any autographs for months and ordered me never to play the guitar again because it irritated where I just had surgery. I had worked my way up playing the rhythm guitar when some of those poor old bands didn’t know B from G. But I was so happy they didn’t have to remove my breast I did what they told me. I haven’t played the guitar since.

  But I did go back on the road again, probably too soon. I remember one time when I had one of those tumors removed: I think I still had the stitches in me; plus, they had been giving me shots until my rear end was black and blue. I went back on the road and joined the band in Colorado somewhere. I guess I looked terrible—I thought the band was gonna cry. But I did my shows, which were probably some of the worst I’ve ever done. I could hardly stand up; every time I bent my knees the way I do, my guitar man would have to put his hand under my elbow to help straighten me up. It was real pitiful.

  I kept waiting for the bad times to end but they didn’t. They found another tumor and had to check it out. I spent more time in the hospital in 1972 than I did at home: I was in nine times.

  But the headaches kept going into 1973 and 1974. I went to a brain man—a neurologist, I believe the word is. He sent me to a gynecologist, as if that would help. Then last year, I found out I had high blood pressure. It’s supposed to be around 120, but mine was close to 160. That really scared me. That’s what led to my daddy’s stroke—high blood pressure. The doctors told me it would help to lay off all salt, so now I carry a special salt substitute. These days my blood pressure stays near normal most of the time.

  But even so, the doctors say migraine is caused by some kind of pressure, something you try to push out of your mind. I guess it’s understandable why I’d be getting headaches in my business, where there’s so much tension all the time.

  People are always giving me advice on how to help the migraines. The doctor told me not to take any more sugar. Someone else said to try acupuncture. Somebody else said to try black coffee. Other people tell me to try painkillers. I’ve always felt that aspirin wasn’t good for me—made me feel woozy. But when I’d start feeling nervous before a show, when the migraines were coming on, I’d take a certain brand of aspirin, prescribed by my doctor, to get rid of the headache. I would either carry some with me or borrow one from somebody. Sometimes the pills would make the headaches go away, but I’d start feeling dizzy, or I’d seem to be confused or sleepy. That’s probably when the rumors started about me being on some kind of dope.

  I certainly wasn’t taking aspirin to get high; I just wanted my headaches to go away. To tell you the truth, I’ve always been scared of dope. If somebody ever had dope around me, I think I’d be scared to death. I guess there are people everywhere, in show business, too, who take stuff to get high. But I don’t need that.

  Anyway, we finally found out what the problem was—the hard way. It happened early in 1975, when me and Conway were supposed to make a record. Me and Doo checked into the King of the Road Motel on a Monday morning. I was just getting over the flu, and I felt all achy and tired. Conway was smarter—he had gotten flu shots right away, on the road.

  I didn’t eat after breakfast on Monday, and the flu was still bothering me, so I took an aspirin. That night Doo said he was going out to get us some Chinese food, which we both love. But he didn’t come back for a long, long while.

  I found out later he was out partying with Faron Young.

  I was still feeling bad, and worrying where Doolittle was, so I took another aspirin. Then I waited a couple of hours and took another one. When he finally came in around four o’clock in the morning, I was so mad and so nervous—I hadn’t slept all night.

  Tuesday morning I went to the doctor for a double shot for the flu and I finally got something to eat—a bowl of oats. But I still felt bad, so I took two more aspirins because I knew we had to go out and record. Altogether, I think I had taken nine pills in twenty-seven hours, which isn’t too bad—unless you’re allergic to ’em.

  Anyway, as soon as I got into the motel room, I just passed out. Doo thought I was fooling around, but when he saw me hit the floor, he knew it was bad. I started going into convulsions, just rolling around on the floor. He called for the ambulance, and they carried me out of the motel on a stretcher. When I woke up, I was in the hospital.

  They fed me through tubes and ran all kinds of tests on me. Finally my doctor came in and said, “The next time you feel like taking an aspirin, you might just as well take arsenic, because this brand of aspirin is just like poison to your system.” So I was allergic to ’em and didn’t know it. They kept me in the hospital until Friday, when I got back on the bus to hit the road. We did a bad show that night, but at least I showed up. I figured, if I’m gonna die, it might as well be on the stage.

  I knew I had to get back to the show, because Doo hates for me to cancel out. He gets real nervous whenever I’m sick anyway. I once heard him say, “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a sick woman.” Well, maybe this woman won’t be sick anymore.

  I’ve learned my lesson. Now if I feel nervous, I just think happy thoughts or lie down. I feel 100 percent better now that I’m off aspirins. I can see how woozy it made me. Friends tell me I’m more clearheaded now than I’ve been in years.

  I’m learning how to take care of myself. I used to waste away to under a hundred pounds during the year. But now the doctors have told me to keep eating. They say I have to eat a banana a day because my body doesn’t produce enough potassium.

  Also in 1974, my doctor prescribed water pills for my migraines. I take ’em for a week before my period, and they seem to take away most of the pressure in my system. Since October of 1974, I only had three migraines—that’s more than a year. Before that, I was having ’em every three weeks, so maybe I’m starting to get answers to my problems.

  I’ve really got to take it easy, though. I’m taking off the last ten days of every month. I’ve started sleeping better, not going outside the room except to perform. But it seems life is getting wound up into just performing and traveling and resting. I don’t have the time or the energy I used to years ago. I think back on the busy, capable housewife I was when I was poor, and I ask myself, “Is it worth the price?” I’m not really sure.

  25

  Mexico

  There’s wild red blood running through my veins,

  And I wish my skin was, too…

  —“Red, White and Blue,” by Loretta Lynn

  The real thing that saved my life this past couple of years was buying a house in Mexico. Now, you ask, what’s a country girl from Kentucky doing with a house in Mexico? But I’ll tell you, I need to get completely away from things. I think that’s where I’ll go when I retire.

  We found this place a few years ago when me and Doo took a vacation in a big camper. Now, that ain’t exactly my idea of a good vacation, not after being on the road in a bus all year. But Doo, he was itching to go someplace warm and do some fishing and just poke around the way we used to do. I could understand that, so I went along, just dreading more time with the wheels turning under me. But it wasn’t bad.

  We headed down to the west coast of Mexico, around Mazatlán, a big city, a beautiful city. We headed down the coast some more—I’m not telling where—till
we found this little village, right on the ocean. The people there were part Indian, so I felt real comfortable with ’em, even though I couldn’t speak Spanish and they couldn’t speak much English. I think you can always get along with your hands and the way you smile and stuff. The people there were beautiful. Then we met this old fellow who looked like my granddaddy—a real dignified, smart Indian. He was a fishing guide and he collected old Indian pottery. He gave me some, wouldn’t let me pay a penny for it. Then he showed us all around the countryside. All of a sudden we saw this piece of beachfront property for sale. I told Doo, “That’s where I’d like to build a house, right there.” Now, Doo liked it himself. So we talked business with the man and we made a deal. We leased it for around forty years, with the option for another forty. (The Mexican government doesn’t allow Americans to buy as much land as they used to.) But we felt we could go ahead and build a house on the property, and we finished it by the end of 1972.

  Now we’ve got this house with every room facing the ocean and a big swimming pool with a separate little house called a ramada. We go down there at Christmastime and stay. The first winter we stayed a month. The next year we stayed six weeks. I think this year I’d like to stay for three months. And if I could, I’d never leave.

  Every day is just perfect. We get up and don’t bother to dress fancy. Nobody knows who we are and nobody cares. We go down to the ocean and just play in the water. I’ve got some Mexican women who come in to help me. I tease ’em, and we try to rassle each other into the water. We laugh and argue like a bunch of idiots, but they do more work for me than anyone I could get in the States. We’re just like a family. They know I’m no better than they are, just another Indian.