That’s how I got to the top. You’d think I’d stop there to rest and enjoy the view. But folks, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d worked my tail end off to make it in the music business. By all accounts I’d made it. But still I was struggling. Seemed like the more successful I was, the harder I had to work.
The death and kidnapping threats kept coming. My people kept them from me, but I wasn’t blind. The FBI folks would be backstage with their guns bulging under their jackets. That made me feel mighty restless and anxious.
Most of the time I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
My health wasn’t good. I worried plenty about whether my body might give out. My migraine headaches could come outta nowhere, like my daddy’s used to. The boys in my band watched me, wondering if I might pass out while I was onstage. That happened more than I care to recall. Kind of crazy, ain’t it? I was in and out of hospitals with surgeries and then blood poisoning. The way they poked and prodded me I felt like a dang pincushion.
People thought I was living the dream.
Some dream.
Doo loved me through all that. And I loved him. Once in a while I’d beg him and he’d agree to come out on the road to take care of me. Trouble was when he came, he’d find something to get mad about. Or I would. We’d drive each other about half crazy.
Doolittle, smart as he was, spent our money just as fast as we could bring it in. It got so aggravating that I got what you might call a hair trigger. Since Doo was the closest to me, I took a lot of that out on him. Mostly I’d just fuss and then he’d yell. We could fight like dogs. I’m not proud of it. ’Course Doo never got a hit in that I didn’t get two back at him.
When I was on the road, all I could think about was getting back home. I’d hear my twins on the other end of the phone and my heart would break in a thousand pieces. All I wanted was to be with my family again. Then I’d get home and me and Doo would get to fussing, and boy, I couldn’t wait to leave. People said me and Doo were headed for divorce.
How did we stay together? I just kept writing. I kept making music. People say I sang what women were thinking and feeling. If that’s true, good. All I know is I wrote what I felt. I wasn’t trying to make a statement or fight for women’s rights. I was fighting for me. And for my family.
33
Locking Horns
If you don’t want to go to Fist City
You better detour around my town
’Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of the head
And I’ll lift you off the ground…
—“Fist City,” by Loretta Lynn
When they gave me the CMA’s Entertainer of the Year Award in 1972, I was the first woman to win it. That got me started thinking. Why wasn’t I getting paid the same as the men? I worked harder than most and somehow I was earning less. My manager wouldn’t push for higher fees. That burned me up. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Doo and I agreed. I needed new management. Only trouble was the Wilburns were my managers. They were like family. I was all worked up, but I didn’t have the guts to fire them. So, Doo did what he always did. He did what I couldn’t. Doo called Teddy to break the news. I left the room, so I don’t know what all was said. I went to my bedroom and cried until Doo came in to tell me it was done.
That’s how it all started. We locked horns and got stuck. Soon we were fighting through the lawyers. It was ugly. I felt in my heart it was the right thing for my career, but it hurt all the same. We stayed that way for about ten years.
If you think folks in Nashville were on my side, think again. The music business folks didn’t like it one bit. I was rocking the boat. It ticked them off. It was rare for artists to push back, especially female artists. And it was still pretty much a boys’ club. I didn’t care. It wasn’t right. Once I pushed back on them boys, they pushed back, too.
Some say, “Loretta helped topple the powers! No more lifetime contracts! She paved the way for female artists.” Well, I didn’t do any of that to be a trailblazer. And I sure didn’t mean to hurt nobody. I just got to where I couldn’t stand being pushed around anymore.
My lawyers had their hands full watching out for me, especially when we were writing Coal Miner’s Daughter and making the film. Anything I might say about the Wilburns, good or bad, could be used in the lawsuit. They told me not to talk about the Wilburns. That’s how life is sometimes—you do the best you can with what you’ve got. I hated leaving them out, but I had to.
That’s all over now. Enough time has gone by. It’s time to set the record straight. Here’s what you need to know. The Wilburn Brothers, Teddy and Doyle, were a huge part of my life. It hurt me to watch the movie of my life and not see them in it, because they were main characters. More than that, they were family. When we broke up, it was like somebody died. That’s how much I grieved. My heart broke about anytime I thought of them boys.
34
My Work Husband
(Conway Twitty)
If I’ve made someone smile
Or just one life worthwhile
Who’s gonna miss me when I’m gone
If there’s one thing I’ve done
I’d like to know I’ve left someone
Who’s gonna miss me when I’m gone
Who’s gonna miss me tell me
Who’s gonna miss me Lordy
Who’s gonna miss me when I’m gone…
—“Who’s Gonna Miss Me?,” by Loretta Lynn
When Doo came home all those years ago in Washington State with a guitar instead of a wedding band like I’d wanted, it changed my life. Sometimes I wish he’d have got me the ring, to tell the truth, but he didn’t get me a real wedding ring until after we moved to Nashville. Don’t get me wrong—I’d have kept on singing, just for me and my babies, but I’d have had a wedding ring to show for it.
Doo had other plans. I got into the music business because of him. We were a package deal. He believed in me. But it was just me out there performing, just me traveling and doing appearances. Doo pushed me out on the stage; then he was free to go do whatever it was he’d do.
Conway Twitty was a different kind of partner. He was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
Conway was a pop singer to start with. I’d hear him on the radio back when I was still living in a shack in Washington State. I loved his singing. He sounded like Elvis in a way. Maybe that’s because he’d recorded with Elvis Presley and Sam Phillips at Sun Studio in Memphis. All I knew was I liked him. I hung his poster on the wall of our bedroom. You’d think Doo wouldn’t like that, but he didn’t care.
One day I came into Owen’s studio at Bradley’s Barn. He said, “You told me you love Conway Twitty. What would you think of meeting him?”
I broke out in the biggest grin. “I’d love it!” I said. “’Course I’d probably never get the chance.”
Owen said, “Well, Loretta, how about just turn around.” I did and there was Conway! He was right there in the studio. I about fainted. Once I got my feet back under me, we got to talking and we became good friends.
Soon we went to England for a package tour—me, Conway, Tex Ritter, and Bill Anderson. Doo came with us. Doo and Conway really hit it off. Conway was real low-key. He wasn’t a big talker. He’d just listen. Doo would tell the biggest stories. He loved to make Conway laugh. You could hear him laugh for miles.
Even though Doo and Conway hit it off, Conway’s wife, Mickey, wouldn’t have much to do with me. She wouldn’t talk to me on that trip to England. I never did think much of her after that. Maybe she didn’t like me being Conway’s singing partner. But it wasn’t weird for Doo. He loved Conway. And Conway loved Doo.
He kinda took the pressure off. I felt more comfortable working with him. To this day I still get nervous before a show. Having Conway with me made me braver, stronger. He was someone I could kinda lean into.
Me and Conway had such a good connection that rumors flew that we were having an affair. Some people even said we were married. Fr
iends, that’s baloney. We sang about love and breakups because that is a lot of what country music is. We were both married and in love with somebody else. That’s probably why me and Conway never did have any problems. When you have romance, you have problems.
Me and Conway brought out the best in each other. He was shy and conservative. I used to be shy but by the time we were singing partners, I’d got to where I’d say about anything to anybody. It was fun to tease Conway. One time I had this short jumpsuit stage outfit made. I wore it under a long, ruffled skirt. It was perfect for “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” Me and Conway had a number together right after that and when he came out, I pulled the tear-away skirt off with just that little short pantsuit underneath. Boy, Conway got so red! I just laughed. The audience loved it. Me and the band had a good time messin’ with Conway.
We had a really special partnership. Our voices worked so good together. Our first hit was “After the Fire Is Gone” in 1971. That was our first number one. It went straight to the top and stayed there. When we got Vocal Duo of the Year in 1972, I thought I’d about died and gone to heaven. Then we got it the next year, too! Can you believe we got that award four years in a row? Altogether we had twelve top-ten hits and twenty-two industry awards.
Doo never was jealous, not for a minute. He trusted Conway. Those two loved each other like brothers. It was Doo that found “Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man” in 1973 for us. He said, “Conway, I’ve found y’all’s next big hit.” We played it for him and Conway turned to me and said, “Damned if he hasn’t found it.” We had a big time with it.
We were friends forever after that.
Conway and me and Doo were a good team. After me and the Wilburns broke up in 1971, Conway and me started our own talent agency. We named it United Talent. We kept performing and recording separately and we’d keep coming back together over the years, too. We kept on singing and working together till the day he died. Strange thing was me and Doo were with him that day.
35
True Love
I lie here all alone
In my bed of memories…
—“Miss Being Mrs.,” by Loretta Lynn and Phillip John Russell
Me and Doo moved out to Branson, Missouri, in the early ’90s to try and settle down a little. It seemed like that way I wouldn’t have to travel so much. More and more, Branson had lots of tourists coming to see music acts. I’d been traveling for so long that I kinda liked the idea of letting audiences come to us for a change.
We bought a theater for me to perform in and a home where Doo could hunt and fish, relax a little. I thought it’d be good for us. Doo had been sick. He was losing his battle with diabetes. He’d gotten sober for a while, but he started drinking again after our oldest son, Jack Benny, died in 1984.
Doo loved it at first. We’d found the prettiest little house by the lake. Doo got a new boat and was all excited about fishing.
To make it work, I had to do two shows a day, five days a week. Before long the schedule started to wear us both down—me for all the going and Doo for all the missing me. I had to leave early to get to the theater for the show and was stuck there until late at night. It was a mess.
Branson didn’t work out like I hoped. It wasn’t restful at all. I felt stuck though. My whole band had moved with us and so had our kids Ernest Ray, Peggy, and Betty Sue and her husband. They were depending on me.
Doo knew I was having a hard time. He worried about me and I worried about him.
Doo’s health was really suffering. He had to take insulin shots or he’d get real sick. He’d get dizzy all the time. He couldn’t hardly catch his breath. Finally, I convinced him to go to the doctor. He had to have a triple bypass. I canceled all my shows. The kids came and we stayed with Doo right next door to the hospital. I was right by his side.
All our lives together Doo was so strong and proud. Right then he was so tender, so sweet. I don’t think he was scared so much as he just didn’t want to leave me. Lord knows I wasn’t ready to lose him.
When Doo made it through surgery okay, I promised him we’d get him back on his feet. We’d go back to Hurricane Mills. He missed home something fierce. We held hands and talked about me taking time off. Maybe we’d visit Washington State again. We could go back to the old haunts where we used to go.
All of a sudden, somebody came in and told us Conway Twitty was in the emergency room. What was Conway doing there? Doo looked at me, just as surprised as could be. I told Doo I’d go find out what was going on. Finally, I found Conway’s sweet wife Dee. They’d been married for several years and we got along real well.
Dee told me what had happened. Conway had been out on tour and after his show in Branson he’d planned to visit Doo and me in the hospital. After the show he’d collapsed on his tour bus. They rushed him to the very hospital where Doo was laid up. So I sat there with his wife and kept telling her that everything would be okay.
But it wasn’t okay. He was brought into the hospital with an aneurysm in his stomach. He had a massive heart attack while they were operating on him.
That was June 5, 1993. My heart broke in about a thousand pieces.
I’d have liked to go to sleep then for about ten years. I’d never felt so tired. But I couldn’t sleep. I had to go tell Doo.
When I told Doo about our friend, he looked about as sad as I’d ever seen him. I just laid my head on him and cried. I prayed I wouldn’t have to say good-bye to Doo, too. Not yet.
Doo stayed with me. But the battle wasn’t over. He was in that Branson hospital a month. When they released him, the doctors said he didn’t have long left. That was it for me. I sold everything in Branson, laid off the band and almost everyone who worked for me. I stopped touring. I wanted to spend all the time I could with my Doo. I took him home to our house in Hurricane Mills and stayed close to his side until the day I held him while he breathed his last and passed over.
That was August 22, 1996.
After all these years, I can still feel Doo with me some nights when I’m lying in my bed. Or I’ll turn a corner and feel him like he’s standing close. There’s reminders of him everywhere I look. Anyone will tell you that man could be a rascal, but he’ll always be an angel to me.
36
Angels
I’m dreaming of your sweet kiss
Oh, how you loved on me
I can almost feel you with me
Here in this blue moonlight
Oh, I miss being Mrs. tonight…
“Miss Being Mrs.,” by Loretta Lynn and
Phillip John Russell
I’d outlived my best friend, Patsy, two children, my singing and business partner, and the love of my life. Plus, a legal battle with my second family, the Wilburns. All that was enough to kill me. Somehow, I kept on living. I guess the good Lord had more for me to do. I wasn’t recording as much, though. Me and Owen Bradley had worked together so long. He was like a father to me, really, so when he passed, I was a little lost.
Then Dolly Parton called me up. Dolly’s been my friend since we were young singers in Nashville. She was on The Porter Wagoner Show and I was on with the Wilburn Brothers. We’ve been friends forever. I’d do about anything for her and she’d do the same for me. I call Dolly my mountain sister because we grew up a hundred and fifty miles from each other. We grew up the same. Dolly had an idea for an album together with our friend Tammy Wynette. It didn’t take much arm-twisting to get me to say yes.
It was fun recording Honky Tonk Angels with Dolly and Tammy. We’d known each other for so long already by then. Being in the studio together felt easy, like being with family. We all love Kitty Wells, so we decided to record “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels” as a trio. We had ourselves a good time. And our album was a hit. It went gold. I’m real proud of that. I didn’t really think about it at the time but three women recording a hit album together was new and different.
37
Sloe Gin Fizz (Jack White)
I lost my heart, it
didn’t take no time
But that ain’t all, I lost my mind in Oregon…
—“Portland, Oregon,” by Loretta Lynn
and Jack White
Through it all I kept writing songs. It’s how I made sense of what was going on. When I felt something building up inside, I’d grab some paper and start writing. I’d scribble out lyrics on the back of a receipt or just any old piece of paper. Most of the time I kept them in my laundry room, but you could find bits of songs all over my house—in the kitchen, in drawers, and everywhere. Without Owen encouraging me to record my own songs, I didn’t do much with what I wrote. I tucked those scraps away and recorded other people’s songs for a while.
Then Jack White came into my life. The White Stripes recorded a live version of my song “Rated ‘X.’” It wasn’t country at all, but it was good. It had a real strong, raw feeling to it. I could tell Jack White had a ball singing it. I hadn’t heard of them before that, but when the White Stripes released a record called White Blood Cells, they dedicated it to me. They sent me a copy of that album with a letter. That was real nice of them, I thought. I listened to it and I was surprised. It wasn’t country at all, but I could tell they were real talented. Something about it felt like when me and the boys used to play back in Washington State. I liked it.
My manager, Nancy, set it up for Jack and Meg to visit me out at my house at Hurricane Mills. I fixed chicken and dumplings and homemade bread. We had a good time. Jack said, “This is the best bread I ever tasted.” I gave him a loaf and a stick of butter to take home. I gave Meg one of my stage dresses to wear when she performs. She loved it.
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