I Lived to Tell It All
Page 35
I sold my quarter horses and got into the miniature horse business in 1996. Don’t ask me why. There is no money to be earned from the tiny horses. In fact, they cost me money. They’re about the size of a really large dog. But I have a trainer who prepares them for show competition, and somehow Nancy and I find that relaxing.
My greatest hits album went platinum in 1996. That means a million people bought recordings of songs that I have sung for decades. The sales of this album sent me a message. I realized that people want to hear my traditional sound more than anything else I’ve tried. I recorded “I Lived to Tell It All,” an album whose title was taken from this book. The record sounded like the George Jones of old, and I’m already scheduled to record another album for MCA in 1997. Any songwriters reading this might as well realize that I don’t intend to cut anything trendy. Bring me some hard-core country music and we’ll talk.
I think the fans need some time to realize that I’m back to recording in my old and original style. I had a giant hit with “Rocking Chair” and a strong hit with “High Tech Redneck.” Those were uptempo, novelty songs. The fans have been accepting through the years of my less serious work, such as “White Lightning” and “The Race Is On.”
But I think singing the emotional, sensitive songs is what I do best. And so I’m going to do it some more. My future work will be mostly ballads, sad songs, and waltzes.
Nancy and I hope to become executive producers of a puppet show in 1997. That’s right—puppets. Our friend Jeff Greer has designed puppets that resemble country music legends. There’s Porter Wagoner, Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty—you get the idea. We’re shopping the proposal to various television networks for a program that is country music’s answer to the Muppets.
Friends, there is just no end to the diversity that I’m developing at this stage in my career. I’ll be sixty-six going on adolescence, and I’m ready for brand-new opportunities. I won’t mess up this time around.
People have asked me about my favorite development inside the country music industry in 1996. That’s a hard one. But I’m going to have to say that I’ve been swept off of my feet by LeAnn Rimes, the fourteen-year-old singing sensation whose first album, “Blue,” opened at number one and stayed there for months.
People make a big deal about her young age. I think they should make a bigger deal about her singing. That child is brilliant for ANY age.
I saw Patsy Cline live. I worked with her. Not since Patsy have I heard such a no-bluff voice. And I loved the fact that LeAnn’s first single record, written by Bill Mack, was penned for Patsy in 1958. I have no doubt that Patsy, had she lived, would have had a big hit with that song.
Right out of the box, LeAnn faced resistance from American radio. Her first single incorporated a yodel, and country stations thought it was too country. Imagine, LeAnn had the number-one country record in the nation, but some country stations wouldn’t play it. The word on the street was that one station said it didn’t fit their “young country” format. A fourteen-year-old who didn’t fit a “young country” format? What a crock of shit! I hope LeAnn becomes a billionaire, buys all of those stations, and fires their program directors.
Is anything more ridiculous than American country radio?
LeAnn Rimes will have a giant career in the music industry. And her music, still new to many folks, will live forever. A voice like that comes along about once in a century. In her, God has given us His 100-year wakeup call.
I cut a duet with Hank Thompson in the fall of 1996. Hank and I go back, and I was pleased that he asked me to record with him. I was thrilled that some of the hot young singers, such as Vince Gill, cut with him too.
I think it’s wonderful when the youngsters help out the older artists who paved the way for them. Some of the young hotshots take themselves too seriously for that. There will come a day when their careers cool, and then they’ll have to live with young singers who treat them like yesterday’s news.
Finally, the most significant thing I did in 1996, and in my entire life, was write my life story. It was published on May 6, and by July had climbed to number six on the New York Times bestseller list. The paperback you’re holding is a reprint of the hardcover, plus this chapter.
It has been decades since anything I’ve done has prompted so much public interest. Nancy, Pee-Wee, Adina, and I went to autograph sessions from coast to coast. On several occasions, I signed more than one thousand copies of my book at one sitting.
And the press was wonderful. I don’t think I read a negative review, and we were given full pages with pictures in Newsweek, The Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, USA Today, and more—much more. I was asked to be on any number of network talk shows.
I was truly touched by the forgiveness of the country fans who bought my book. Years ago somebody said that country fans will forgive you for anything if you’re honest with them. I did my best to be honest in my book, and I think the fans have given me amnesty.
One book signing stands out in particular. It came in the heat of the summer during Nashville’s Fan Fair. A radio station announced that I would be at the George Jones Gift Shop and Museum at 2 P.M. on a Wednesday to sign my book.
A two-block line had formed by 8 A.M.
I stayed until I had autographed every book in the store, then sent out for more. We even signed books that people were running to buy at other stores.
I’m glad I wrote my book, I’m glad it set the record straight, and I’m glad the fans took it in the spirit in which it was intended.
I’m glad I told my story. I’m glad I lived to tell it all.
Me at age four.
Author’s Collection
I was six years old when this shot was taken of me with my neighbor, Mrs. Hodge, in Saratoga, Texas.
Author’s Collection
My dad, George Washington Jones, in 1945. Author’s Collection
My late mother, Clara, in 1974. Author’s Collection
My parents, George Washington and Clara Jones, during a Christmas season celebrated after my brothers, sisters and I were all grown up.
Author’s Collection
By age twelve I was a minstrel on the streets of Beaumont.
Author’s Collection
As a teenager I sang in a beer joint with a guy whose last name was Smith. Author’s Collection
Dalton Henderson joins me as I pose with the fiddle when I was seventeen. He worked on my first radio show on KTXJ in Jasper, Texas.
Author’s Collection
Here I am, age seventeen, in downtown Nashville.
Author’s Collection
Eddie, left, of Eddie and Pearl, joins me in singing for “the Kitty.” Fans were asked to put money in the wooden kitty’s mouth as our pay for playing.
Author’s Collection
I’m getting ready to visit my sister Loyce while on leave from the Marine Corps in February 1952.
Author’s Collection
In the service I managed to find time to entertain my fellow marines. Author’s Collection
Here I’m in Galveston, Texas, during a military leave in the early 1950’s. Note my style: swimming trunks and Street shoes. Author’s Collection
I’m standing beside a 1951 Packard. The car was about five years old when I began driving from show to show for Starday Records and, in order to obtain engagements, I had my name and phone number painted on the car. I owned the one shirt seen hanging in the window. Author’s Collection
My first publicity photograph for Starday Records, 1955.
Starday Records
Here are some photos from my early publicity sessions for Starday. Starday Records
Here is a publicity shot taken in the mid-1960’S. Starday Records
George Riddle, left, joins Patsy Cline and me to pose for one of the last photographs ever taken of Patsy. This was in Kansas City, Missouri, where we had gone to do a benefit show for disc jockey Cactus Jack McCall. Patsy died in a plane crash hours later en route to Nashville. Charlie
Dick
Me with Pappy Daily and Mr. and Mrs. Gabe Tucker promoting my 1959 Mercury release “Money to Burn.” Pappy is lighting comic money for photographers who caught us as we landed in Nashville from Texas. Author’s Collection
In 1963, George Riddle stands to my immediate right as we play with a house band on one of our many one-night shows.
Judy Mock
Arlie Duff, who wrote “Y’Αll Come,” joins me backstage. Author’s Collection
Here, a fan surprised me and got this shot when I was backstage.
Author’s Collection
George Riddle, right, sang harmony and helped me drive from show to show in the 1960’s. Judy Mock
This is Jones Country at its best during a typical concert. Nancy Jones
Here, Uncle “Dub” Scroggins and I are standing in Jones Country in 1986.
Helen Scroggins
A police officer has me in custody during an arrest for driving while intoxicated. I tried to knock away a news camera.
Hallway Productions
I’m at the point of exhaustion during an alcohol and cocaine binge in 1977.
Author’s Collection
Here I am drunk onstage at a concert in the early 1980’s. Author’s Collection
After two failed attempts, I finally made it to New York City’s Bottom Line club where I met up with Linda Ronstadt, left, and Bonnie Raitt, right. Epic Records
In 1980, Johnny Paycheck and I worked together on some recordings. Slick Lawson
Performing together live at Jones Country, Johnny Cash and I belt songs during a concert. Beth Gwinn
Merle Haggard and I sing from our Yesterday’s Wine album, recorded in 1982. Slick Lawson
Porter Wagoner, left, with me and Little Jimmy Dickens, right, backstage at the Grand Ole Opry. Judy Mock
Faron Young, left, joins Marty Robbins and me in 1982 shortly before Marty’s death. Hope Powell
Here I am in the studio getting ready to cut a track. Slick Lawson
The late Dottie West and I were great pals.
Judy Mock
Here I am with my best friend, Pee-Wee Johnson, in 1989.
Hope Powell
Me with my former wife, Tammy Wynette, in concert during the early 1970’s. Private Collection of Tammy Wynette
Tammy and I in a 1995 publicity shot for MCA Records.
Harry Langdon
Tammy and I in one of our more recent recording sessions. This photo was taken in 1994. Fritz Hoffmann
My wedding picture, taken seconds after my marriage to Nancy in 1983 inside my sister Helen Scroggins’s house. Adina Estes
Here I am with Nancy in the early 1980’s. Helen Scroggins
In the mid-1980’s, Nancy and I share a laugh with Ray Charles. Slick Lawson
Emmylou Harris is beautiful in contrast to Hank Williams Jr. and me. Alan Messer
Chet Atkins, left, joins Eddie Rabbit, me, and Mel Tillis for still another “grab-and-grin” shot. Judy Mock
In October 1991, President and Mrs. George Bush attended the annual Country Music Association awards show. Here, pictured from the right, are Grand Ole Opry Star Grandpa Jones, me, Barbara Mandrell, Mrs. Barbara Bush, the President, and Barbara Mandrell’s daughter, Jamie Dundney. White House Photograph
Dolly Parton, left, Emmylou Harris, right, and I do a last-minute run through lyrics before recording. Fritz Hoffmann
Here I am in a practice session with Ricky Skaggs, Trisha Yearwood, and Brian Ahern. Fritz Hoffmann
Marty Stuart and I backstage after we cut up inside the Grand Ole Opry House. Judy Mock
Tracy Lawrence and I toured together in 1993.
Judy Mock
Here are Tanya Tucker and I after a show.
Judy Mock
I congratulate Vince Gill after he won the Country Music Association’s award for “Entertainer of the Year.”
Judy Mock
Here I am with my favorite female country singer, Connie Smith.
Judy Mock
Travis Tritt and I in 1992.
Rick Diamond
Garth Brooks congratulates me after I win the Academy of Country Music’s “Pioneer Award” in 1992.
Judy Mock
Roy Acuff and I share a moment in his dressing room at the Grand Ole Opry a few minutes before his death. Judy Mock
In this shot, Billy Ray Cyrus and I look like the good, the bad, minus the ugly. Judy Mock
Reba McEntire once asked me to introduce her after I sang “Who’s Gonna Fill Their Shoes” at the Grand Ole Opry. I wish I had done it because she sings as pretty as she looks.
Judy Mock
This is my favorite photo of Nancy, my reason for living.
Beth Gwinn
My stepdaughter Adina Estes.
Olan Mills
Nancy and I were photographed in 1993 at a celebrity softball game held annually for charity in Nashville. Tammie Arroyo
In the summer of 1995 I made an impression in the Walkway of Hands at Opryland. Opryland, USA
This historic photograph was taken after overdubbing for the 1992 recording “I Don’t Need Your Rockin’ Chair,” my biggest song of the decade. From left are Alan Jackson, Travis Tritt, me, Mark Chesnutt, Joe Diffie, Patty Loveless, Vince Gill, Clint Black, and Pam Tillis. Garth Brooks is absent. John Morran
Acknowledgments
The manuscript of Dolly Parton’s 1994 autobiography contained a list of acknowledgments intended to bear more than three thousand names. Her publisher wouldn’t allow that, so Dolly cut the catalog in half. The remaining roster looked like a small-town telephone directory.
I also was going to try to name everybody who played a pivotal role in my life and in the writing of this book. But I think readers get weary of reading names they don’t know, just as they get weary of acceptance speeches at awards shows where performers thank everybody from their kindergarten teacher to their foot doctor.
Besides, the people who were truly important to me, and who truly believed in and helped with this book, know who they are. And they know how I feel about them. They don’t need reassurance by being a part of anybody’s impersonal list.
But I’d be remiss without thanking my wife, Nancy Jones, whose name appears about as often as my own in the following pages. God should give all of the angels a name, and each should be called Nancy.
Tom Carter, my cowriter, got me to tell things I’ve never told anybody, and I was never uncomfortable. Anyone wanting to write his life story should work with Tom.
Jane Hailey, Tom’s part-time assistant, worked all night several nights to bring this book in on time, and she came up with the title.
Mel Berger, my literary agent, went back to the publisher’s bargaining table many times after I got cold feet and called off the project.
David Rosenthal, my editor at Villard, came to Nashville at his own expense to outline the book’s promotion, and then put his money where his mouth was. I’ve known what it’s like to record an album for a label that doesn’t promote it. Now I know what it’s like to write a book for a publisher that does.
Evelyn Shriver is my personal publicist, and is the best in the nation.
If I try to name others, I’ll inadvertently leave someone out. There have been too many Jones Boys (members of my band who have come and gone), bus drivers, jailers, lawyers, arresting officers, bartenders, preachers, drug and alcohol counselors, friends, songwriters, bookies, managers, booking agents, United States presidents, hoodlums, and the random rest in a roll call of likable losers.
They have something in common in that I owe them, every one. Yet I owe each in a way special to him or her. And the closest I can come to repayment is to come clean about my life. And so I have about how I lived—and “I lived to tell it all.”
Thanks.
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