Behind the Grand Ole Opry Curtain

by Grand Ole Opry

  “I didn’t have any plan at all,” he admitted. “I just wanted to play music and write songs and sing.”

  Tree Publishing executive Buddy Killen recognized his raw talent and signed him to write songs for his company. The youngster changed his name to “Donny Young.” Killen talked Decca Records into signing him as a singer, but Paycheck vanished on the day he was to sign his contract with the label.

  “Even in those days, he had a penchant for alcohol and drugs and was somewhat of a maverick,” recalled Killen in what turned out to be a massive understatement. Six months later, Paycheck reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared. Killen took him back in, and “Donny Young” launched his recording career with Decca, then Mercury Records and smaller labels. Despite his talent, none of the resulting singles made the charts.

  So Paycheck hit the road. He played bass and/or steel guitar for Porter Wagoner, Faron Young, Ray Price, and most famously, George Jones. The two rampaging honky-tonkers began touring together in 1960 and remained a team, on and off, for the next six years. Paycheck can clearly be heard singing harmony on such Jones hits as “The Race Is On” (1964) and “Love Bug” (1965).

  “Actually, I formed George’s band,” Paycheck stated. “We started out in, I believe it was a ’59 or a ’60 Chevy. It was just him and me [playing with pickup bands in the clubs they visited], and we worked a long time that way. Then I quit and went out on my own, just ramblin’ around the country. When I came back the second time, I formed The Jones Boys for him.”

  As a member of The Jones Boys, he performed on some fifteen Jones albums of the 1960s. There are some who contend that George Jones based his distinctive vocal style on Paycheck’s phrasing, but the influence could have flowed just as easily in the opposite direction. Whatever the case, Johnny Paycheck’s style would soon emerge as a model of stone-country singing.

  Record producer Aubrey Mayhew discovered him in 1964. At this point, his billing changed from “Donny Young” to “Johnny Paycheck,” a name the singer reportedly borrowed from a Polish boxer. The Jones Boys backed Paycheck in the studio in 1965. The result was the jukebox classic “A-11,” which became his first single to make the popularity charts. In 1966, Paycheck earned his first top-ten hit, “The Lovin’ Machine.”

  His Nashville career was on its way. The same year he scored as a singer, Tammy Wynette had her first single and first hit with the Paycheck-penned “Apartment No. 9,” and Ray Price had a top-ten hit with Paycheck’s “Touch My Heart.” Johnny Paycheck also wrote “Once You’ve Had the Best,” a 1973 smash for George Jones.

  Paycheck was the opening act for the historic 1966 Carnegie Hall concert by Buck Owens and The Buckaroos. Following “A-11,” he made the country charts eight more times in the 1960s. “Motel Time Again” (1966) and “Jukebox Charlie” (1967) were top-twenty successes.

  Mayhew released Paycheck’s records on their own imprint, Little Darlin’ Records. In order to attract attention and to compete with bigger labels, the producer decided to connect his singer with some outrageous material. “The Cave” was about dreaming of a nuclear apocalypse. “You’ll Recover in Time” took place in an insane asylum. In “The Ballad of Frisco Bay,” the singer drowns after taking the blame for a murder committed by his wife. Most shocking of all was “(Pardon Me) I’ve Got Someone to Kill.” But it was the title “If I’m Gonna Sink (I Might as Well Go to the Bottom)” that proved to be chillingly prophetic.

  Johnny Paycheck did, indeed, sink to the bottom. He hit the skids and lived on the streets of Los Angeles in 1967–1970. He performed in sleazy bars to earn just enough spare change for his next drink or pack of cigarettes. His weight dropped to 103 pounds. He was destitute when Music Row executive Nick Hunter tracked him down and brought him back to Nashville.

  “They’d been looking for me for a long time, and they finally got ahold of me out there in Los Angeles,” Paycheck recalled. Producer Billy Sherrill signed him to Epic Records in 1971. “Billy said that if I’d get myself together, he’d give me another shot at it. So I got myself together, and I was with Billy for eleven years.”

  “She’s All I Got” (1971) and “Someone to Give My Love To” (1972) returned Johnny Paycheck to the top ten on the country hit parade. He blossomed anew as a songwriter by writing such singles as “Mr. Lovemaker” (1973), “Loving You Beats All I’ve Ever Seen” (1975), “All-American Man” (1975), and “Friend, Lover, Wife” (1978).

  Paycheck was a rebel all his life. So when the “outlaw” movement of musical mavericks hit Nashville in the mid-1970s, he enthusiastically embraced it. He swapped tailored suits for denim jeans, grew a beard, let his hair grow long, and donned leather vests and bandanas. His music acquired a new edginess as well.

  “I think the outlaw movement came with people who got tired of being told what to do,” he believed. “And because we did that, we became known as ‘outlaws.’ It’s just another word for rebel, you know. But it was a very, very great thing to happen to this industry, because it let it progress.

  “To me, an ‘outlaw’ is a man who did things his own way, whether you liked him or not. I did things my way.”

  “Outlaws” Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings scored the biggest hits of their careers during this era. So did Johnny Paycheck. He issued the pounding “I’m the Only Hell (Mama Ever Raised)” as his manifesto in 1977. He followed it with the snarling “Take This Job and Shove It,” and that disc became a phenomenon. Working people everywhere cheered the song. Written by Paycheck’s fellow outlaw David Allan Coe, “Take This Job and Shove It” soared to number one. In 1981, the song became the basis and title of a Hollywood comedy film in which both Paycheck and Coe appeared. The cast also included Robert Hays, Barbara Hershey, David Keith, Martin Mull, and Art Carney.

  “We had no idea how big a hit it was gonna be,” said Paycheck of his most famous recording. “It became a movie, and it was number one worldwide in all languages. I guess it’s because people work everywhere.”

  It was also huge because Johnny Paycheck was completely believable as the song’s protagonist. He was a product of the working class and sounded like it. Throughout this period, his songs reflected his reality. The title of his single “11 Months and 29 Days” was said to be the length of the sentence he’d served in the navy brig. When he sang “Fifteen Beers,” “Georgia in a Jug,” “Drinkin’ and Drivin’,” and “D.O.A. (Drunk on Arrival),” you knew he’d been there. When he cautioned “(Stay Away From) The Cocaine Train,” you knew he’d been there, too. “Me and the I.R.S.,” “Colorado Kool-Aid,” and much of the rest of his output of the late 1970s seemed like pages from his autobiography.

  Not all of his music was rowdy, raucous, rebellious, and rambunctious. In his expressive 1979 recitation “The Outlaw’s Prayer,” for instance, Paycheck is barred from entering a fancy church because of his beard, jeans, and long hair. “Lord, I know I don’t look like much,” he says. “I believe you had a beard and long hair, too. . . . I’ll be seeing you, Lord. I hope.”

  He teamed up with his old pal George Jones for a series of popular duets in 1978–1981. But then the renegade began to falter again. In the early 1980s came tax problems, bankruptcy, and a sexual-assault charge. In December 1985, he was back in Ohio visiting relatives for the holidays. One thing led to another in a barroom altercation, and he shot a man. The bullet only grazed the man’s forehead, but a gunshot is a gunshot.

  “It was an accident,” the singer insisted. “I was a victim of circumstances.”

  Nevertheless, Johnny Paycheck was convicted of aggravated assault. While out on appeal, he came back to Nashville to record such 1986 landmarks as the rocking “Don’t Bury Me ’Til I’m Ready” and the wistful, pensive “Old Violin” for Mercury Records.

  “This will probably be my last time around,” he said. “The fans have always taken me back. The fans, they’ve been with me for over thirty years, and if it wasn’t for them, I would have been gone a long time ago. They’ve stuck with me.”

&nb
sp; At the time, his third marriage was unraveling. He readily credited wife Sharon for “keeping me as sane as I am.” So he patched things up with her.

  “My marriage is like the rest of my life. It goes haywire for a while, and then I’ll get it back together. . . . My problems are the same as yours.”

  With his appeals exhausted, he was imprisoned in 1989–1991. One result of this was that he became, at last, free from drug and alcohol dependence. Another was that he earned his long-overdue high school diploma. As a condition of his release, he was required to do community service, and he frequently spoke to students and civic groups about the importance of education.

  “In prison, you see the final product of what’s produced by not having an education,” Paycheck reflected. Using his life as a cautionary tale, he also spoke frequently against drugs and alcohol.

  “An ordeal like that will put your priorities right,” he said of his prison term. “It’s a terrible place to have to go. . . . It’s bad for that to happen, but it’s been good for me. I’m drug-free, alcohol-free, and nicotine-free.

  “The support from the people on the outside is what got me through. I’m very fortunate. I heard from fans constantly throughout the entire two years. The letters never stopped, from throughout the world. I looked forward to mail call every day. Country fans are the most loyal people in the world. They never stopped writing.

  “When it came time for me to go up for clemency, I had so many supporters. George Jones, Waylon [Jennings], [Johnny] Cash, and so many of them wrote letters for me and stood up for me.” Merle Haggard visited Paycheck in prison and recorded a live album with him there (although it has yet to be released).

  “It’s a wonderful feeling to be free,” Paycheck added. “I’m never going to do anything again to endanger my freedom. You never know what you’ve got until they take it away from you.

  “I don’t have anything right now. I’m starting over from the bottom, and that’s fine with me. I’m bankrupt, but I’m working that out.”

  The battle-scarred honky-tonk survivor was invited to become a member of the Grand Ole Opry cast in 1997. This was unquestionably the highlight of his later years.

  “The man was a singer’s singer,” observed Glenn Ferguson, who managed Paycheck during his hit-making years. “Did you know that whenever he played the Opry, the other artists would all gather at the edge of the stage to watch him?”

  “I’ve played a Johnny Paycheck song on virtually every show I’ve ever done,” said Opry announcer and WSM disc jockey Eddie Stubbs. “Every fan of country music deserves to know more about the career of Johnny Paycheck.”

  In the 1990s, new stars such as Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw, and Toby Keith praised Paycheck as a forefather. Texas singer Tracy Byrd revived “Someone to Give My Love To” in 1993 and scored a major hit with “She’s All I Got” in 1997. Alan Jackson revived “Once You’ve Had the Best” in 1996, and Blake Shelton brought back “Georgia in a Jug” in 2003.

  By then, Johnny Paycheck was gravely ill. Diabetes, asthma, emphysema, and their complications led to his confinement in a Nashville nursing home. Former manager Glenn Ferguson and the Opry Trust Fund supported the singer financially.

  Singer Daryle Singletary was responsible for Johnny Paycheck’s final recording. Singletary had recorded a new version of “Old Violin” in 2002 and wanted its songwriter to do its recitation. The request brightened the fading star’s final months, and he agreed to be recorded from his hospital bed.

  “There I saw an old violin, soon to be put away and never played again,” ends the song. “That old violin and I were just alike—we’d give our all to music, and soon, we’ll give our life.”

  The end came on February 18, 2003. Johnny Paycheck died in his sleep at age sixty-four and was buried in Nashville’s Woodlawn Cemetery in a plot paid for by his faithful friend George Jones. Snow turned to rain on the cold day they laid Paycheck to rest. Jeannie Seely, Jimmy Dickens, Billy Walker, Trace Adkins, John Conlee, and his other Opry friends gathered to pay their last respects. When the star’s 1986 recording of “Old Violin” was played in the funeral home, it got a standing ovation.

  “I sing about things that have always been and always will be,” said Johnny Paycheck. “I sing about the little guy who’s been kicked around by the big guy. I like to sing about things that are universal and timeless.

  “The definition of country music, to me, is life,” he added. “When you say ‘life,’ you’ve said, ‘country music.’”

  27

  Pure Love

  Being born blind used to be a life sentence of poverty and dependence. But Ronnie Milsap turned what could have been a tragedy into professional triumph. By his side throughout his rise to stardom has been his wife Joyce.

  He’s a superstar today, but Ronnie’s beginnings were anything but stellar. Born in the mountains of North Carolina on January 16, 1943, Ronnie was raised in abject poverty. His mother thought her blind baby was a curse and abandoned him when he was one year old. She visited him once when he was six, still rebuking him for being blind. She gave him a dollar, then took it back from the hurt little boy when she left, this time for good. Raised by his grandparents, Ronnie was taken to a series of faith healers to “cure” him.

  “They’d lay their hands on you and shake you and shout, ‘Heal!’ at you,” Ronnie remembers. “It’d scare ya! I never was healed, so I always felt a little bit guilty every time I’d go home, still blind. Felt like I’d let them down.”

  Lucky for him, his grandparents realized that if Ronnie was going to have any chance of making something of himself, he would need to be educated by experts. They took him to the Governor Morehead School for the Blind in Raleigh and left him there when he was six years old.

  “My grandfather had read me stories from the Bible, and I particularly remembered Joseph and how he was sold to strangers as a slave. And I really felt like that at that time in my life. I felt I’d been just left. For the first two or three hours, I was just sittin’ on the dormitory porch, just crying my heart out. That’s all I can remember.

  “The school in Raleigh was probably one of the highest academic schools at that time. It was the only school you could go to if you were blind, but you had to make good grades or you didn’t stay. We lived in dormitories, probably three hundred kids there that lived on the campus. I grew up an institution kid.

  “I was an institution kid, but those other blind kids were like brothers and sisters to me, and some of the teachers were like uncles and aunts. They felt like family.

  “I learned to type in the fourth grade. The house mothers didn’t want to write home for us, so they taught us to type. When I got out of high school, I was typing 100–125 words a minute. But I never could proofread anything! But I always knew it was basically right, because you know when you hit the wrong key and make a mistake.”

  Ronnie lived at the school for thirteen years, throughout his childhood. It taught him to be independent and self-sufficient and gave him the skills he would need to survive in a sighted world. The lessons were valuable ones, but they came with a price. The strict teachers often instilled discipline through beatings.

  As a boy, Ronnie could detect certain shadows and light in one eye. But when a teacher struck him when he was fourteen, the resulting blood clot destroyed his “good” eye. Ronnie had always fantasized that an operation on that eye might have allowed him to see. With those hopes dashed, he plunged into depression and refused to eat or socialize.

  “When I was at school and got hit over the head and lost my eye, I got down to 120 pounds. And I was as tall as I am now [6 feet 2 inches].”

  He’d been playing piano since age eight. Now in total darkness, Ronnie Milsap plunged into music more than ever.

  “It was okay when I was growing up to like all these different kinds of music. I mean, radio stations used to play Lefty Frizzell and Ray Price, and they’d follow it up with Little Richard. But at school, the only thing they’d let us play was clas
sical music. Everything else was forbidden.”

  Defying the authorities, Ronnie listened to and emulated rock ’n’ roll, country, gospel, bluegrass, and rhythm and blues. In high school, he and some other blind students formed a band called The Apparitions. The group played for a college fraternity party, and Ronnie earned $12 at his first paying music job.

  The school for the blind was his home from 1949 to 1962. In it, Ronnie matured from being a terrified, ignorant, abandoned mountain boy to become a gifted, self-confident young man. His training was rigorous but invaluable.

  Without the education, “I would’ve stayed up in the Smokies like all the generations before me. I’d have never gotten out of there. Any kind of talent I had in music would’ve died when I was a kid—there would have been nobody to encourage me and support me.

  “A lot of parents will bring their [blind] children to my shows. They want to know certain things about what I’m doing and how I’m making things happen. I tell them that the key is education, because without the right skills, you’ll never be able to participate.” In 1985, he formed The Ronnie Milsap Foundation. It provides scholarships and/or job training for the blind and supports eye research.

  After high school, Ronnie Milsap attended college with the intention of becoming a lawyer. But he never left music behind.

  He settled in Georgia and joined a band called The Dimensions. He recorded a record in an Atlanta studio and enjoyed some local attention with it. “Total Disaster” backed with “It Went to Your Head” appeared on the dinky Princess Records label in 1963. An early newspaper review misspelled Ronnie’s last name. He was born and educated as Ronnie Millsaps. When the reviewer trimmed it to “Milsap,” Ronnie decided to keep the spelling and had his name legally changed to that for show-business reasons. Despite his musical aspirations, he continued his education.

  Recalls Ronnie, “I had gone to Young Harris Junior College in north Georgia, where Zell Miller taught me. He later became governor of Georgia and is a dear friend of mine. Anyway, I had been accepted to Emory University to study law. The day that I was supposed to go over there and enroll, I had been hanging around a big radio station in Atlanta. A friend of mine there offered to fly me to New York that day. So I made the decision, we flew to New York [in the spring of 1965], and I made my first real record. It was for Scepter Records, which was a big R&B label at that time. They had Chuck Jackson and Dionne Warwick. And Maxine Brown—I did a lot of concerts with her. What a wonderful lady. Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson wrote the first record that I had, ‘Never Had it So Good.’ They helped me a lot in the studio. I was twenty-two years old and in New York and scared to death.