FIRST lady of country music about to go to her grave--abusing anesthetics (before Michael Jackson made it cool), and slamming Hillary Clinton's outrageous slander--what Burt Reynolds did to get the two first ladies "together again"
NASHVILLE — Country superstar Tammy Wynette, who died at home under tangled circumstances on April 6, 1998, had become hopelessly addicted to powerful painkillers, primarily Demerol, Dilaudid and Versed, according to a controversial new book by one of Wynette's daughters.
"Tammy Wynette: A Daughter Recalls Her Mother's Tragic Life and Death," by Jackie Daly (Putnam), was published on Monday (May 8), the day that depositions were to begin in a wrongful-death lawsuit filed against the late singer's doctor. The $50 million lawsuit, filed by the singer's daughters on April 5, 1999, alleges that the doctor maintained Wynette "on a regimen of narcotic and other addictive prescription medicine." The time of death — Wynette was 55 — was never established, and no autopsy was performed.
The book recounts Wynette's tumultuous life, career and five marriages, including a stormy six-year union with country legend George Jones. Wynette (born Virginia Wynette Pugh) moved herself and her daughters to Nashville from a life of poverty in rural Mississippi, where the former hair stylist became a country music superstar with such hits as "D-I-V-O-R-C-E" and "Stand by Your Man"
Questionable Circumstances
Daly charges that Wynette, at the time of her death, had developed a dependence on painkillers, which she injected with syringes.
Daly writes that after the veins in Wynette's arms collapsed, she resorted to shooting the drugs between her toes and ultimately had a permanent catheter inserted into her side, into which a needle could be inserted for shooting the drugs directly into her bloodstream.
She died at home, on a living-room couch, with her fifth husband, country music producer and songwriter George Richey, present.
The body remained there for hours as friends and relatives came and went and everyone waited for her private physician to fly in on a chartered plane from Pittsburgh to determine the cause of death.
Daly says that the National Enquirer knew about the death long before Nashville authorities were summoned.
Daly writes that she herself had been to the house earlier that day and had found Wynette asleep — or at least totally unresponsive — on the couch, with Richey sitting in a bathrobe, uncommunicative.
Daly quotes the call from the house that finally went to 911 at 8:59 p.m. that evening:
Caller: "Yes ... We've had a death at 4916 Franklin Road. Could you send someone, please?"
911 operator: "OK. Was it an expected death, sir?"
Caller: "Uh, it was kind of unexpected, but it was a natural death, yes."
911 operator: "Well, we have been getting several calls and I'm not going to put this over the radio. Is this, by any chance, Tammy Wynette?"
Caller: "Yes, it is."
911 operator: "OK, sir."
Wynette's primary physician, famed Pittsburgh liver-transplant specialist Dr. Wallis Marsh, flew to Nashville that night and declared Wynette's death due to a blood clot to the lungs, although no autopsy was performed. The body was then embalmed.
Wynette's daughters obtained a court order last year to have Wynette's body exhumed for an autopsy to determine the cause of death. The autopsy proved that traces of the drugs Versed and Phenergan were still in her body, although no exact cause of death could be determined, other than the expected finding of heart failure.
The daughters then filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against the doctor and Wynette's widower, Richey. (They later dropped Richey from the suit.)
Richey recently sold the luxurious Nashville mansion where they lived for $1.2 million.
The house formerly belonged to country music legend Hank Williams.
Wynette died in the same room where Williams' widow Audrey Williams died in 1975 of alcoholism.
Heavy Turbulence
In one sensational passage, Daly writes that Wynette's infamous 1978 kidnapping from a Nashville shopping mall had been staged by Wynette herself — possibly in league with Richey.
Daly says her mother told her she had been beaten by Richey and concocted the abduction/beating story to explain the bruises. Her mother told her, Daly writes, that she pretended to have been kidnapped from the Green Hills Mall and forced to drive out of town, and then claimed to have been beaten and dumped by the side of the road.
Daly hints that Wynette would deliberately hurt herself in order to gain access to drugs, and once hurled herself offstage during a concert to earn a trip to the emergency room.
During her life, Wynette underwent more than three dozen major surgeries, primarily due to abdominal adhesion. All of these occasions, Daly writes, triggered prescriptions for major pain-killing drugs.
She says Wynette's drug problems were linked to her disastrous marriages and stormy affairs, as with actor Burt Reynolds.
Only George Jones, Daly says, truly loved Wynette, but she writes that his own addiction to alcohol doomed their marriage from the start.
Stories about George Jones are like Oreos: you're never satisfied with just one. Some are hilarious, some are heartbreaking and all of them are part of country music history.
Jones earned the nickname "The Possum" early in his career thanks to his apparent likeness to the furry marsupial (hopefully not when they're hissing). When the native Texan eventually moved to Nashville, he had a desire to establish his own club.
When he adopted the Nashville sound in the early 60s, his success skyrocketed. He also knew that owning a club would help his career even more. He particularly wanted a place with his name on it.
Or at least close to his name.
The Original Nashville Hangout
In 1967, Jones opened up "Possum Holler" on Nashville's famous lower Broadway Street. Jones chronicled the 500-seat venue in his autobiography, I Lived To Tell It All. It was the perfect location: across from Ernest Tubb's record shop, next to the famous bar Tootsie's and on the other side of the alley from the Ryman Auditorium, then the home of the Grand Ole Opry.
While Jones eventually opened all kinds of venues and theme parks with his name on it, nothing quite compared to the original Possum Holler.
Jones let his band "The Jones Boys" become the de facto house band when they weren't on the road. That meant anybody at any given time had a world class band ready to play behind them. That coupled with Jones' long list of country star friends meant an amazing concert could break out at any time. And often did.
"There was hardly ever a shortage of talent inside the old room, which had a high ceiling and was located on the top floor of an old building," Jones wrote in his book. The club captured a certain sense of camaraderie, one Jones later goes on to lament.
"The club was open during the days when Nashville's country stars were an unofficial 'family,'" says Jones. "We hung out together. Today's stars are so reclusive that they work entire tours together and never see each other. In an earlier day stars struggled together financially. Today they're rich by themselves."
Just about everybody who was anybody in town, including Saturday night Opry-goers, ended up hanging at the club. Artists and their bands would finish up and head down the back alley to Possum Holler and close it down. Artists hung out and played together, and the audience got the benefit.
Merle Haggard, Charley Pride, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, Porter Wagoner, Waylon Jennings, Dottie West and countless others descended upon the Holler regularly. The Grand Ole Opry quartet The Four Guys would even take breaks from their own club to play at the always happenin' Holler.
It wasn't just artists, either. Possum Holler became a hangout for songwriters, many of whom actually pitched their tunes in the club. It was its own concentrated version of Music Row, right downtown. The Club Goes Down The Tube Possum Holler's most respected and frequent visitor was Roy Acuff. He was the only man in town whom his peers called "Mr.," a testament to the respect he commanded. His museum, "Roy Acuff Exhibits," was the floor below Possum Holler. And he owned the building. Of course, all the respect in the world didn't stop the Holler's toilet from overflowing and leaking into Acuff's museum one fateful day. It ruined one of his exhibits. The problem was irreparable, and Acuff had to make the tough call to close down Possum Holler.
"He was calm as could be when he told [the manager] Billy that we would have to close the doors to Possum Holler," Jones recounted. "'But Why,' asked Billy. 'You love this place.' 'I know it son,' he said. 'I know it. But we just can't have turds inside my exhibits.'" There's no good way to close a club, but that's as good as a bad thing gets.
But it wasn't the end of Possum Holler. In fact, after Jones married Tammy Wynette and had the biggest successes of his career in the early 70s, he opened another. This time, "George Jones' Possum Holler" found itself in Printers Alley, a spot made famous in the early 40s as the area where everybody in news and print would hang out after work.
Printers Alley
Jones had much less involvement with the new club. His name was on it, but he didn't own it. In fact, Kenny Rogers bought the building and gifted it to Jones' one-time manager Shug Baggot sheerly out of the kindness of his heart. Baggot convinced Jones to open up the "World Famous Possum Holler," which was an immediate hit with tourists and country fans.
And though it still attracted countless regulars, it didn't have quite the same vibe as the original. Baggot ran it quite a bit differently than the original, and it didn't have the same "artist hangout" allure.
Baggot and Jones had many fond memories together, but Baggot was also the one who turned Jones onto the most destructive path in his life. While trying to shock Jones out of a drunken mess before a show, Baggot gave him cocaine. It was the beginning of the worst part of Jones' career.
Jones eventually found sobriety and recovered his career in the 80s, though he never tried to open another club in the same vein as the original Possum Holler. Maybe the industry changed too much. Maybe country became too popular, making a spot where all the stars hang out impossible.
But Possum Holler's initial success eventually inspired a lot of country artists to open their own venues, too. While some have been successful and some flopped, the idea of country stars with bars persists even today. Just look at Toby Keith's "I Love This Bar" chain for proof of that -- not to mention the countless one-offs owned by artists across the country.
The club is another piece of George Jones lore. As always, The Possum is always imitated but never duplicated.
