Diary of a Player (20 page)

Jimmy Dickens grew up the thirteenth child in a West Virginia farm family, and he was the smallest in his family—the runt of the litter, so to speak. He knew he would never reach even five feet, and that was just the hand that he was dealt. Yet he somehow used what God gave him, or rather withheld, to his advantage. Jimmy played that hand with great heart, great wit, and great success. What other options did he have? As far as I can tell, it was either professional jockey or totally legendary tiny country music singer and comedian. One or the other. He made the right choice.

One night, I went up to Little Jimmy at the Opry and said, “Would you like to go fishing with me someday?” Jimmy said, “Yes, sir.” And I said, “Really? Great!” I had always wanted to spend that kind of quality time with this crazy little character. Jimmy asked, “When you wanna go?” I said, “How about Monday morning?” And Jimmy said that sounded fine to him.

I told Jimmy about this pond that my friend Kelley Lovelace's mother-in-law owned about two hours away where we could go catch forty or fifty bass in one day. He said, “Sounds good!” When I called him to confirm our fishing date, he said, “Can't wait, sir!” I told Jimmy that I'd pick him
up at seven in the morning that Monday, and he gave me his address and said, “I'll be waiting by the mailbox.”

When I called Kelley to tell him that we were going fishing with Jimmy, he said, “Oh man, my in-laws are going to flip,” because they are serious Little Jimmy fans. I'm talkin' serious. They're great people who always cooked us a big dinner when we came to fish. Even without diminutive living legends. So we didn't tell them who our new fishing buddy was, just that we were bringing a friend. Here they are in Sand Mountain, Alabama, with absolutely no idea that Little Jimmy Dickens himself is coming to dinner. Finally, it's seven thirty A.M. Monday, and Kelley and I drive by to pick up Jimmy. There the man is with his two fishing poles and tackle box standing at the end of the driveway by the mailbox—looking exactly like a little lawn ornament. Or some sort of Opry garden gnome.

So we drove the two hours down to the pond and had the best time imaginable. We joked and laughed and heard great old stories. Halfway there we stopped at a tobacco shop, where I bought some cigars and also a nice butane lighter that I gave to Jimmy. He still carries it to this day as a memory of our first little trip together. As we pulled up to the property, you should have seen the look on Kelley's in-laws' faces when
they saw Little Jimmy Dickens get out of the truck. I thought they were going to cry. Faye, Kelley's mother-in-law, ran inside and started feverishly cooking every favorite recipe she knew of. We fished and ate like fishing and eating were going completely out of style. On the way back home, Jimmy fell asleep in the front seat. He snored all the way back to Brent-wood, Tennessee. This was the first day that I ever spent with Jimmy, and it was honestly one of the greatest days of my life. Jimmy's whole philosophy of living has greatly influenced my own. He's become a grandfather figure to my boys, who love him dearly. Recently, I was able to celebrate Jimmy's ninetieth birthday with him, and I've valued every second I've been around this man. I can't get enough of his influence. That may be why I'm always asking him to be in my videos or joking around with him in skits at the CMAs.

I love Little Jimmy Dickens with all my heart and I enjoy every chance I get to stand next to him, and not just because he makes me look taller. All of the on-camera fun that I've had with Jimmy began not long after that first fishing trip, when I asked Jimmy to play my fishing buddy in my video for “I'm Gonna Miss Her (The Fishin' Song).” Our first on-screen adventure together.

So many others became my family at the Opry. Like Bill Anderson, a hero and true class act who I still can't believe I get to pal around with—and just about the best country songwriter of all time. Jeannie Seely, Jim Ed Brown, John Conlee, Porter Wagoner, Connie Smith, Pete Fisher, Steve Buchanan, the list goes on and on. These people became my family. I spent every free weekend at the Opry House when I was new and single. All the stories I would hear backstage, the impromptu jam sessions that would break out in dressing rooms, the lasting friendships . . .

Johnny looked right at me, started to tear up, and said, “I had a ball. I loved life. You make the most of yours too, boy.”

And then there was Johnny Russell. The hilarious larger-than-life Opry stalwart who allowed me into his life in such a big way. We really made a connection. And a year or two after I became a member of the Opry, Johnny would start the decline in health that eventually cost him his life. But I relished our time together. After he had been admitted into hospice care from complications due to diabetes, he lost both his legs. I went to see him around this time, and his sense of humor was still safely intact. I walked in the room, and he was
lying back in the bed. He waved me over and whispered very weakly, “Come closer . . . closer . . .” I leaned over and said, “What is it, Johnny . . . ?” He then raised up, grabbed my collar full force, and with complete strength said, “When ya gonna cut one of my songs?!” His family in the room cracked up. That was Johnny.

While I was there, holding his hand, he asked his son John, “Am I dyin'? Be honest.” I tried to leave the room and give them privacy, but he held firm and said to stay. John nodded. “Yes, Dad, it won't be long now.” Johnny looked right at me, started to tear up, and said, “I had a ball. I loved life. You make the most of yours too, boy.”

I walked out of the room and Jeannie Seely was standing in the hall. She said, “Bet you weren't ready for all this when you signed up for this little family. But that's what the Opry is.” I said, “I'm ready, Jeannie. I wouldn't trade this for the world.”

Years later, after the Nashville flood when I lost all my guitars, John Russell Jr. came out to the farm. He handed me his dad's old Telecaster and a hat he always wore. He said, “Dad would have wanted you to have this. Let's get that collection started again.”

Yeah she'll take her time but I don't mind Waitin' on a woman

—“Waitin' on a Woman,” written by Don Sampson and Wynn Varble

W
hen you're talking about something as life-changing as waiting on a woman, you can't rush it. Try as you may, life will unfold around you at its own pace. All you can do is watch the road and wait on the signs.

Around the time I was promoting
Part II,
my second album, little did I know my life was about to become an, um . . . actual life.

Having come through a bunch of less-than-successful relationships in the years since my old girlfriend didn't show up at the movie, it suddenly struck me what I was missing. One morning that fall, either from a dream I'd had the night before that I couldn't remember or just some strange hunch, I woke with the clearest thought:
The person I'm supposed to be with isn't the girl I took to those movies. It's the girl
in
those movies.

I know it may sound psychotic, but I really had this sense
that this was the woman for me. I really was sure of it. It was that simple.

In concert, I used to share my painful and amusing story of that night I bought tickets twice to
Father of the Bride Part II
before I would play the song “Part Two.” I also told the story countless times on air promoting the album. I remembered once talking about it to my friend Peter Tilden on KZLA in Los Angeles when he was doing the morning show and he'd said, “You know, I've met the girl from the movie. She seems like a real sweetheart.”

It had been an hour or two since I woke up with the “revelation” of who I should be dating. So I called Peter that morning and said, “You think you could get me in touch with Kimberly Williams from
Father of the Bride
? I'd like to talk to her about being in a video.” She could have been a married or divorced chain-smoking crack addict—but as far as I could tell, there was only one way to find out. Being plugged into Hollywood, Peter didn't hesitate. Accepting the challenge, he just said, “Give me ten minutes.” Just a few minutes later, the phone rang and it was Kim's manager at the time calling me about this alleged video.

I proceeded to tell this wonderful woman named Tammy Chase the charming story of writing the song “Part Two” and
how the
FOTB
movies had influenced my life—intentionally leaving out the part about my being interested in her client for anything other than an appearance in a music video. She was so nice and said, “You know, Kim was just saying she thought it might be fun to be in a music video sometime. Great story! I'll get back to you.”

Later, I found out that Kim's manager ended our very pleasant conversation and immediately called Kim. “I just hung up the phone with the greatest guy,” she told my future wife. “I just looked him up—he's legit and he's cute. And I know he says he's calling about a video, but you're going to date him.” Being very reasonable and extremely humble, Kim said to her manager, “Why would you think that?” The manager told Kim, “Trust me, he's interested.” And of course I was. Women have us all figured out before we even meet.

She called back before an hour had passed and said, “Kim loved your story. She's going to call you tonight.”

So the
very same day
that I had woken up with this epiphany, my phone rang. “Hello? Is this Brad? This is Kim Williams.” Now, this could have been awkward, but it wasn't in the least. We talked for an hour. And despite my worst fears, she was not married, divorced, crazy, or a crack addict. I've never known an actress who isn't at least a few of those things.

We talked on the phone almost every day after that first call, and the time was fast approaching when we would need to meet in person. Around that time she began to ask when I could get away and we could meet and go to dinner in L.A.
Hollywood Squares
made me an offer to come out and film a few shows, so I decided to take them up on a free trip from Nashville to L.A. This was the perfect excuse to get to Los Angeles, where Kim was filming the sitcom she was on at the time,
According to Jim
.