The Grand Tour (10 page)

Montgomery vividly remembered her first recording session with George in January 1963, which produced four songs, including “We Must Have Been Out of Our Minds.” “George and I used the same microphone and we never overdubbed anything,” she said. “What you hear went down on the track as it went down. Not even the musicians overdubbed anything. George and I harmonized, blended well together, we just kind of knew where the other one was going with the lyric and . . . we wouldn't make any mistakes. So, we'd get a lot of songs on the first take.” As Pig Robbins's Floyd Cramer–ish “slip note” piano burbled around them, they created a hypnotic, high lonesome synergy. Melba remembered it took only three takes to complete. “Until Then,” a tune she and her brother Carl wrote, became the B-side. “Minds” reached No. 3 in the summer of 1963.

George's solo material blended filler tunes for albums with more
remarkable singles like the powerful “You Comb Her Hair,” a Top 5 single in mid-1963. Not all his strongest work was commercially successful, such as his magnificent performance of the soulful “The Old, Old House,” an anguished Hal Bynum ballad. “In the Shadow of a Lie,” an album cut, was a compelling murder tale in the style of Lefty Frizzell's hit “Long Black Veil.” Cowritten by Jones and steel guitarist Dicky Overbey, it related a timeless old story with a new twist. A single man was secretly involved with a friend's wife. While the men fished from a rowboat, the married man fell into the water, and his adulterous friend stood by until the other man drowned before finally retrieving the body. Hailed for trying to rescue his friend, the survivor married his friend's widow, but was dogged by torment and guilt.

The stars knew that aside from pleasing their fans, they had to maintain close ties with local disc jockeys in every part of the nation—at the large, medium, and small stations alike. These were the interlocutors who brought their records to the public and at the time had considerable discretion over what they did and didn't play. For singers, sending personal notes, gifts, and Christmas cards and visiting the studios when in town were part of doing business and not considered payola. When Cactus Jack Call of KCMK in Kansas City died in a January 25, 1963, car crash, stars rushed to plan a benefit concert for Call's family, shooting for a date that could attract the biggest names.

George came to Kansas City to perform at the March 3 show with Patsy, Billy Walker, Dottie West, Cowboy Copas, Wilma Lee and Stoney Cooper, and Hawkshaw Hawkins. The benefit was successful, but tragedy quickly overshadowed it. Two days later, Cline, Hawkins, Copas, and Cline's manager, Randy Hughes, died when the plane Hughes piloted crashed near Camden, Tennessee. The collective grief of the close-knit Opry com
munity and fans grew deeper when singer Jack Anglin, who with Johnnie Wright made up the duo of Johnnie and Jack, died in a Nashville car crash en route to a memorial service for Patsy, bringing the total to five accidental deaths in a month. George and the Jones Boys nearly added to those somber statistics. Traveling from a California date to a show in Salem, Oregon, on March 30, they were near Grants Pass when the bus swerved to avoid another car, slid off the road, went over a mountainside, and flipped over. George suffered broken ribs; Hal Rugg, his steel guitarist, was also injured. The others played without George, who was shaken enough to fly back to Vidor.

The partnership with Melba continued to thrive as they worked intensely to complete their debut album,
George Jones and Melba Montgomery Sing What's in Our Heart
, arriving at the sessions with songs to record. “A lot of times maybe George would bring in a song, or I'd bring in a song or a writer would bring one in and we'd just learn it right there,” she said. Country Johnny Mathis wrote “What's in Our Heart,” the second George-Melba hit. They picked up singer Onie Wheeler's composition “Let's Invite Them Over,” their third successful duet, late in 1963. The blend of new songs and old, including two from the Louvin Brothers, helped them build a fan base for their duets. The album reached No. 3 on
Billboard
's newly instituted Top Country Albums chart in early 1964.

What was happening with George and Melba on the road was another matter. Both publicly insisted nothing went on besides a musical and personal friendship born of a mutual love of music. Others saw it differently, believing the potential for a relationship existed, with George's drinking a major obstacle. There's no question the two were close friends, and that she seemed to understand George's impulsive nature. They also had ample common ground. Both were proudly rural, with similar tastes in music and
living. They often relaxed on the road by fishing (George bought the fishing equipment), then cooking their catch. Over time, the friendship would put even more strain on George's marriage to Shirley as she began to hear the rumors about her husband and his duet partner.

George's tours teamed him with various combinations of stars in the sixties, among them Buck Owens, Loretta Lynn, Onie Wheeler, and Sonny James. Buck's career was taking off during this time. He'd set aside the Ray Price shuffle rhythms of his earlier hits on the tune that became his first No. 1 single: the driving, upbeat novelty “Act Naturally.” It became the first of a series of No. 1s that gave Buck a greater profile and, despite George's humility, it led to a clash of egos. Buck and George might have had common Texas roots and childhood poverty, but Buck's family moved to Arizona and, finally, Bakersfield. George's desires were to sing, drink, and run a sideline like the Chuckwagon. Buck, determined to never be poor or hungry again, developed a level of business savvy and wealth few singers shared at the time. He owned his own song publishing company and would move into radio station ownership. George's humility and tendency to shrug off his talents didn't alter the fact that he had both an ego and an uncanny skill for finding some sly way to prank someone, be it friend or enemy.

When Buck, fully aware of his growing stature and raised profile, insisted on closing shows, he put himself on a collision course with George. On one show that also featured Loretta Lynn, Buck insisted on closing. This time, George didn't complain. Instead he and the Jones Boys dutifully went on before Buck—and played Buck's entire stage show, start to finish. At the end, George cockily strode offstage, faced his seething competitor, and (depending on who one believes) slyly remarked, “You're on!”

WITH HIS GROWING WEALTH, GEORGE TRIED TO TAKE CARE OF HIS PARENTS,
buying them a home not far from his. Whatever he thought of his daddy, Clara remained a beacon for her son, one who could talk to him and calm him down. As for George Washington Jones, the old reprobate's ceaseless boozing had the entire family fed up with his derelict behavior and its effect on Clara. On November 22, 1963, the day all hell broke loose at Dealey Plaza in Dallas, the family committed George W to a state mental hospital in Rusk, Texas. Northwest of Vidor and the Thicket, it had an inpatient facility for alcoholics. They hoped for some degree of success. Soon after his release, though, he was back at the bottle.

JOINING FORCES WITH GEORGE BOOSTED MELBA'S STATURE. IN 1963 SHE EARNED
Billboard
and
Cash Box
magazine awards for Most Promising Female Singer. In January 1964 she teamed up with George for a second UA album,
Bluegrass Hootenanny,
that included Dobro player Shot Jackson and five-string banjoist Curtis McPeake. The odd title was meant to tie bluegrass to the term
hootenanny,
popularized by the folk music revival that had swept America. The material mixed bluegrass standards like “Blue Moon of Kentucky” with originals by Melba and her brother Carl, a cover of the Hank Williams gospel number “House of Gold,” and similar fare. That a bluegrass-flavored record reached No. 12 on
Billboard
's Country Album Chart said much about George and Melba's popularity as a duo.

George was booked for a major New York appearance on May 16–17, 1964. Promoter Vic Lewis's “Country Comes to Madison Square Garden” show was one more indicator of the music's growing audience. Lewis did not skimp on booking top-drawer talent for this presentation. George, Buck, Ray Price, Jimmy Dean, and
western swing bandleader–steel guitarist Leon McAuliffe were all part of the lineup. The Opry contingent included Ernest Tubb, Bill Monroe, Dottie West, Webb Pierce, Bill Anderson, Stonewall Jackson, Skeeter Davis, and Porter Wagoner. Even the MC was part of the Nashville elite: Ralph Emery, who hosted WSM's all-night Opry Star Spotlight. Given the station's fifty-thousand-watt clear-channel signal, Emery's show had a nationwide reach. He played the newest singles and sometimes previewed upcoming releases. He also welcomed stars into his studio for off-the-cuff chat and occasional jam sessions.

To accommodate the huge bill, every act was instructed to perform only two songs, no more. That was especially important for the final concert, since the Garden had many unions. If the proceedings ran
one second
past 11:30
P.M.
, overtime kicked in for the venue's union employees and that would cost Lewis a ton of money. Drunk and still chewing on his rivalry with Buck, the designated closing act, George didn't give a damn about anybody's overtime. This time, going on prior to Buck, he didn't perform Buck's act but upped the ante. He simply ignored the two-song limit and continued to sing. Consternation spread backstage, with no one sure how to get him off—until Monroe, George's boyhood hero, devised a simple solution. Monroe enjoyed laboring at his Tennessee farm when he wasn't touring, giving him plenty of physical strength. He simply strode onstage, picked up the five-foot-seven Jones, and carried him off. Buck and the Buckaroos managed to take the stage, and ended their performance just forty seconds before the clock hit 11:30.

George lucked onto another strong number when he found the Don Rollins novelty “The Race Is On,” which used horse racing as a metaphor for lost love. George's hard-charging performance sparkled, with quintessential A-team virtuosity as session guitarist
Kelso Herston added a twanging, throbbing guitar solo that gave George's already zesty performance a powerful kick. Released that fall, it would hold on to the No. 3 position for six weeks.

The 1964 British Invasion brought the Beatles and a new form of rock to the nation that spawned rock 'n' roll. In the country field, reactions were mixed. Many artists shrugged off rock. Buck admired the Beatles so much he and the Buckaroos began doing a Beatles routine as part of their show. Others mocked the younger musicians' long hair and flashy “mod” outfits. George got some exposure to the new sounds at San Antonio's Teenage World's Fair of Texas that June. Organizers booked clean teen acts like Diane Renay and Bobby Vee, along with the Marquis Chimps, George and the Jones Boys, and, from England, a virtually unknown quintet who called themselves the Rolling Stones. In 1964 San Antonio, where George's flattop haircut was considered normal, the Stones were booed and heckled by the audience. Stones bassist Bill Wyman, who kept a detailed diary of the band's early tours, mentioned the crowd's hostility in his book
Stone Alone
and recalled the Stones chatting backstage with both Jones and Bobby Vee. Richards, who cut his teeth on the music of Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, and other blues and R&B greats, had never seen Jones perform before. In his autobiography,
Life,
he remembered watching George and the Jones Boys take the stage, thinking them “a bunch of cowboys.” Familiar with soulful singing, Richards added, “When George got up, we went whoa, there's a master up there.”

After five wild and harrowing years at George's side, through fights, binges, brawls, and onstage lunacy—including one harrowing escapade across the border in Mexico—George Riddle moved on by 1965. Most singers who carried bands had one musician designated as the front man, who opened the show and sang
a few numbers before introducing the star. The Jones Boys' new front man was twenty-seven-year-old bass player, steel guitarist, and harmony singer Johnny Paycheck, who as Donny Young was part of Pappy's group of obscure singers covering hits and the composer of “Revenooer Man.” He was actually Donald Lytle of Greenfield, Ohio, who did two years in a military stockade for hitting an officer before plunging into music. He fronted and sang harmony for Ray Price as a member of the Cherokee Cowboys. His Decca and Mercury recordings as Donny Young fizzled, but George's influence on his singing was undeniable. He found the right producer in 1964 with New York businessman Aubrey Mayhew, owner of Hilltop Records, and took the name Johnny Paycheck from a boxer. Around the time he joined the Jones Boys, he had his first hit single with “A-11,” a honky-tonk lament that George himself could have recorded. Paycheck's vocal clearly reflected the Jones influence.

Both bona fide hell-raisers, Jones and Paycheck were sure to generate fireworks on tour. George did as he pleased, in full Jekyll-and-Hyde mode. He could show up relatively straight, seriously drunk, or not at all. Booking agents, management, and certainly the band and fans themselves had no idea what they were going to get at a George Jones concert. When the bus pulled into a Virginia venue in the Washington, DC, suburbs, Paycheck fulfilled the front-man role and prepared to introduce the boss. Backstage, a totally annihilated George balked, refusing to appear until Paycheck introduced him as Hank Williams. When he did so, George still didn't move, insisting he was staying put unless introduced as Johnny Horton. As the audience grew restless, a disgusted Paycheck made the introduction. As the Jones Boys played the intro to “White Lightning,” George strode to the mike, sang a bit of the song, and walked off. The cops arrived
to calm things down. George hid out in a bar down the street, concerned with the bottle, not the havoc he left behind. No one was going to make him sing, the way his daddy had, if he didn't want to.