Loretta Lynn: Coal Miner's Daughter

by Loretta Lynn;George Vecsey

  I got over being exhausted, but in 1972 I had a checkup, and they discovered a tumor in my right breast. Now that is always a rough thing for a woman to face, knowing it could be cancer. With Betty Ford and Happy Rockefeller both having a breast removed, it’s been in the news, and of course Shirley Temple Black was one of the first women to make a public statement about it. But there wasn’t much discussion about it in 1972, so I didn’t know much. I was just plain scared they might have to do that to me, so I kept postponing the operation until they finally made me go into Baptist Hospital under a false name.

  I was really worried because I had never been baptized, and I was afraid of what would happen to me if I died. It didn’t help when the doctor said, “When you have an operation, your chances are from zero to death. And let me tell you, your chances are not zero.” I was terrified until they told me the tumor was not malignant. But they also told me that while I was on the operating table my heart stopped for a second. It was a real depressing time for me.

  They did a little plastic surgery after taking out the tumor and told me to be careful. But I kept getting blood poisoning and was all blue and swollen from the waist up. One side of me looked like Dolly Parton—noted for her country singing and her figure—but only from the infection, I’m afraid. So I was back in the hospital again. They drained out all the infection—and found another tumor, which they removed. They absolutely forbade me to sign any autographs for months and ordered me never to play the guitar again because it irritated where I just had surgery. I had worked my way up playing the rhythm guitar when some of those poor old bands didn’t know B from G. But I was so happy they didn’t have to remove my breast, I did what they told me. I haven’t played the guitar since.

  But I did go back on the road again, probably too soon. I remember one time when I had one of those tumors removed: I think I still had the stitches in me, plus, they had been giving me shots until my rear end was black and blue. I went back on the road and joined the band in Colorado somewhere. I guess I looked terrible—I thought the band was gonna cry. But I did my shows, which were probably some of the worst I’ve ever done. I could hardly stand up; every time I bent my knees the way I do, my guitar man would have to put his hand under my elbow to help straighten me up. It was real pitiful.

  I kept waiting for the bad times to end but they didn’t. They found another tumor and had to check it out. I spent more time in the hospital in 1972 than I did at home: I was in nine times.

  But the headaches kept going into 1973 and 1974. I went to a brain man, a neurosurgeon, I believe the word is. He sent me to a gynecologist. Then last year, I found out I had high blood pressure. It’s supposed to be around 120, but mine was close to 160. That really scared me. That’s what led to my Daddy’s stroke—high blood pressure. The doctors told me it would help to lay off all salt, so now I carry a special salt substitute. These days my blood pressure stays near normal most of the time.

  But even so, the doctors say migraine is caused by some kind of pressure, something you try to push out of your mind. I guess it’s understandable why I’d be getting headaches in my business, where there’s so much tension all the time.

  People are always giving me advice on how to help the migraines. The doctor told me not to take any more sugar. Someone else said to try acupuncture. Somebody else said to try black coffee. Other people tell me to try pain-killers. I’ve always felt that aspirin wasn’t good for me, made me feel woozy. But when I’d start feeling nervous before a show, when the migraines were coming on, I’d take a certain brand of aspirin, prescribed by my doctor, to get rid of the headache. I would either carry some with me or borrow one from somebody. Sometimes the pills would make the headaches go away, but I’d start feeling dizzy, or I’d seem to be confused or sleepy. That’s probably when the rumors started about me being on some kind of dope.

  I certainly wasn’t taking aspirin to get high, I just wanted my headaches to go away. To tell you the truth, I’ve always been scared of dope. If somebody ever had dope around me, I think I’d be scared to death. I guess there are people everywhere, in show business, too, who take stuff to get high. But I don’t need that.

  Anyway, we finally found out what the problem was—the hard way. It happened early in 1975, when me and Conway were supposed to make a record. Me and Doo checked into the King of the Road Motel on a Monday morning. I was just getting over the flu, and I felt all achy and tired. Conway was smarter—he had gotten flu shots right away, on the road.

  I didn’t eat after breakfast on Monday, and the flu was still bothering me, so I took an aspirin. That night Doo said he was going out to get us some Chinese food, which we both love. But he didn’t come back for a long, long while.

  I found out later he was out partying with Faron Young.

  I was still feeling bad, and worrying where Doolittle was, so I took another aspirin. Then I waited a couple of hours and took another one. When he finally came in around four o’clock in the morning, I was so mad and so nervous, I didn’t sleep all night.

  Tuesday morning I went to the doctor for a double shot for the flu and I finally got something to eat—a bowl of oats. But I still felt bad, so I took two more aspirins because I knew we had to go out and record. Altogether, I think that made nine pills in twenty-seven hours, which isn’t too bad—unless you’re allergic to ’em.

  Anyway, as soon as I got into the motel room, I just passed out. Doo thought I was fooling around, but when he saw me hit the floor, he knew it was bad. I started going into convulsions, just rolling around on the floor. He called for the ambulance, and they carried me out of the motel on a stretcher. When I woke up, I was in the hospital.

  They fed me through tubes and ran all kinds of tests on me. Finally my doctor came in and said, “The next time you feel like taking an aspirin, you might just as well take arsenic, because this brand of aspirin is just like poison to your system.” So I was allergic to ’em and didn’t know it. They kept me in the hospital until Friday, when I got back on the bus to hit the road. We did a bad show that night, but at least I showed up. I figured, if I’m gonna die, it might as well be on the stage.

  I knew I had to get back to the show, because Doo hates for me to cancel out. He gets real nervous whenever I’m sick anyway. I once heard him say, “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a sick woman.” Well, maybe this woman won’t be sick anymore.

  I’ve learned my lesson. Now if I feel nervous, I just think happy thoughts or lie down. I feel 100 percent better now that I’m off aspirins. I can see how woozy it made me. Friends tell me I’m more clear-headed now than I’ve been in years.

  I’m learning how to take care of myself. I used to waste away to under a hundred pounds during the year. But now the doctors have told me to keep eating. They say I have to eat a banana a day because my body doesn’t produce enough potassium.

  Also in 1974, my doctor prescribed water pills for my migraines. I take ’em for a week before my period, and they seem to take away most of the pressure in my system. Since October of 1974, I only had three migraines—that’s more than a year. Before that, I was having ’em every three weeks, so maybe I’m starting to get answers to my problems.

  I’ve really got to take it easy, though. I’m taking off the last ten days of every month. I’ve started sleeping better, not going outside the room except to perform. But it seems life is getting wound up into just performing and traveling and resting. I don’t have the time or the energy I used to years ago. I think back on the busy, capable housewife I was when I was poor, and I ask myself: “Is it worth the price?” I’m not really sure.

  25

  Mexico

  There’s wild red blood running through my veins,

  And I wish my skin was, too.…

  —“Red, White and Blue,” by Loretta Lynn

  The real thing that saved my life this past couple of years was buying a house in Mexico. Now you ask, what’s a country girl from Kentucky doing with a house in Mexico? But I�
��ll tell you, I need to get completely away from things. I think that’s where I’ll go when I retire.

  We found this place a few years ago when me and Doo took a vacation in a big camper. Now that ain’t exactly my idea of a good vacation, not after being on the road in a bus all year. But Doo, he was itching to go someplace warm and do some fishing and just poke around the way we used to do. I could understand that, so I went along, just dreading more time with the wheels turning under me. But it wasn’t bad.

  We headed down to the west coast of Mexico, around Mazatlán, a big city, a beautiful city. We headed down the coast some more—I’m not telling where—till we found this little village, right on the ocean. The people there were part Indian, so I felt real comfortable with ’em, even though I couldn’t speak Spanish and they couldn’t speak much English. I think you can always get along with your hands and the way you smile and stuff. The people there were beautiful. Then we met this old fellow who looked like my granddaddy—a real dignified, smart Indian. He was a fishing guide and he collected old Indian pottery. He gave me some, wouldn’t let me pay a penny for it. Then he showed us all around the countryside. All of a sudden we saw this piece of beachfront property for sale. I told Doo, “That’s where I’d like to build a house, right there.” Now Doo liked it himself. So we talked business with the man and we made a deal. We leased it for around forty years, with the option for another forty. (The Mexican government doesn’t allow Americans to buy as much land as they used to.) But we felt we could go ahead and build a house on the property, and we finished it by the end of 1972.

  Now we’ve got this house with every room facing the ocean and a big swimming pool with a separate little house called a ramada. We go down there at Christmastime and stay. The first winter we stayed a month. The next year we stayed six weeks. I think this year I’d like to stay for three months. And if I could, I’d never leave.

  Every day is just perfect. We get up and don’t bother to dress fancy. Nobody knows who we are and nobody cares. We go down to the ocean and just play in the water. I’ve got some Mexican women who come in to help me. I tease ’em, and we try to rassle each other into the water. We laugh and argue like a bunch of idiots, but they do more work for me than anyone I could get in the States. We’re just like a family. They know I’m no better than they are, just another Indian.

  One time we were on the beach and there was one American guy in the waves and another on the beach. I said, “You sure got your britches wet.” He said to his friend: “If this wasn’t Mexico, I’d swear that was Loretta Lynn.”

  But the people don’t care who I am. And my fans don’t know where I am. It’s the one place I can go to relax. So I ain’t gonna tell nobody where it is.

  We bring the babies down with us. They think they’re getting a good deal by getting out of school. But Gloria, our housekeeper, comes down with ’em. She finds out all their work from their teacher and she makes ’em work every morning. They fight with her like mad. They come to me and I tell them to get back to Gloria before I whip ’em. So I make sure they get their work done.

  I guess one of the things I like best about Mexico is the people. The Spanish and the Indians, they show their affections. I think it’s bad when you can’t. When a man says to his boy, “You shouldn’t hug, you should be a man,” I think it’s a shame. Ever since Daddy died, I made it a point to show my feelings because I don’t think I ever let Daddy know how much I loved him. Daddy was never able to see me as a performer, and he didn’t have nothing. I wish I could have given him more. I was always able to show my affections but not as much until Daddy died. I guess that’s why people follow me from show to show. Love is like a magnet.

  We have a boat down there. Doo likes to go out and go real fast, but like I said before, I’m scared of the water and always have been. I believe I must have drowned in one of my earlier lives, and since I almost drowned in Tennessee, I’ve been real scared of water. Doo tells me I’m no fun because I won’t let him go fast, but we do have a good time. We fish and eat all day long.

  That’s another reason Mexico is good for me. After my 1973 tour, I was down to about ninety pounds. It was disgraceful. I was wearing size-three dresses. None of my regular clothes fit. I was ashamed to let people see my arms and legs, I was so skinny. We got down to Mexico right after Christmas, and I could see Doo was worried about me. I was nervous, tense, underweight, and worried.

  Doo, who is supposed to be this tough guy, was watching me to make sure I’d be all right. Well, the first morning we were there, I ate a huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and potatoes and whatever else there was. Then we went out to the beach. Around ten o’clock, I started dipping into the lunch basket, eating sandwiches and cookies and anything that was packed. By lunchtime I’d eaten somebody else’s food. Then I ate a big supper, and in the evening I’d eat another snack. I’d just eat like a pig all day.

  Well, I gained about one pound a day for almost a month. Doo said I was like a flower opening up every day. He said he could see the color coming back day by day. And it was true. I stayed a month more and canceled an appearance. When we had to go back to work again, I weighed 115 pounds. I was back up to a size five or seven again, and I didn’t look like a ghost. The only time I felt sick was when I thought about going back. I’m telling you, I was born to be a housewife, not a singer.

  During the work year, Doo is always pestering me to eat. Whenever I get nervous about some little problem, I just think about Mexico. I can’t wait to get back there. I just let my hair hang long and stringy and don’t care how I look. And that’s the way I like it. I’m telling you, some day they’re gonna be looking for me backstage and I ain’t gonna be there. But I’m gonna pin up a note and it’s gonna say, Bueñas Noches.”

  26

  Entertainer of the Year

  Why me, Lord, what have I ever done,

  To deserve even one of the pleasures I’ve known?…

  —“Why Me?” by Kris Kristofferson

  Going out on my own was the best thing I ever could have done. I hate to put it in terms of money, but how else do you measure your value? When I left the Wilburns, I was getting around $2,500–$3,000 per show. Now I get around $10,000 a show. I don’t think I’ve improved that much as a performer, so it must be the people who are managing my business.

  Doolittle has taken more interest in the management, plus we’ve hired real professionals to do the work. Me and Conway Twitty have our own booking agency called United Talent. Jimmy Jay books us the best schedules in country music.

  I’ve also got an office on Music Row, where Lorene Allen is the manager. She keeps me posted on all the news and writes some of my songs.

  And I’ve gotten a lot of nice publicity since we started working with a smart fellow named David Brokaw out in California. I always look forward to my trips to California to talk to him.

  We’ve also got some interest in the Loretta Lynn clothing stores. We used to have a rodeo for ten years, but we got too busy and had to sell it. I know it broke Doo’s heart—but now he’s got the dude ranch on our property, with room for around 180 trailers. So that’s keeping him busy.

  I don’t know if we really should have all these side businesses. Instead of just doing my own show, I’m worrying about whether it’s raining on our dude ranch, or whether Kenny Starr, the young boy who sings in our show, will have a hit record. Plus, all my companies have given us a payroll of over $350,000 a year.

  There’ve been times in the past when I took on extra dates just to pump money into one of our businesses. I used to play over 200 dates a year. Now I’ve cut it back to 125, mainly because my money is being handled better.

  Things have been more organized since we hired David Skepner away from the Music Corporation of America. David is a college graduate from Beverly Hills, California, who’s our business advisor. His job is to advise me and Doolittle what our choices are—and we make the decisions. Sometimes people get upset when he protects me from too much
attention. I’ll tease him by saying, “I know what people are saying—‘there comes Loretta Lynn and her SOB.’ ”

  David has cured me of carrying too much cash around with me. One time in New York City, I had $30,000 in cash in my pocketbook. I thought David would explode. He asked a policeman to escort us to the nearest bank, where we could convert the money into cashier’s checks. David once told a reporter, “Loretta has no idea what she’s worth. All she knows is that she has a good time every day and she gets well paid for it.”

  Well, I’m getting a little smarter than that. David has given me a lot more confidence about appearing on television. He’s been able to book me on all the major shows and he always tells me, “Loretta, just act natural. Say whatever you think is right, and the people will accept it.”

  And that’s what I’ve been doing, folks. I’ll never forget the time I fell asleep on the “David Frost Show,” while the Queen of Women’s Liberation was talking. It happened like this: I was back in the dressing room and this gal started cussing and arguing something terrible with a guy from a union. I didn’t know this woman from Adam. She was running on about women’s rights. I said something about “Isn’t it awful what you have to put up with in your own dressing room?” and she smarted off at me, and we were really going at it. Then I get on the show and they march her out—and I said, “Oh, my God, it’s her.” It was that Betty Friedan. Anyhow, she starts talking about women’s liberation. If I’m not interested in what somebody is saying, I let my mind wander. I must have closed my eyes for a few seconds because all of a sudden I hear David Frost say to me, “What do you think of that, Loretta?”

  I guess I jumped a little bit and I said, “What?” like I was real startled. That made everyone in the audience laugh, but I didn’t mean to be smart about it. I just wasn’t listening, that’s all.

  Dinah Shore had me on her show. She’s from Tennessee, and we always talk about biscuits and stuff. She’s got the kind of show where if I mess up, we just laugh and go ahead with it. To me, that’s what country is, too. And that’s my idea of television.