I can remember Patsy Cline and Kitty Wells standing up for me when I came along. So Olivia Newton-John, when you come to Nashville, you give me a call, and I’ll help you any way I can. There’s room for all of us, honey.
27
Death Threats
We all know what our enemies will do….
—“Five Fingers Left,” by Loretta Lynn
There’s another part of my career I ain’t too happy about, and that is all the bad mail and telephone calls I get. It first hit a few years ago when I started winning all the awards. Then it seemed like every crazy person in the world was after me.
We’re supposed to have this unlisted telephone number at home, but sometimes my fans get it anyway. I don’t mind their calls too much. But when some nut calls up and says to leave $250,000 downtown, or else they’ll cut off my son’s head, now that’s just plain bad manners, folks.
Or one of my babies would pick up the phone and there’d be some character on the other end saying something she couldn’t understand. When those things started getting worse, we changed our number again, but people catch up with you.
I once asked my manager why I got this kind of stuff. He said other performers also get bad calls and he explained: “The same thing that makes you appeal to all the good fans also touches off some spark in the screwball. There’s a few public figures who manage to stir up a lot of people, one way or the other, Loretta—and you just happen to be one of them.”
That scares me, because I think of people like John and Robert Kennedy and George Wallace and Martin Luther King, Jr., who get people stirred up. And all that stuff going on in Israel with the Arabs hijacking and scaring people to death. At the same time there was so much violence in the world, I had a whole rash of scary incidents.
There was one man who had robbed a couple of my Western stores and then started traveling wherever we went. He would check into the same motel every night. At first, I didn’t think nothing of it. I’d be sitting in the room with the shades open and I’d see this young boy with long golden hair. I said to Doo, “Now he’s a good fan.” But it turns out the police were looking for him. And the police were traveling around with me, too, only I didn’t know it.
One night in West Virginia, that fellow got a girl to come to me and say she wanted to show me some new songs. She seemed like she was drunk or on drugs or something. She no more than got into the room when the police busted in. They dragged her right out; they showed her no mercy. That night I was told that I was in danger, then three days later they caught him. I said I didn’t want to hear nothing about it. He’s in the pen now—I don’t know where.
That’s when I started to get nervous about these calls. One time I was on the road and a woman friend was traveling with me. I was taking a bath when I got a call and this man said he was five doors down from me. I didn’t pay it any mind. I just hung up. But my friend got all riled and I had to calm her down. I was really scared even though I said I wasn’t.
Just to calm her down, I said, “Well, I ain’t afraid to go out in the hall.” So I get dressed and open the door and there’s this man standing there. I stared at him and tried to act brave, but all of a sudden my knees got weak and I jumped back in the room and closed the door. Who knows what he had in mind?
One night in Beckley, West Virginia, I was all alone in my room in my bus getting dressed for my show, when I looked out in the parking lot and saw this young kid. I could swear he was loading or unloading a pistol. I got scared to death. I didn’t know what to do. Then he disappeared somewhere. The next thing I knew, I heard the bus door open. I had my room closed, so I couldn’t see who it was, but I got scared that it was the boy with the pistol. Usually, when something goes wrong, I do the right thing, so I talked loud, like my husband was with me. I said, “Hey, Doo, turn down that television, I think I hear somebody on the bus.” Well, I could hear the bus rocking as this guy walks outside again. I never did see him again, but I was scared. I told my boys never to leave me alone on the bus again. So now there’s always someone guarding me.
And I mean guarding me right. More than one of my people carries a pistol. Some people get all scared about being around pistols, but it doesn’t bother me. Growing up in Kentucky, I got used to it. Doo carries a pistol around like I carry a pocketbook. It ain’t that you’re trying to be tough or anything, you’re just trying to protect yourself. And we feel we need to. Doo even offered to get me a pistol, but I’m too softhearted, and I know my boys will protect me.
The worst place for a while was Oklahoma. Every time we went through, there was something. One time the newspapers got a call that was supposed to be my sister, Crystal Gayle, saying I was kidnapped. Well, that couldn’t happen because she wasn’t even on the trip. But the FBI had to check it out anyway. Another time there was a call saying I drowned in Mexico. Still another time, somebody said I would never get off the stage in Oklahoma City. This time the FBI got into it.
They checked everybody out, even my old man, Doo, who’s got a permit to carry his pistol. But we got real tight with our plans. They took me off the bus outside of Oklahoma and sneaked me into another hotel, while the bus went to our regular place. But it didn’t matter: we got to our room, and five minutes later some guy called on the hotel phone and said, “We found out where you are.” Doo was standing by the door with his .38 out all night. The call had to come from the hotel because they won’t let outside calls go to my room. I don’t know how in the world they found me, but they did. We told the FBI, and they were all around me when I went to the show that night. I still get the shivers whenever we go to Oklahoma.
But it’s not just Oklahoma. We got a bomb threat during the Disc Jockey Convention in Nashville one year. Somebody said the show was never gonna go on because they blamed me for breaking up Conway Twitty’s marriage. Well, I didn’t know about it until I got backstage. They cleared out the place and didn’t find a bomb so they let the show go on. I was the last one to sing, and I said I was nervous. The stagehand said, “Don’t get nervous, Loretta. Every other man backstage is an FBI agent.” And when I looked they all had their guns bulging inside their jackets. How I got through that show I’ll never know.
The last scare we got was in a motel. I was in my suite working on some songs when I got a call. This man said he was a hired killer, paid five hundred dollars to knock me off. He said he had been following me for three days and that he wasn’t gonna do it because he thought I was such a fantastic singer.
Finally the guy said, “I’m gonna tell them that I just couldn’t get close to you. But you better be careful, because the next guy they send might not be a big country fan like me.”
Well, I was half scared and half laughing at that line. I think the guy was putting on an act and just wanted attention, but I make it a point never to be alone.
When Doo ain’t with me, I register in different names now. And I always have my boys in rooms all around me. I always keep my door locked, and my calls and fan mail are screened. I only see the good letters; the others are sent to the FBI. They’re building up a file on these little deals. I also get connecting rooms with Jim Webb, my driver, or David Skepner, or any of the boys. And we keep these doors unlocked, so if I need help, they can just rush in. I feel better knowing that my boys are around me.
But for two whole years, I went on stage scared. I didn’t know what was gonna happen, if someone was gonna put a bullet in me, or what. Every time somebody took a flashbulb picture of me, I had no way of knowing whether it was the end. I got more and more nervous and started talking about getting off the tour completely. But when I asked my manager, he said:
“Loretta, you have two choices. You can find some place out in Montana somewhere, and you can dig a big hole, and you can hide and never perform again. Or you can just go out there and not think about it.”
So that’s what I did. I made up my mind not to worry about threats anymore. I just go out and sing.
28
Baptized a
t Last
I believe above the storm the smallest prayer,
Will still be heard.
I believe that Someone in the Great Somewhere,
Hears every word….
—“I Believe,” by Ervin Drake/Irvin Graham/Jimmy Shirl/Al Stillman
I don’t know if I could have lived through the sickness and the death threats if I hadn’t gotten stronger in my religion. When things were looking bad for me, I just put myself in the hands of Jesus, and let Him do what was best for me.
I’ve always been religious in my own way. When I was growing up, if we could afford just one book in the house, it was the Bible. We’d go to church on Sunday and listen to Preacher Elzie Banks tell us about God and the devil. I believed it all, but for some reason I was never baptized. After I started in music, I got away from going to church and reading the Bible. I believe I was living the way God meant me to, but I wasn’t giving God the right attention.
Coming from the mountains, I have kind of funny beliefs anyway—kind of a mixture of religion and superstition. I know people in the Church of Christ ain’t supposed to believe in reincarnation and séances and stuff, but I guess I do. I’ll probably get in trouble with the church for saying this, but I’ve often tried to make contact with people that have died, especially my Daddy. I really feel like Daddy can hear me sing, even though he’s dead. The Bible says nothing about that, does it? Anyway, that’s one of my beliefs. I’ve always believed in a hereafter, even if I can’t imagine what it’s like. I guess nobody really knows what’s gonna happen to us. I figure we just do our best and hope we get to Heaven by the grace of God.
I’ve never believed that man was too sinful; if he was, God would have destroyed him, like he did Sodom and Gomorrah. I think it’s up to a person to make their own life, good or bad. But I never considered getting baptized, or making a strong stand about God until John Thornhill and I started talking about religion, even arguing, sometimes.
John is the twin brother of Dave Thornhill, my lead guitar player, and they joined the band about the same time. John played the bass. He liked to drink and cuss like most of the boys when he first joined the band. He even owned his own airplane. His wife was real religious, but John kind of went his own way. Then he started flying with a preacher who said to him one day, “John, I think it’s about time you got baptized.”
Nobody is sure what convinced John, but he agreed to get baptized. The next morning, real early, he called up his twin brother and said, “Guess what?” Dave thought it must be something real serious to call so early in the morning, but John said, “I just got baptized.” That kind of surprised everybody.
After that, John was a different person. He carried his Bible study books with him on the bus, and he’d read and pray whenever he got the chance. He was a born-again Christian, and they’re the strongest kind.
It was kind of strange for the other boys. John stopped drinking and staying out late, and if the boys would see a pretty girl outside the bus John wouldn’t even go to the window to look. I think the boys were not sure how to take this new side of John, but he just did what he felt was best.
On Saturday night, John would go out and buy some grape juice and he’d offer to have Communion on Sunday. I was interested in what he was thinking about, so I started studying with him. We’d say a prayer and have Communion and then we’d study the Bible together. And he’d be telling me I should get further in my studies.
I got pretty familiar with parts of the Bible. It’s my favorite book. There’s sadness, happiness, foolishness, wisdom, anything you want to feel in the Bible. But the most important thing, for me, is the story about the Jews and how they were God’s Chosen People, and how Jesus came to earth for all of us. That’s what I believe. But even with all the studying, I didn’t feel like getting baptized.
That went on for about a year, while I was getting sick so much. One time, when I was in the hospital, John came to visit me. I didn’t think I was ever gonna come out of that hospital alive. John said, “If you believe, then you should be baptized, just to say you’re a Christian.”
I was still resisting it, you know, when I went back on the road again. But one night me and John were having an argument in the back of the bus.
I said, “I’m going to Heaven. I don’t drink or blackguard or run around, so I know I’m going to Heaven.”
And John said, “Loretta, unless you get baptized in Jesus’ name, it’s not enough.”
We were still arguing while I flipped through the Bible, looking for a place to read. You know how it is sometimes, you flip over the pages and suddenly your eye catches something. Well, that book just flew open to James 2:26, where it says, “For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead, too.”
To me, that meant it wasn’t enough to behave yourself, to do good things. You really had to stand up and show your faith, to be counted as a believer in Christ.
I didn’t say anything at the time to John. But in the back of my mind, I decided I was going to get baptized sometime. Then I landed in the hospital another time, in 1972, and that’s when I made up my mind. As soon as I got out, I told my daughter-in-law, Pat, that I was ready. She’s got an uncle, Dr. Joe McClure, who used to be a preacher until he decided people needed a doctor even more. But he still preaches some. I called him one morning and said I wanted to get baptized before I went back on the road. He told us to come over at three in the afternoon and he’d do it.
I was real nervous because the Bible says you have to be immersed and, like I’ve said so many times, I’m scared to death of the water. But it was a very private thing—just the preacher and his wife and my daughter-in-law. Nobody from my family volunteered to go with me, but I didn’t mind. The Bible says you’ve got to walk this lonesome valley by yourself. They dunked me in this special tank at the church, and we said the prayers, and I became a baptized Christian. I felt stronger right away, too. Like I was given new strength by Jesus to go about my work. I went back on the road that night again. I didn’t tell anybody for a day, until I told John Thornhill.
I’ve tried to keep up with my religion since then. I can’t get to church most Sundays because of my traveling but I’ll read the Bible whenever I can. I want to make another religious album someday, but it will have to be without instruments. The Church of Christ feels you should make music in your hearts, but they’re against instruments for religious music.
The people in the church are good people, trying to live as close to apostles as they can. Sometimes they ask me to do a benefit or do something else. I’m proud to be a member of their church, and I just hope they understand my interest in things like reincarnation and séances.
Of course, I respect other people’s religions. I think if you’re living right with God, you can beat temptations. It really makes no difference to me what church you go to. We’re all working for the same Man, trying to get to the same Place.
Early in 1974, John Thornhill announced he was quitting my band to study religion. He got a job in a factory in Nashville and he was real happy to be home every night with his wife and children. I know they’re happier, too. It’s a rough deal for a family man to be traveling, and I respected John’s decision.
I think it was hard for Dave and the other boys to understand, though. They had all come up the hard way, just like John, and they couldn’t see giving it up just when he was starting to make good money. But everybody respected John’s decision. I guess you could say I’m the one who got left out on the deal. Since then, I haven’t had anybody to study the Bible with.
I don’t know if people are surprised to hear my religious views or not. I try not to make a big issue out of religion while I’m working because I know everybody’s got their own point of view.
In 1974, there was a big fuss when a bunch of people were celebrating Jesus outside the Opry. They were asked to keep moving and Skeeter Davis got mad at the policemen for that. As a result, she got suspended from the Grand Ole Opry,
which really hurt her.
The way I feel about some of the Jesus people is this: I was walking out of the Opry one night and I was in a hurry. This girl stopped me and she kept asking, “Do you know Jesus? Do you know Jesus?” And she kept preaching to me right on the street. Well, I told her I knew Jesus since I was knee-high, and I walked right on. Sure, I know Jesus. Anybody that wants to can know Jesus. I don’t want to criticize Skeeter, because she’s got a right to her views. The Bible says you should let your light shine but I don’t think it should shine so bright it upsets other people.
It’s not for me to tell another person what to believe because like I said, I respect other religions, too. Growing up in Butcher Holler, we didn’t have any prejudices. We hardly knew any Catholics, and the Jews were written all over the Bible as God’s Chosen People, but I never knew any Jews until I got into show business. Since then, I’ve met a lot and found them to be real smart and good workers. A lot of the people in my organization are Jewish, and I learn a lot from them. I never knew that many Jews don’t eat pork, out of religious belief, until we had a barbecue one time and one of my friends said they didn’t eat pork. Now we’re real careful, me and Doo, about offending anybody about that.
The way I feel about it, I’m proud to know Jewish people. Don’t forget: Jesus was a Jew. I never knew much about their history until a few years ago. When I was first married, Doolittle told me about the war in Europe, where he served. But it just didn’t sink in what went on over there.
Then, after my songs got pretty popular, we made a big tour of Europe. They offered to take us sight-seeing in Germany, and I went along. I thought it was a beautiful country and the people all worked hard. I was enjoying myself real well until they took us to a camp they said was a prison during the war.
This guide, a German, was taking us around. He talked about ashes and bones being buried there. He showed us a big stove he said they had put Jews in. I just couldn’t believe it. I said, “You did what?”
Loretta Lynn: Coal Miner's Daughter Page 21
