I got my name on the writer credits for the song somehow, but I wasn’t really a writer on it. Even though I wrote plenty of my own material, in those days it was pretty common for artists to tell up-and-coming songwriters they would record one of their tunes in exchange for half the writer credit. In later years, Webb Pierce used to joke around onstage, saying “This next song is one Mel Tillis wrote for me, and I liked it so much I let him keep half the writer credit.” It’s kind of funny now, but that was the norm in those days.
Daddy was actually the one who encouraged me to record “Tears at the Grand Ole Opry,” but I never did really like it all that much. He thought it was commercial. The idea was kind of cute, but I’ve wished for years I hadn’t pulled that stunt of putting my name on something I didn’t really write. I believe we reap what we sow, so maybe it was no coincidence that two days later I would be crying actual tears when I made my debut as a guest on the real Grand Ole Opry.
The Opry began as a radio show in 1925 and was broadcast from several different venues in the early days. When I appeared there on March 26, 1955, it had been based at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium for well over a decade. The hallowed space, known today as the Mother Church of Country Music, held a powerful mystique—even back then. Anyone who was anyone in country music played the Opry, and being invited to sing from the same stage that hosted Hank Williams, Roy Acuff, and Ernest Tubb was the greatest thrill of my life up to that point. In fact, Ernest Tubb was the host of the segment on which I would appear, and I couldn’t believe I would be introduced by my fellow Decca recording artist, who was already a legend by then.
Everyone in country music in those days—especially the Grand Ole Opry stars—had their stage clothes made by Nudie Cohn, the famous “rodeo tailor” I’d first visited in Hollywood with my folks and Tommy Collins in tow. Those Nudie suits were decked out with all the rhinestones and were beautifully embroidered. I got my first one when I was about sixteen. It was a Western-style shirt with matching pants that had fringe down the side. It wasn’t made especially for me, but was created for a girl who never returned to pick it up. Nudie put it up for sale, and it happened to fit me, so we bought it for $100. He made me a custom outfit not long after, but when Mother found out we paid $150 for it, she put a stop to that! She said, “Why are you paying him all that money? I can do that!” She was a very talented seamstress, and began making my stage outfits. The first one we designed was pretty country. It had rhinestones around the neck, and Mother bought a big piece of suede leather that she cut into fringes with a rhinestone at the end of each one. There’s a picture of me and Billy Gray together where I’m wearing that outfit, and it’s pretty impressive! Mother did all the intricate piping and everything. Everyone assumed they were professionally done, so I guess she was giving the famous Nudie a run for his money!
For my Opry debut, Mother and I carefully designed a new dress that she sewed. It was white and tight-fitting, but still had a “cowgirl” look. There was red fringe at the bottom with a sweetheart neck at the top and rhinestone-studded spaghetti straps that were like a halter. I paired it with some red-and-white boots that Nudie made for me, and I was looking good, if I do say so myself. I’ve always preferred to get dressed in my hotel room rather than changing at the venue where I’m performing, so I put my dress on just before Daddy and I made the drive from the hotel over to the Ryman. The schedule was taped to the wall backstage when we got there, so I was paying careful attention to the show to make sure I was ready for my cue.
I was standing backstage with my guitar on when Ernest Tubb himself came from around the curtain and began walking toward me with a big smile on his face. “Are you Wanda Jackson?” he asked.
“Yessir,” I nodded.
“Okay, honey, you’re next on the show. I’ll introduce you, so go ahead and get ready.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tubb. I’m ready,” I said. He looked kind of startled, and his big smile melted away.
“Oh no. My goodness, honey,” he stammered. “You can’t go out on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry like that!”
I could feel my ears getting hot. “Like what?” I asked. He took a step back.
“You can’t go out there with your shoulders showing like that.”
I could not believe it. Here I was in the dress that Mother and I had spent so much time designing. I had on those boots, and I looked so cute with my big guitar on. I said, “Well, this is the only thing I brought. I wore it to the show.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “You’re gonna have to cover up or you can’t go on.”
Since it was still March, and the Nashville air was cool in the evenings, I’d worn a white imitation leather jacket with fringe on it in case it got chilly. I ran back to the dressing room, grabbed that jacket, and put it on over my dress. I strapped my guitar back on just as Ernest Tubb introduced me to the audience. I walked onto that Grand Ole Opry stage, but instead of feeling like a queen, I felt like a kid who’d just been reprimanded. It just broke my heart to have to cover that cute dress. I had a bad taste in my mouth, to say the least.
As the audience clapped, however, I made a decision that I wasn’t going to let Ernest Tubb, Opry rules, poor communication, or whatever had caused the misunderstanding about the dress to ruin this moment. I stepped up to the microphone and launched into my first song, which was an Autry Inman tune called “I Cried Again.” I don’t think we rehearsed, so it surprised me to hear the sound of the Opry band. I had gotten used to singing with Hank’s Brazos Valley Boys, which was the nation’s number one Western swing band. We had drums, horns, twin fiddles, electric guitar, piano, upright bass, and sometimes twin steel guitars. It was a very full sound. I got out there on the Ryman stage, and it was just the bare lineup of bass, guitar, fiddle, and maybe a piano. But that was okay. Things might have gotten off to a rocky start, but this was the Grand Ole Opry, and I was going to savor the moment!
In those days most of the regular cast members stayed out on the stage during all the performances. They would sit on hay bales and other props during the entire show. It seemed like the audience was having a great time, but halfway through my song, I realized they were craning their necks to see around me. During an instrumental section I turned around and saw that two of the show’s comedians, Minnie Pearl and Stringbean, were cutting up, laughing, and doing all kinds of silly stuff behind me. They were kind of egging on the other cast members by kidding around during my song. I’m sure it was all intended as good fun, but I couldn’t keep the attention of the audience. How could I with those two carrying on behind me? I mean, they were funny, so that made it pretty hard to compete.
Maybe I wasn’t in the best of moods because I didn’t get to show off my beautiful dress, but I sure didn’t like feeling like I’d been upstaged. As soon as I was through performing, I walked offstage and found Daddy. I said, “Help me get my stuff rounded up. I’ll never come back here again.” And I didn’t. At least not for a very long time.
Since then I’ve heard that Elvis had the same experience. I don’t mean that Elvis tried to perform on the Grand Ole Opry in a dress that showed off his shoulders, but he wasn’t exactly embraced when he performed there. They weren’t ready for Elvis and they weren’t ready for Wanda Jackson, even though I was singing pure country. They didn’t boo me, but the whole experience was off-putting. It was really just a lack of communication, but I decided that night that the Grand Ole Opry scene was not for me.
I tell that story often and, over the years, I’ve come to realize that, in some ways, it’s a story about how important my stage outfits were in defining my persona as an artist. I always loved beautiful dresses. Even my senior prom dress was a hot pink form-fitting design with lace over satin. The other girls all wore the big full skirts, but I was pretty daring in my younger days. I stole the design from a movie featuring Betty Grable in something similar. Let’s just say it would not have passed the Ernest Tubb test!
A love for beautiful cloth
es is something that drew Mother and me close together. Mother was always what I call “put together.” She wasn’t necessarily fancy, but she always matched and had nice shoes with a matching handbag. She was pretty, and had a good eye for style. I think she learned to sew out of necessity, but along the way, she discovered that she really enjoyed it. She made most of my stage clothes, as well as my streetwear. We really enjoyed designing and working on dresses together. Once my body developed and I got a waistline and bustline, I looked good in my clothes. Of course, that just made Daddy nervous. There was a couple who lived next door to us over near South Lindsay named Mr. and Mrs. Cox. Sometimes I’d forget to pull the blinds, and I’d go walking through the house almost naked. Daddy would get so put out with me. He’d roll his eyes and say with a sarcastic tone, “Wanda! Open up those blinds a little more; I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Cox have gotten enough of a look yet!”
Daddy didn’t love it when I started lying out in the front yard to sunbathe. We had a little boy named Donny who lived in the shotgun house across the street and, once I started doing that, he started hanging out around our house more often. I remember one time he was over there talking Daddy’s ear off, when he suddenly jumped up and ran outside. Daddy just kind of shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, I guess ol’ Donny had to go home.” In a minute, he sauntered back into the house as if nothing had happened. Daddy said, “What are you doing?” Donny just grinned. He said, “I had to fart, so I ran outside.” I laughed so hard at that. I guess he was learning that he liked to look at pretty girls, but he hadn’t yet mastered the art of how to talk around them!
It’s no surprise that Daddy kept a pretty close check on what I wore. If Mother and I were working on something, he’d want to see how short it was or how low cut it was before it was finished. He could be pretty strict and wanted to make sure that my outfits weren’t too revealing. Many times Mother would be fitting me for a dress, and Daddy would come in and ask how it was going.
“Oh, we’re coming along real good,” Mother would say.
He’d try to act real casual about it and would say something like, “Good … That neckline there. Let’s bring that up some.”
I’d get so mad. “Daddy! Stop it!” I’d say. We’d get into a little spat about that and he would get more firm.
“Take it up!” he repeated.
Mother would be the peacemaker in these situations. She’d say, “Okay, Tom. That’s okay. We’ll take it up about an inch.” When he’d leave the room, she’d say, “All right, Wanda, now where do you want it?”
“I want it back down where we had it,” I’d say. She would just kind of smile.
“We’ll keep it how you want it.”
Daddy and I were very close, but Mother and I had a special bond with each other when it came to fashion.
It came in handy when I played Reno Sweeny in the high school play. She was a very flamboyant character, so the director, Ms. Munday, took me downtown to find some clothes. We went to all these stores, and I tried on and tried on and tried on. Nothing seemed to be exactly right. We got one real pretty blue suit, but Ms. Munday couldn’t find anything that she thought was just perfect for the role. Finally, I said, “Well, I’ve got some clothes at home we could try.” She came over to the house and loved what she saw. We wound up using my own clothes for the character, because the stores just didn’t sell anything as flashy as what Mother and I were making!
Maybe the reason I got crazy about looking good was because I was crazy about boys. And the only other thing I was crazier about than boys (and looking good) was my music. As these interests converged, my visual image on stage took on a different tone. My experience at the Opry didn’t prompt me to change my ways. In fact, after that, I doubled down. It occurred to me that if I could wear glamorous dresses and high heels to a formal dance, I could wear them onstage, too. I didn’t need those heavy boots and a cowboy hat with Western pantsuits covered in fringe weighing me down. I’d put on all that garb and feel like
I was about to fall over backward! Mother and I started putting together my new style with long earrings and spaghetti straps. My look was increasingly influenced by Marilyn Monroe. I didn’t want to look like a cowgirl anymore. I wanted to be glamorous and sexy. I loved to give a little shock to an audience. Whether they liked it or not, I just wanted to get their attention.
I was the first female artist in country music to wear sexy clothes and adopt a glamorous image. Before that, the girls would wear those old dull and dowdy farm girl dresses that were just as boring as could be. My friend Colin Escott likes to say that I broke the “gingham barrier.” Of course, I didn’t know I was blazing a trail at the time. I was just trying to be me. I haven’t gotten much credit for it, but I hope that I made it a little easier for gals like Dolly Parton, Tanya Tucker, Lorrie Morgan, Faith Hill, and Shania Twain to embrace their femininity and recognize that it’s okay to be sexy and be a good country girl at the same time.
Chapter 8
I WISH I WAS YOUR FRIEND
Daddy and I pulled into the KTOC radio station parking lot in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, on a hot July afternoon in 1955. When a traveling artist was scheduled to play a show in those days, they’d make sure to arrive in town a few hours early to appear on the local airwaves. Radio stations weren’t bound by a particular format then, so you had to time your arrival to coincide with when the country programming was on the air. The idea was to have the DJ play your record, ask you a few questions, and give you a chance to invite the listeners to that night’s show.
There was another reason why those radio appearances were so important. It’s no secret that many of the legends of country music used to like to have a good time. And often that good time was accompanied by a few drinks. As a result, some of them—Hank Williams was one of the first—earned a reputation for being, shall we say, less than one hundred percent dependable when it came to showing up for a scheduled performance. Heck, George Jones even came to be known as “No Show Jones” back in his younger and wilder days. So going on the radio not only gave us artists a chance to promote our live shows, it also gave advance ticketholders the assurance that we had, indeed, arrived in town and would be appearing that night as advertised.
My show in Cape Girardeau was to be a package show, meaning several artists were on the bill. One of them was a young singer who was rapidly gaining a strong regional following throughout the South. I had been told that he would also be joining me for the interview. As you know from my response to dueting with Billy Gray, I’ve always kind of enjoyed having the spotlight to myself. But this guy was headlining the show, so even though I’d never heard of him or his records, I decided not to let it bother me.
Daddy and I arrived at KTOC first. We headed inside and were greeted by a friendly young woman at the front desk. Just as I was introducing myself, the door opened behind me. I turned around to a bright blast of summer sunshine streaming around a silhouette in the doorway. The door closed behind him, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, the first thing I noticed was that this guy was pretty cute. He flashed a shy smile. “Hi there,” he kind of half mumbled, “I’m Elvis Presley.” He moved toward me with his hand extended. I wish I could say the heavens opened and I heard angels singing, but it wasn’t anything quite that dramatic. Still, I have to admit; it did seem as if a presence had entered the room.
Of course, I recognized right away that Elvis was handsome, but I was actually a little taken aback by his outfit. He was wearing black slacks and a black shirt with a yellow sport coat. I’d never seen a yellow sport coat in my life! In 1955 that just wasn’t the kind of clothing a typical man would wear. But I guess he wasn’t a typical man. He also had curly hair that day, which I later found out was because he’d gotten a perm. I thought that was pretty funny, but there was no question that this guy was magnetic.
I took his hand. “I’m Wanda Jackson,” I smiled back. “I’ll be playing on the show tonight.” Our eyes met for a few
seconds. Elvis suddenly broke his gaze and glanced at the floor.
He seemed almost fidgety as he replied, “Oh, yes ma’am. I’ve heard your records and I know we’ll have a good time tonight. You’ve got a very nice voice and I look forward to working with you.”
My smile widened. Suddenly Daddy was standing right next to me.
“I’m Tom,” he announced as he held out his hand toward Elvis. “I’m Wanda’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” Elvis replied. “It’s a real pleasure. You’ve sure got a talented daughter here.” Suddenly, Daddy was smiling, too.
Over the years I’ve been asked about Elvis Presley more than any other topic you could imagine. If I’m honest I have to confess there have been moments in my career when I’ve gotten a little tired of the Elvis questions from well-meaning interviewers. I certainly understand why people are fascinated by the King of Rock and Roll, and I know why they want to hear about him. It’s not an understatement to say that Elvis changed the world. But there have been times I’ve wanted to scream, “There’s a lot more to Wanda Jackson than my experiences with Elvis Presley!”
With time, however, I’ve come to embrace my history with Elvis. Not only did he change the world, but he changed my world. It was Elvis who believed that I could sing rock and roll before I believed it myself. It was Elvis who took the time to help me understand the new musical revolution that was exploding all around us. And it was Elvis who, for a short time in the mid-1950s, won my heart as I was just beginning to understand what it really meant to fully embrace my femininity and express myself as a young woman. Today I very much enjoy talking about Elvis and reflecting on the warm memories that had such an influence on my life and career.
Every Night Is Saturday Night Page 8
