I worked at the box office for the Grand Ole Opry for my first job in Nashville after moving there alone at age 19. That summer, George Jones and Tammy Wynette were playing an early evening concert on alternating nights in an amphitheater at Opryland themepark. That was where I first met George.
George’s 1980 hit “He Stopped Loving Her Today” had been my grandma’s favorite song throughout my childhood. We would play the entire “I Am What I Am” 33-speed album in our lonely house in the woods in North Carolina and my beloved Virgie T. Davis would sing that particular song at pot-rattling volume. Her vibrato on the word “her” was at a speed that would challenge even Josh Groban.
I hadn’t anticipated that meeting the man behind the well-worn LP would bring back my emotions for my grandma’s passing when I was 12.
Every day I could, I would stand in the back of the theater wearing an Opryland uniform and listen to George sing his lifetime’s catalog of hits. As I stood in various places around the amphitheater, it dawned on me that none of the staff or security was very concerned about my “supposed-to-be-there” status.
So one day, I had planted myself backstage when George arrived in a golf cart at about 7:20 for a 7:30 show. Maybe they kept him someplace cooler. Do you think I said, “Hey George” or “Can I have your autograph”? Well, no, I stood there and cried like a baby as I watched him sit down in a folding chair and wait for his cue. I hadn’t expected that reaction.
I stood in the stage-left wing and watched his entire set.
Then, a couple of years later, I was working as a waiter in the revolving restaurant at the top of Nashville’s Crowne Plaza Hotel when my path crossed George’s again. On this night, we were closed for a private party for Don King, who was in town promoting a boxing event at the newly opened Downtown Arena.
Don King was holding court at the party, and certainly at the height of his fame. When, in walked George and his wife, Nancy. They were guests of Mr. King, who I would learn was a big fan of George’s music.
After a couple of hours, the upper echelon of the guests were seated in the lounge area and Mr. King asked George if he could sing a song. George responded modestly that he didn’t bring his guitar, which might have thinly veiled an “I ain’t getting paid” response.
Naively, I interjected, “I have mine.” He should have known that a waiter in Nashville wouldn’t be more than a pick-throw away from having his guitar. I made a habit of bringing mine on nights with private parties because we finished earlier and another waiter and I would stay in the restaurant and play music — he played the grand piano beautifully there.
As I tried to hand George Jones my guitar, he said, “Can you play ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ in G”? He didn’t even ask if I was any good. Although, you don’t really have to be to play “He Stopped Loving Her Today in G”.
I sang the brief female “oohs” section in falsetto just like I had for my Grandma when it was still in the middle of my range.
That night, George took a photo with me and signed the guitar — not on the front or back — but on the top side of the neck so I could see it when I played it. My dad had given me that guitar when I was a teenager playing at the VFW and The Factory.
This week marks five years since George’s passing. I met him one last time driving him home in a limousine years later. And it keeps running through my mind.
This article first appeared in Kaine’s weekly column in The Henderson Dispatch.