Loretta Lynn_ Coal Miner's Daughter - Loretta Lynn [56]
But Owen said he wanted that song for Brenda Lee, who was just a kid at the time. And Doyle said, “Owen, I’m not pitching you a song, I’m pitching you an artist.” So Owen agreed to give me a six-month contract if Doyle would let Brenda record the song. It got to be a big hit for her, and things worked out for me, too.
Decca started to call me “The Decca Doll from Kentucky.” I remember my first recording session for them. I was gonna record “The Girl That I Am Now” and “I Walked Away from the Wreck.” I was so scared, I just stood in the background and was even afraid to speak to the musicians. I’d see those fabulous side musicians like Grady Martin and Floyd Cramer, guys the public doesn’t know but who are really superstars for making a singer sound good. I’d get so choked up I couldn’t sing.
But Owen would put up a screen, so I couldn’t see nobody; I’d just sing to myself. He said he did the same thing for Brenda Lee and it helped.
I always felt like Owen was a father to me. He could see I was just a scared little country girl, and he made me relax. I remember one time, after we signed, we didn’t have any money. I started crying in his office, and he gave me a thousand dollars out of his pocket, not from the company, to pay my rent and the back bills. The next year we were making some money, and we paid Owen back. But I ain’t never forgotten that man helping me like he did.
Owen gave me good advice lots of times. Doyle and Teddy were trying to polish me up, make me a “performer,” while Owen felt I should stay more natural. They were both right, in their own ways, but it was nice to have somebody say, “Just pronounce the words the way you want, Loretta.” That’s what Owen told me. He never made me feel like I was a dumb hillbilly just because I said “ain’t” or “holler.” Owen said people would always understand me, so long as I was myself.
Once we had the contracts with the Wilburns and Decca, we knew we could make it in Nashville. I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t think I was going to make it. You’ve got to go all the way. Doolittle had already closed up our house in Washington State, and we moved the four kids to Indiana, where both of our mothers were living.
It was tough leaving Washington. Blanche Smith was upset because she said my four kids kept her young. She said, “I’m not going to live if you take away my babies.” She was an old lady at the time and, sure enough, she died about six months after we moved. I still miss Bob and Clyde Green. Every holiday, I start crying just thinking about those eleven years when Blanche and those two boys were as close as family. I see the Greens once in a while, and we talk over the old days.
Another bad thing was saying good-bye to my musicians. My brother Jay Lee was going to move to Nashville with us, but I couldn’t bring those other boys down. There was no way I could pay ’em a salary. I think it just about broke the heart of my steel man, Smiley, because I don’t believe he ever played in a band again.
It was the fall of 1961 when we settled in Nashville. Me and Doolittle were staying with a woman named Faye Walton, who lives around Indianapolis now. I once got a letter from her, bawling me out for not giving her enough credit. Well, it was true, she used to help us out a lot. So if you’ve bought a copy of this book, Faye, thanks a lot.
Doolittle went to work in a shop, but he was only taking cars he could fix in his spare time. He was starting to travel with me and was taking an interest in the business. Before the year was out, I was named “Most Promising Female Singer,” and Decca was talking about lengthening my contract.
It looked like we were gonna have it easy in Nashville. But then I learned not everybody was on my side.
My life has run from misery to happiness—and sometimes back to misery.