I’ve Lived to Tell It All
George Jones is lily-livered. Not only that, he gives crappy interviews. Jones has been working the publicity circuit lately, peddling his recently released autobiography I’ve Lived to Tell It All. TV chitchats may help George spread the word, but they leave you wondering if he has anything to say.
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I’ve Lived to Tell It All, cowritten by Tom Carter, tries its best to live up to the title. It tells of Jones turning to alcohol and cocaine when he should have been making music, but it doesn’t tell us why. It does let us know that George is a simple guy–if he had his druthers, he’d pick guitar and sing hymns on his front porch instead of getting up onstage to play his hits. But the book can’t fill in the gaps Jones chooses to leave blank. There seems to be a connection between the escapism of his epic binges and his unwillingness to perform and succeed. Why does a guy often cited as the greatest country singer who ever lived still get butterflies?
When he was drunk, Jones could fly into a jealous rage. Few learned this so savagely as Porter Wagoner one night backstage at Ryman Auditorium, home of the Grand Ole Opry. On this particular evening, Jones mixed diet pills with the sauce and got the idea that Porter and Tammy had something going on the side, so he followed Wagoner into the men’s room. Wagoner stood at a urinal, and Jones took action. “I walked up behind him and shouted, ‘I want to see what Tammy’s so proud of!’ Then I reached around and grabbed his dick. I twisted hard.” Jones says this was the only story Wagoner related when asked for anecdotes about their interactions over the years. “Imagine having a friend for four decades whose only pointed recollection for publication is that you twisted his dick.”
