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I am taking a light hearted break from the intensity of the campaign blogging trail to tell you this Halloween story. It is rather lengthy, so you may want to take a break mid way through. I'll be back soon promoting McCain/Palin and warning of the dangers of electing Obama/Biden.
In October of 1997, I accompanied my husband to Nashville, Tennessee where he was attending a conference at the beautiful Vanderbilt Plaza. There is no place more beautiful and festive than the campuses of Vanderbilt and Belmont in the fall. Having lived there, I wanted to visit some of our favorite sites including the Pancake Pantry in Hillsborough Village. They have the most delicious, mouth watering pancake breakfasts you'll find this side of heaven.
It was Halloween weekend and on very short notice, someone told me that Porter Wagoner was performing at the Opry on Saturday night. I had met Porter years before and had shared my song writing efforts with him. He had been encouraging and told me to feel free to send him any future songs I would write--which I never did. So what was I supposed to do? Of course, I had to go!
Well, Stan was too tired to go after a day full of meetings. So, off I go on my own to Opry Land USA. I hopped the Opry Land shuttle from the hotel and then took the most frightening ride of my adult life! Grace, the crazy shuttle driver, was either drunk or high on something. She must have been making at least 80, 85 mph and every one was stone still. We were scared out of our wits, except for some ninnies in the back who complained they might miss the show when I asked Grace to please slow down. She was passing everything in sight and that tin can of a shuttle was shaking and weaving like crazy and nearly tilted over once! She explained, "I'll get us there in time for the 9:00 PM show"! A Canadian couple behind me thanked me and was very glad I'd spoken up. And I heard someone timidly mutter, "Better late than never" Surprisingly, we arrived alive---and on time.
No song writer goes to Nashville without songs. So, I had taken with me a tape of my newest ones that I would give to Porter Wagoner and that's all I had planned to do. I had no desire to stay through any of the show. We'd been there, done that while living in Nashville and once was enough. When explaining all of this to the sour ticket seller at the door with a bone through her head (going through one ear and coming out the other-a really cute Halloween thingy) I was summarily, thoroughly and rudely dismissed. She turned her head, tuned me out and wouldn't even consider allowing me to take the tape to Porter or having someone do it for me. I realized she was just doing her job and I would have exercised more self control had she not been so unnecessarily rude.
So, as soon as her back was turned, I seized upon the opportunity to walk on in. Nothing wrong in that since I was not there for the show, I thought. I moreless floated in because I was in a state of shock at how easy it was. I went into the main auditorium where the show was in full bore, turned right, and casually stood against the wall to plan my next move. An usher came and kindly informed me there were some vacant seats up front, on the other side. His very friendly manner should have signaled something a bit odd here. But I followed him to a seat and sat down. The side stage entrance was just a few yard away. So, I immediately got up and walked over to the guard at the curtain and asked for permission to get back stage, escorted, to give the tape to Porter. No way, Jose! You would have thought Porter Wagoner was the Hope Diamond on legs! The guard then asked where I was sitting and I naively told him the 3rd row end seat thinking he'd possibly have someone come and take the tape to Porter. Though the tape contained all the necessary informtion, I returned to the seat and wrote a short note to Porter reminding him of that offer he once made to listen to my songs years earlier. I would, at least, try getting the note and tape back stage some way, then take the next shuttle back to the hotel. A shuttle, hopefully driven by someone other than crazy Grace, the speed demon.
No sooner had I written my note when I looked up to see a skinny, uniformed individual staring down at me with piercing little beady eyes, demanding to see my ticket stub, knowing full well I didn't have one. Ordering me to stand up, he gripped my arm and proceeded to escort me down the corridor and out
I tried to explain myself and my actual innocence but he was having none of it. I'd failed to get the tape and note to Porter. But that that was the least of my worries at that point. That little Barney Fife fellow forcefully escorted me down the length of the building and treated me like a hardened criminal there in front of everyone while TV cameras were rolling! OK, I'd snuck in without paying, but I knew I wasn't staying for the show. I felt nothing wrong in it. However, I did repent, because technically, it was wrong and I soon felt the sting of retribution. I was horribly embarrassed and humiliated as that little over bearing, peanut of a guard enjoyed his shining law enforcement moment in capturing the dangerous criminal in the crowd! But now I see I deserved every bit of it! Oh, the lessons we learn in life.
Well, as Karma would have it, I'd just missed a shuttle and there was not another one until 11:00.The bone headed ticket seller was still there. But now she had a smug smirk of delight on her face as I was forced to purchase a $19 ticket necessary to legally sit through the rest of the show rather than just hang out with nothing to do. So, I went back in and just came to terms with the reality that no one was going to assist me in getting my tape to Porter and that was that.
After the show, we gathered to board crazy Grace's shuttle- Karma again!. However, her buzz had apparently worn off because she seemed subdued and drove safely enough on the way back to the hotel. I should have called my husband sometime in the interim. But I thought I'd be back by 10:30 or so instead of nearly 12:00!
But I had been distracted and through a lot, indeed. We were just grateful I wasn't killed on that wild shuttle ride to the Opry or landed in the slammer by the Barney Fife character. But it was one heck of an unforgettable Halloween week-end!!
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