Like Me (13 page)

I
started going overseas to entertain the troops in the mid-1990s. My first international trip was not military in nature, though. It was a huge outdoor country music festival in Japan. I was a backup singer in Porter Wagoner’s band, and every show he’d invite me up to center stage to sing a few songs on my own and to perform a duet with him. Porter, his band, and I traveled to Kumamoto, Japan, and I was instantly enamored of the experience of international travel.

The show was at the base of Mount Fuji, and there were about forty thousand people in attendance. It was the day of my twenty-first birthday, and at one point the host of the show, Charlie Nagatani, led the enormous crowd of Japanese country music fans in singing “Happy Birthday” to me.

The promoter of that show was a woman by the name of Judy
Seale. I found her to be very good at her job, and even though I was just a lowly background singer for Porter, she treated me with a great deal of respect and friendliness. She had multiple acts on the show and still had the graciousness to be so nice to me. The Forester Sisters, the Texas Tornados, Porter Wagoner, and all of us were in for a treat, because this Japanese crowd was more excited than any crowd I’d ever witnessed. I couldn’t believe how the locals knew every word to every song sung on the show, even though they really didn’t understand the meaning of the words.

Judy had tried to tell me that this would be the case, and she was right; the crowd was insanely into country music. On that first trip to Japan, I soaked up the foreign culture with great appreciation and wonder. In the years that followed, Judy would become one of my dearest friends and we’d travel the world together.

Over the next couple of years, I not only toured all over the United States, but I saw Switzerland, Norway, Canada, the Netherlands, Germany, Brazil, and England. I couldn’t get enough. I was fascinated with my reality. I still could not believe that I could be so far away from my small Kansas town, doing exactly what I’d dreamed of doing since I was a little girl. The thing was, when I imagined my life as a country music star, I envisioned traveling across the United States. I don’t think that I ever visualized world travel. I felt as though I was in a movie that didn’t have to have an end.

There is something so thrilling about flying halfway around the world and singing to people who actually know your songs and sing them back to you. Yes, I enjoyed the shows, but my favorite part of international travel was experiencing the way other people lived. Seeing what they saw, eating their cuisine, although many times I wasn’t sure what I was looking at and I was tentative about what I was putting in my mouth—it was always an adventure.

Once I landed at my destination, there would be a van ride, bus ride, or car ride to the town where the show was to be. These rides would profoundly affect me—I was slowly coming to understand that the rest of the world did not live like we do in the United States. I’d always heard that—that we were privileged to be Americans. Yes, it was true that I grew up with very little by American standards, but I was seeing people and places on other continents that didn’t have it nearly as good as I’d had it.

Everything I saw was different—the architecture, the terrain, the cars, the trees, the grass—sometimes the only things I recognized were the sky, the moon, and the sun. It made me feel so alive. I knew it had been out there, a different and bigger world. And during those moments in cars and on buses, I thanked God for giving me my ticket to see the world. Music, sweet music.

A
bout a year into my touring, my agent mentioned to me that a promoter had contacted him about some international concerts. When he said that the promoter’s name was Judy Seale, I smiled and told him that Judy was an old friend whom I’d met years before on a show in Japan. The tour dates worked out, and during that trip Judy and I realized that we shared a respect for people who serve in the military. She asked me if I wanted to go overseas and do shows just for the troops sometime, to say thank you.

My first trip overseas to perform for the military was to South Korea. It was a ten-day trip. I had had a marginal knowledge about the ways of the military, as most Americans do, but I got a crash course on protocol and procedure in those first ten days. I remember thinking that I was well suited for it, this military life. My folks had run our household much like a little boot camp anyway, so this first trip to Korea wasn’t a shock.

We didn’t even allow ourselves time to recognize the jet lag.
Judy talked us through some of her tricks to avoid fatigue before we got on that long flight. She had suggestions about how much water to drink on the flight, what to eat and not eat, when to sleep on the plane and when to force yourself to stay awake. She is the most traveled human being I know, and if anyone has tricks, it’s Judy.

We were welcomed at Incheon Airport in Seoul by no fewer than a dozen military escorts. They were professional, friendly, informed, and impressive in their skill at getting us safely and happily from Point A to Point B. When touring for the troops, we often slept on the bases, and the base quarters were just fine with us. I thought it was really cute how our sharply dressed and well-mannered escorts continued to apologize that the accommodations they’d arranged might not be up to our standards because we must be so used to fancy hotels and such. I tried to explain to them that we spent most of our time crammed into a tour bus and that we were used to existing with very little glamour at all.

We all slept just a couple of hours, then headed off for the day. Judy told us to take everything we would need, since we wouldn’t be returning for almost twenty-four hours. The plan was to go to several different locations during the day and end up at the venue for the show that night. I must’ve signed autographs in five different places that day. We visited the men way out in the field who were doing training missions and wouldn’t be able to attend the show.

T
he shows for the troops are always high-energy events, both from the stage and from the audience. Much of the crowd knows me or knows my music, but there are always folks who have never heard of my songs who come out to the show anyway. They are just so happy that anyone would travel all that way to sing for them. After the show, as on any and all Judy Seale military
dates, the artist signs autographs and meets people until the last person is gone. Although this policy can be painful and almost impossible at times, it is the reason why I love to play for the troops—having the opportunity to talk to them. And just as important as that, it’s why I love to do military shows with Judy. She will not settle for the troops’ getting less than everything the artist has to offer. I’ve known her to scold some of the biggest stars in music today if they whine about not wanting to endure the autograph sessions. “Yes, I know it’s hard,” she’ll say. “You think their jobs aren’t hard? Now get your Sharpie and go sign.”

That first day of the South Korea tour proved to be as long and busy as Judy had warned us it would be, lasting about twenty hours. When we finally made it back to the barracks, we slept another couple of hours, then got up and did it all over again, for seven more days.

We flew in helicopters to some of the most faraway camps to see the troops who seldom got a visit. On many of those days, there weren’t adequate situations to set up a stage to have a show, so we’d take a couple of guitars and wing it. My drummer, Preston, played many a show without a drum. He’d bring his drumsticks and he’d figure out once we got to where we were going what exactly would be his makeshift drum for that show—a cardboard box, a five-gallon bucket, a table, or a board. He was always a trouper.

O
ne of my favorite shows for the military took place in the DMZ, that narrow strip of land that separates North Korea and South Korea. It is a highly policed zone that is heavily guarded by both sides. The tension up there on that ever-so-volatile little piece of the earth was noticeable to us. Once we got on post, we could tell that the guys who were stationed there were really ready to have a good time. They needed a break. We played in the corner of the dining facility in the middle of the
day with no equipment and no stage. There was a young soldier who knew my songs and had brought his harmonica to the show in hopes that we might allow him to get up and play with us. I invited him up. The band and I anticipated that he’d stumble through the song and that the crowd would give him an obligatory round of applause for having the courage to sit in with us. Much to our surprise, he could play, and he lifted up the entire performance. Over the years he has popped up in the crowd when we’ve played at different military installations around the world—always with the harp in his pocket, and he always joins us onstage.

I
never dated a man for show. Some people in entertainment do that—date someone to throw people off track so others won’t know they’re gay. It’s been going on for years in Hollywood. I have dated men but never for the purpose of fooling anyone.

In the fall of 1998, Julia and I were trying to figure out a way to exist. We were deeply in love, but the reality of our being together was scary and seemed impossible. She was married to Phillip, and they had carved out a life that was routine but separate. We tried on many occasions to quit one another—we’d usually try to go “cold turkey.” It was torture knowing that our objective was simply to get through the day without communicating. We’d decided that it would be difficult at first, but we thought that as the days, weeks, and months passed, we surely wouldn’t miss one another quite so badly. I thought that it would get easier—but it didn’t for me.

I didn’t know how she was handling it, because we weren’t in contact, so I assumed that she was fine with this new situation and was moving on with her life. My heart was shattered, but I did my best to keep my chin up and think of ways to move on with mine as well.

I’d known Vince Gill for a couple of years and had been
thrilled to have him sing on my first MCA album. Tony Brown was my producer at the time, and since he and Vince were best friends, Tony called him to sing on my project. When the time came around to record my next album, I called Vince and asked him if he’d share his talents yet again.

Vince and I were both MCA artists, so there had been times when we’d be corralled at the same event and we’d end up having easy conversation between us.

Both of us were working at the Sound Stage Studio on Music Row in the fall of 1998. We were just down the hall from each other and ended up in the lounge talking and I found him to be charming and quite likable, as does the rest of the world. Vince has been one of Nashville’s most beloved stars for decades, and anyone who ever gets the chance to be around him just falls in love with him.

He’d recently been through a very public divorce and was currently being run through the rumor mill about his relationship with Amy Grant, another revered artist in Nashville’s music community. Vince and Amy had been close friends for years, and it was highly speculated that they were in love. I remember thinking if Vince and Amy were in love, it made sense to me.

Vince and I began spending private time together soon after our studio chats. We had a lot in common, and in the years after our relationship I realized that we shared one bonding similarity: we were both lonely for, and in love with, someone else. At that time neither one of us was able to be with our one true love, so we allowed ourselves to find comfort in each other.

Early in my relationship with Vince, I understood that his heart would never belong to me. To some degree, that was a relief because it assured me that I wouldn’t end up hurting him. Amy knew that Vince and I were spending a lot of our time together, but when I’d see her, she was always kind to me anyway.

I cared for Vince and while we were seeing each other, I imagined what my life would be like if we continued our relationship.
Vince isn’t into the party scene. He lives well below his means and doesn’t require a group of people around him at all times to baby him. I liked these things about him, and I assume he liked the same qualities in me. We looked pretty good on paper.

With Vince Gill, having fun at a charity sporting event in 2005
.

We toured together too, and I found him to be the exact same guy on the road as he was in Nashville. I adored him, and we shared a special relationship during critical times in each of our lives. I am still friendly with Vince, and Amy too. They are two of the finest people I’ve ever known.

T
he day we recorded a song called “Single White Female,” we all knew that we’d done something special. My producers—Tony, Buddy Cannon, and Norro Wilson—were telling me, with great confidence, that we had just cut a hit. If anybody knew hits, it was these three guys, as they had been responsible for producing many successful records in country music that spanned the decades.