Tammy Wynette

“She is gone, Wallis, she is gone,” Richey told Marsh, who insisted he check her vital signs again. Richey came back with a confirmation. He claims Marsh instructed him not to bother calling 911, as it appeared Tammy was already past that ¹⁰¹ “We thought that 911 was for the living, not the dead,” George’s spokesperson, Sylvia Richardson, later told the press. A plane was chartered to bring Dr. Marsh to Nashville. He’d sign Tammy’s death certificate, then release the body to Woodlawn Mortuary, where she was promptly embalmed, destroying any possibility of knowing exactly what drugs were in her bloodstream at the time of her death.

Contrary to Richey’s version, the police report states Wynette was discovered by both Richey and housekeeper Cleta Hillygust.¹⁰² The day after Wynette’s death, Barbara Hutchison asked Hillygus where she had been when Tammy passed away. Cleta quickly cut her off, informing her straight-away that she hadn’t been present. “Boy, she just wanted to get off the subject right off the bat. Didn’t want to talk about it.” Groundskeeper Mark Crawford, who’d accompanied Cleta to the store, seemed equally agitated. “He was scared to death,” said Charley Abdon. “Mark was very, very uncomfortable with the whole deal.”

Sometime after seven p.m. Tammy’s daughter Gwen was called, and she notified Tina and Jackie. Nobody had been able to reach Georgette, who was working as a nurse. “I know Georgette didn’t know anything about her death,” said Loretta Lynn. “She went to work, and a nurse said to Georgette, ‘I sure am sorry about your mama.’” Georgette learned the details of her mother’s death from the TV. When Gwen and Tina arrived at their mother’s house, Richey’s friends and relatives were already trickling in. “It seemed everyone knew before her own children,” Gwen said later.

At 8:55 p.m. Ralph Gordon, a lawyer who’d done work for Richey and Tammy but who said he was acting in the capacity of friend that night, finally called 911. By now the house was filling up with Richey’s cronies. “Obviously a lot of people were notified of her death before the police department received the official word,” their media representative noted later.

A little past nine thirty, Jackie arrived to find her mother lying on the couch in a fetal position. Tina, who was then four months pregnant, was rubbing her dead mother’s foot. Friends of Richey’s wandered “in and out, drinking coffee and smoking.” Daly was deeply upset by their seemingly cavalier attitude, as were others arriving to pay their respects.

As guests mingled, no one appeared overly concerned that one of the greatest singers the world has ever known was dead on the couch, lying there, as Jackie put it, like “some kind of centerpiece for a ghoulish gathering.” Tammy would remain there until two thirty a.m., when her body was finally taken to Woodlawn Mortuary. “All I could think was Mom would never want these people standing round staring at her in that shape,” she said.

Meanwhile, all of Wynette’s prescriptions, drug paraphernalia, and any medical records concerning her drug treatment were hustled out of the home to be destroyed. “Every drop of pain medication was removed without my knowledge,” Richey would later state on national television, blankly declaring he had no clue who had done this or who instructed it to be done. I’ve spoken to the person who claims he was told to do away with the material. Unbeknownst to Richey, he informed me that he’s kept it all these years. “I didn’t destroy it,” he told me. “I’ve still got the syringes and the records of every shot given her.” Maybe one day he’ll reveal to the public whatever information he has concerning the amount of medication Tammy had in her the day she died.

Two Nashville police officers arrived. Richey was off in another room, hysterical. “I could hear him screaming from the den,” noted Detective Fuqua, who failed to interview him. Jackie says Richey kept wailing that there should be no autopsy.¹⁰³ Tina Jones told the detective her mother had been “sick for a long time from a degenerative disease,” naming Wallis Marsh as her physician. “I saw no signs of foul play,” noted Fuqua.

Officer Sam Roberts spoke to Dr. Marsh via telephone sometime before he left Pittsburgh. In his report Roberts stated that Marsh informed him that Wynette was only on four antibiotics and a blood thinner. No mention was made of her painkillers or her addiction to them, either that night or the next day when Marsh spoke to medical examiner Bruce Levy. Marsh also told Roberts that the reason for Tammy’s death was a pulmonary embolism, meaning a blood clot. Contributing factors were “indwelling vena cava catheter” (the catheter in Wynette’s back) and “small bowel dismotility” (blockage of the small intestine).

Noted pathologist Cyril Wecht, who was asked to look into the case in early 1999, found Marsh’s actions rather curious. “I had never heard of a doctor getting on a plane and flying somewhere to declare a person dead. Second, I had a problem with Dr. Marsh opining that Wynette died of a pulmonary embolism without having performed an autopsy.” As he would further reiterate in a television interview, “There is no way that anybody can look at a body and make a diagnosis of a pulmonary embolism. It is not possible.”

At the time, Bruce Levy did not challenge Wallis Marsh’s visual diagnosis, and Tammy Wynette’s death was ruled one of natural causes. According to her book, the next day Jackie spoke to Marsh (who’d spent the night at Wynette’s home), and he reaffirmed his diagnosis. He told her Tammy’s vital signs were good before she passed and didn’t indicate there had been any health issues in the days before she died. He’d change his assessment later.

Back at Tammy’s estate, plans were being made for her memorial. Some guests found the mood in the house disconcerting. “It just didn’t seem like it was what I was accustomed to,” said Nancy Jones. Barbara Hutchison described the scene as “joyous. They were havin’ parties, they were all sippin’ wine. I thought, ‘Boy, these people are almost giddy.’ They were all sittin’ there laughin’ and smoking and cutting up.” Karyn Sloas sat on the couch, so stunned she called Yvonne Abdon over for a reality check. “I said, ‘They’re jokin’. They’re tellin’ jokes.’ One minute Richey was cryin’ and the next minute he was laughing, talking to whoever the celebrity was that was calling on the phone. Like he was planning a big show—the funeral. ‘You get me as much coverage of this as we can, I want it on CNN.’ It was just really weird, really macabre.”

According to one witness, things became even more distressing during the open viewing of Wynette’s body for the family and band members. “Tammy had her full jewelry on, a beautiful diamond necklace. We were all crying and goin’ up one at a time to say good-bye” when one of the Richardsons “came in, took the jewelry, and left—with Tammy’s daughters standin’ right there.”

Wynette’s daughters were on their own. “When my mom passed away, Richey did not really offer any support to any of us,” said Georgette. But one individual did rise to the occasion—George Jones. “My dad is the one who went with my sisters and me to the funeral home to talk about the arrangements and to do everything. Nancy sat outside, Daddy went inside the little room with us and talked about everything that we wanted and needed. He wasn’t there to voice an opinion, but for comfort and support.” (Richey wasn’t present. “He was too distraught,” said Evelyn Shriver.)

Jones attended both the private and public memorials. “My daddy absolutely hates to go to funerals,” said Georgette. “He wanted to show his respect for Mom, and that meant the absolute world to me.” It was the first time Jackie Daly had ever seen Jones cry.

After the service for Wynette at the Ryman, Martha Dettwiller was up on the stage, talking to Tammy’s band members, when Jones walked up. “He’d been as strong as he could be for the girls. Helped them, done everything the right way. I was real proud of Jones. He looked at me and he said, ‘Martha, our girl’s gone.’ He had this look in his face, just kind of lost it.” Nancy had the bus ready, and she and George climbed aboard and got out of town. “Nancy said they just rode and rode and rode,” said Dettwiller. “Him just sittin’ there.”

On April 9 came the services. First was an hour-and-a-half private memorial at Judson Baptist Church, with a who’s who of country music in attendance: Loretta Lynn, Vince Gill, Martina McBride, Randy Travis, and the Judds among them. Jake Hess sang Wynette’s favorite, “Death Ain’t No Big Deal.” Dolly Parton was so overcome she had to quit singing “Shine On” two verses in.

Later that day fifteen hundred people attended the public service at the Ryman. Fans came from all over the country, lining up in the bitter cold weather to pay their respects. Covered live by CNN, it was the first funeral broadcast by the BBC since the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. “It was treated like a death of a head of state,” said country music historian Robert K. Oermann. “It was very, very moving. Every star in the firmament was there. It was like a queen had died.” J. D. Sumner and the Stamps did “Peace in the Valley” and “Angel Band.” Randy Travis sang an a cappella “Precious Memories”; Wynonna, “How Great Thou Art.” The Oak Ridge Boys, Rudy Gatlin, and Norro Wilson all sang or spoke.

But it was Merle Haggard who cut right to the bone. Unable to attend, he had had Tammy’s old engineer Lou Bradley videotape him doing an acoustic number from home. Haggard delivered “If I Could Only Fly,” a devastating choice of material, in his unadorned, direct style. “I feel so good and then I feel so bad / I wonder what I ought to do.” What a bull’s-eye to the heart. “Tammy liked that song,” said Merle.

Backed by Tammy’s band, Lorrie Morgan sang “Amazing Grace” and then, finally, “Stand by Your Man.” “You won’t hear any steel,” said Rusty Pence. “I played not one lick—I was there, I was sitting onstage, but I couldn’t make any sounds come out. I just couldn’t do it.” The Wynettetones would never play together again.

Before Morgan appeared, an unexpected eulogist hobbled to the microphone. Hunched over, weeping, speaking feebly, George Richey rambled on, thanking Billy Sherrill and several others before muttering a bit about the circumstances of Tammy’s death. (“We were alone in the house on the couch when she died.”)

“There’s a way that Southern people, especially Deep South people, handle grief. You don’t go about shoutin’ and cryin’ and wailin’ and makin’ a to-do about it, you quietly mourn. Through the whole process, anytime anybody saw Richey—‘Waaaahhhhhhh,’ just this display that was so inappropriate and uncalled for. No decorum. White trash!”

Charley Abdon agreed. “The way he was actin‘, it was so full of crap—him goin’ on and on and cryin’ and wailin’ like he was Arabic. He knew it was about over, so it was time to make his big entrance and stumble up onstage, the poor out-of-his-mind distraught husband. He was like that over at the house—one minute he’d be goin’ on about, ‘Ooooh, I’ve looost her,’ then start talkin’ about the great numbers they had on CNN. Oh, he said that repeatedly. Then somebody would come into the room, and he’d go back into the wailing.”

In May Tammy’s daughters (along with Richey’s two kids) were summoned to a lawyer’s office for an estate meeting. They were told that the executors of Wynette’s will were to be George Richey and his brother Carl Richardson. If either should pass away (as Carl did), Sylvia Richardson would step in. No member of Wynette’s family would serve. Three trusts made up the bulk of Tammy’s estate. One was specifically set up for her children.

The will itself contained the following instruction, supposedly from Tammy herself:

I may prepare a written memorandum listing certain items of tangible personal property which I wish certain persons to have ... if no such memorandum shall be found with this will, then it shall be presumed none exists.

But the yellow legal pad that had been omnipresent during Tammy’s final years was missing. Richey couldn’t find it. “It disappeared,” said Tina Jones at the time. “He says he doesn’t know where it is.” According to Jackie’s book, Tammy’s will did not request an inventory of her estate, and none was taken (that leaves open the question of how the estate was evaluated for tax purposes), and although Tammy had told the children there was a million-dollar life insurance policy for their benefit, no such policy was ever located.

Lastly and most curiously, the will being addressed was not the original purportedly signed by Tammy in 1996, but a copy. Right there on the spot the children were asked to sign affidavits to affirm their acceptance of the copy as genuine. Incredibly, all but Tina did. For their trouble, each of them got a five-thousand-dollar “advance” against the life insurance policy. Except for troublemaker Tina, that is.

Not long after this meeting it was discovered that the second insurance policy taken out in Tammy’s name in 1988 did not list her daughters as the beneficiaries. It was to go to “the estate of the insured.” The result: both policies were under the control of George Richey

According to Jackie, when questioned about the matter, Richey was evasive, saying Tammy had decided she didn’t want her kids to get the money all at once. When Jackie showed up with a lawyer in tow, Richey appeared nervous, refusing at first to answer questions about the policies. He’d received $1.4 million on his policy and $1 million on the estate policy. Where did the million for her daughters go? Toward debts left on the estate. And how much was Tammy’s estate worth? No idea, said Richey. Around in circles it went.

Tammy Wynette had literally worked herself into the grave. One reason for this, as all her friends and loved ones knew, was to provide for her children. Aside from Tina, Tammy’s daughters each got five thousand dollars. The grandchildren were to receive ten thousand dollars apiece. Everything else was under Richey’s control, including her property, tour buses, recordings, mementoes, photographs. The daughters got “nothing, not even family portraits,” said a bitter Martha Dettwiller. “Not even pictures they had of the girls¹⁰⁴

“There’s no honor in it, no honor at all. And the tragedy is that Tammy deserved honor. I feel like she should’ve been adored and honored in her death, and that man didn’t do it. And, if guilty of nothing else, I find Richey guilty of that dishonor.”

“Tammy’s favorite saying used to be, ‘I’ll die and my kids won’t get a penny and the Richardsons will get it all,’” noted Wynette’s old friend Jan Smith. “Well, that’s what happened. She died, they didn’t get a penny, and the Richardsons got it all.”

But as it happened Tammy’s daughters wouldn’t take these developments lying down. Many felt Richey had invited such an attack due to his flagrant disregard for them as well as for Wynette’s other family members and friends. “A lot of it was self-induced on Richey’s part,” said Mike Martinovich. “I don’t think he was fair. Had he been fair with them, I don’t think they would have taken the hard line they took.”

A relatively new player started making her presence felt in the days directly after Wynette’s death. Sheila Slaughter, an attractive, thirty-two-year-old former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, had served as executive producer of an extremely syrupy cable channel profile on Tammy that had aired in May 1997. She’d also helped Wynette put together a baby shower for Faith Hill the summer of the previous year. Martha Dettwiller had helped Tammy prepare such events for years, so she was curious to see what this new person was up to. The theme of the shower was “Hey, Diddle, Diddle, the Cat and the Fiddle,” and Martha thought Slaughter had put together a rather lavish presentation. “Got to the shower and there was a man in a catsuit playin’ a fiddle. I said, ‘Tammy, this is impressive.’ She said, ‘I cannot tell you, she’s about to drive me crazy.’ That shower was so expensive—when we did things, we’d do Coca-Colas in a bottle with sandwiches we made. Sheila spent a lot of money puttin’ that thing on, and Richey let her. Tammy didn’t know until the very end how much this was costin’. She said, ‘There’s somethin’ really weird about Sheila.’ Tammy was suspicious. And after Tammy got suspicious, I got suspicious.”

The next time Dettwiller encountered Slaughter, it was when she went to pay her respects at the Wynette home after her death. “As I pulled in the driveway, I could see somebody jump out of their car with the lights on, the motor runnin‘, and the door open. Here comes this Sheila, just runnin’ and screamin’ and cryin’. It was totally inappropriate. She wasn’t that close to Tammy, so I thought, ‘What the hell is she actin’ like this for?’ It was unnerving.” Evelyn Shriver felt the same way. “Sheila jumped out of the car in her pajamas and came running up and started hugging us. I didn’t even know who the hell this person was.”

“I just thought it was always suspicious that Sheila showed up so fast,” said Jerry Taylor. “What the hell was she doin’ here? Was this thing goin’ on before Tammy died? I know a lot of people think so.” Kelli Haggard-Patterson said Slaughter “was chasin’ Richey before Tammy died. She went after him like a heat-seeking missile.” The documentary Tammy Wynette: An American Tragedy uncovered credit card bills that indicated someone was using Tammy’s card to order “women’s clothing in the week she died, on the day she died, and during the week after her death.” (Richey denied he was involved with Sheila at the time.)

A close friend of Tammy’s came to visit Richey that May. “They had this square table that sat in front of the very couch Wynette died on. I got to lookin’, there was all these pictures of Richey and a real young-lookin’ blonde woman.” Richey saw her staring at the photos and told her, “I just can’t make it by myself. That’s Sheila. She’s special to me.” Cleta took the visitor’s children on a tour of the house that skipped Richey’s room. “I do believe that girl was there that day. I will always believe that. Because there was a car there I didn’t know.”¹⁰⁵

On September 23, the Country Music Association voted Tammy into the Hall of Fame. Richey, looking slick in a typically garish black suit with tacky diamond piping, accepted the award on tape. “May you sleep peacefully until I see you again,” he instructed Tammy, before God-blessing the watching minions à la the Pope.

The very next day the controversy surrounding Wynette’s death was made public for the first time via a tabloid cover story. TAMMY’S KIDS DEMAND NEW PROBE OF HER DEATH, screamed the headline of the story by Roger Hitts in Star. The daughters had hired private investigator Bobbye Casper, who began to dig around in the police records as well as conduct a few interviews with some of Tammy’s friends and employees, which have unfortunately not been made public.

In September Sony released Tammy Wynette Remembered, a collection of her songs done by Melissa Etheridge, Elton John (a grotesquely overwrought “Stand by Your Man” produced by Richey), and the usual Music City suspects. Unsurprisingly it is George Jones who pays Tammy the deepest tribute with a somber reading of “Take Me to Your World.” “It was always one of my favorite Tammy songs,” he said. “I just always loved hearing her sing it. To be honest, it made me sad. To be in the studio singing one of her songs just brought it all back. I tried to ... make her proud.” The album ends with Tammy’s eerie final recording of “In My Room.”

On October 7 came an all-star tribute concert at the Opry House featuring many of the album’s participants. Somehow Richey had neglected to invite Tammy’s daughters, but they arrived in full force anyway. Richey and Slaughter had deigned to go public at this event, and at the preshow cocktail party, Tina Jones waltzed up to both of them and let them know what she thought. “You’re a hypocrite ... you pretend you’re heartbroken, but you’re sleeping with Sheila,” she said loudly, silencing the assembled glitterati. “Richey and Sheila just stood there, looking like they wanted to be beamed up and out of the room,” wrote a gleeful Jackie. Tina was promptly escorted out, but her point had been made, earning a page in the Globe complete with surreptitious photos of Richey and Slaughter. Later at the concert, tempers ran high. As photographer Raeanne Rubenstein noted, “The drama was not onstage but in the audience. George Richey was there, and all the children, sitting in adjacent rows. It was so poignant to see all the characters in this Tammy Wynette drama sitting in the same three rows in front of the Ryman. It was really quite amazing.”

Evelyn Shriver and Susan Nadler, two of Richey’s longtime defenders, had encouraged his involvement in the tribute as a way of keeping his mind off his grief. But even they found the scene over at Wynette’s former home rather unappetizing. As Shriver recalled, it was now “a house full of Dallas Cowboy cheerleader types running around with piña coladas and everybody in bathing suits.” An appalled Nadler noted that even sixty-two-year-old Richey was in a “little spandex top and shorts! With his bandy little legs hangin’ out!”

“We didn’t want to be there,” Shriver continued. “It’s Tammy’s house. You walk in, and there’s all these bimbos you’ve never seen before in your life—blondes bouncing along with big tits, drinks in their hand. I just couldn’t deal with it. This was not my idea of how Tammy’s house should end. We stopped seeing Richey because it was too weird.”

Carolyn Neal, the English friend Tammy had confided in back in 1993, admitted she still cares about Richey despite what she saw and what Wynette told her. In November 1999 she and her husband, Den, visited him, at one point joining him to listen to the Gaithers. As they sang, “Welcome home, my child, welcome home,” Richey grew emotional.

“He just burst into tears, got up, came next to me, and just buried his face in my shoulder and sobbed,” said Carolyn. “He totally, totally confuses me. He treated Tammy like shit, and he could still cry over things like this? I still can’t work him out.”

In December 1998, medical examiner Bruce Levy, Nashville Metro Police, and the district attorney all received letters from Jackie Daly, Tina Jones, and Georgette Smith imploring them to look into their mother’s death and asking for an autopsy to be done. Their requests were denied. A lawyer representing the daughters contacted Levy again in January. Requesting a face-to-face meeting, they promptly got one on February 8. Levy told the daughters he’d look into the matter. He contacted Wallis Marsh, who confirmed that Wynette had been on previously unreported pain medication. Levy wrote on May 21,1999, that Marsh “expressed regret that the complete list of medications had not been provided” the night Wynette expired. A miscommunication error, as Marsh put it. “This caused me to suspect there may have been an attempt to provide minimal information to the authorities that evening,” wrote Levy.

Marsh also revealed for the first time that he’d been contacted the day before Tammy died and that he had been “extremely concerned” that Tammy was suffering from another blood clot “and urged that she be admitted to the hospital.” Supposedly Wynette felt better the next day, and either she or Richey had decided against the hospital. Marsh told Levy “he was not surprised by her death due to the events of the last couple of days.” According to Jackie’s book, a few months later, in an informal meeting with a lawyer representing Tammy’s daughters, Marsh was asked if Wynette would’ve lived had Richey taken her to the hospital as requested. He simply answered, “Yes.”

The day after the meeting, Levy admitted to the Tennessean that “had we known about the medications” Wynette had been taking, “that may have raised questions in our mind about whether an autopsy needed to be held or not.” Wallis Marsh declined to speak to reporters, but released a statement reiterating his autopsy-less diagnosis. “In my medical opinion, no doubt that her death resulted from the effects of blood clots in her lungs.”

Despite the many troubling questions this new information raised, Levy held a press conference just two days after the meeting with Tammy’s daughters to announce he would not perform an autopsy. After “a thorough review” of the case, he decided Wynette had been “terminally ill, and her death was due to natural causes.” Terminal illness? This was news to her children.

The tale of Tammy Wynette’s death took yet another strange turn as a result of the bird-dogging detective work of Jennifer Kraus, a local TV reporter. In sifting through the petitions of various parties of the estate seeking payment, she came across bills from Care Solutions, Inc., a local outfit that had been delivering pharmaceuticals to Wynette’s home since February 1998. Among other prescriptions, they’d sent her two shipments of Versed, including one on the very day Tammy died. “Enough Versed went through her home to kill a bull,” said George Jones.

Wynette had been on all sorts of medications, so what could be considered unusual about this one? First of all, it is a very dangerous drug that is only supposed to be administered, according to its makers, “in a hospital or ambulatory care settings ... that provide for continuous monitoring of respiratory and cardiac function.” There is a long list of possible adverse reactions: nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, respiratory depression, and respiratory arrest. One other rather strange side effect: it erases the memory. (I had this drug administered during a hospital stay and could recall nothing of the procedure afterward.) Tammy’s friends wondered if she’d been given any papers to sign in her altered state. Incredibly, in a televised interview with 20/20, Richey claimed Marsh had never informed him of the danger of Versed.

One day short of the one-year anniversary of their mother’s death, Jackie, Georgette, and Tina filed a $50 million lawsuit against George Richey, Wallis Marsh, and Marsh’s hospital, the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. Care Solutions would later be added to the suit. The suit alleged that “the Defendant, George B. Richardson, acting in concert and/or severally with the Defendant, James Wallis Marsh, M.D., was negligent and contributed to the death of Virginia Richardson, aka Tammy Wynette, in that he improperly and inappropriately maintained her narcotic addiction, improperly administered narcotics to her and failed to see that she would receive necessary emergency medical treatment at a time when he could have, and should have, known that his failure to do so would, or could, result in the catastrophic event of her death.”

Wallis Marsh continues to decline all interview requests, including my own, but issued a statement via his lawyers. The charges had “no basis in fact,” it insisted, and asserted that “when the facts become known” it would be apparent that Marsh had “provided extraordinary medical care to a person who suffered extraordinary medical problems.”

Since the allegations had first been made public, the daughters had been pressing for an autopsy, to no avail. Bruce Levy maintained that Richey had not requested it and he didn’t have enough cause to get a court order demanding one. According to booking agent Tony Conway, Richey was panicked by the request. “He called me to lunch and said, ‘I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do—what would you do?”’ Conway told him, “Well, George, if you were really innocent, why wouldn’t you want them to do an autopsy?” Richey, said Conway, “was a wreck, he was totally stressed out.”

Just days after the lawsuit was filed, Richey relented, formally asking Bruce Levy to conduct an autopsy. Tammy was exhumed on April 14, 1999. “They didn’t even tell the lawyers until that morning. We found out from the television station,” said Martha Dettwiller. “Jackie and I felt like somebody needed to be there, so we sat across the street in a car.” They both felt Tammy’s presence. “She was just everywhere,” said Dettwiller, who became emotional reliving the memory. “Jackie and I sat there cryin’ ‘til it was over.”

A smoldering but still imperious Richey, glasses resting low upon his nose as he read his statement, called a press conference that afternoon. Stating he had acquiesced to the autopsy “so we can all move on,” he proceeded to blast Tammy’s offspring. “I’m saddened that, out of frustration over financial matters, her daughters have been willing to work so hard to discredit their mother. And that’s what they have done. I’m saddened that part of Tammy’s legacy is part of this fiasco.” Referencing his own experience work ing at a mortuary in 1962, he said, “I know exactly what’s happening to Tammy today and I despise it.”

Richey answered no questions after his public statement, but Sylvia Richardson addressed the lawsuit’s accusation that Richey had declined to take Wynette to the hospital despite Dr. Marsh’s wishes. It was Tammy who said she’d felt better and had refused to go, she maintained. “What you have to remember is that Tammy Wynette was a very strong woman, and mainly, she was in control.”

On May 16, 1999, Bruce Levy issued a sixteen-page report based on the autopsy. Probable cause of death: “heart failure with cardiac arrhythmia” due to “chronic pulmonary emboli with pulmonary hypertension.” As most people who die of natural causes experience cardiac arrhythmia, it was something of a safe, catchall diagnosis. “That’s what everyone dies of,” sniffed Nancy Jones. Levy felt that previous blood clots had damaged Tammy’s arteries, enlarging the right side of her heart. Contributing cause: “intestinal dysmotility on pain management.” Manner of death: “could not be determined.”

Cyril Wecht noted that, contrary to Wallis Marsh’s declarations, “the medical examiner found no acute, that is recent, blood clots in her system. So that is not what caused her death.” The contributing cause, “intestinal dysmotility on pain management,” translates into problems such as block ages caused by chronic use of painkillers. “It was an interesting diagnosis, one I have rarely seen,” said Wecht. Lab tests indicated the presence of two drugs in Wynette’s system, Versed and Phenergan. Unfortunately there was no way to tell if Dilaudid had been in her body, because it was “one of the substances that dissipates during the embalming process,” added Wecht. “The inference I drew was that perhaps the medical examiner wanted to get across that the drugs Wynette was taking to control her pain—Dilaudid and Versed—played a role in her death.” Because there was no way to tell how much Dilaudid Tammy had in her system, if any, “Dr. Levy couldn’t come right out and make such a statement.”

In 2000 came Jackie’s book (cowritten with Tom Carter), Tammy Wynette: A Daughter Recalls Her Mother’s Tragic Life and Death. While extremely sympathetic toward her mother and her many problems, it was a damning indictment of Richey. Jackie obviously had the support of George and Nancy Jones—Nancy was one of the agents for Carter’s end of the book deal—and on June 2, 2000, George wrote an impassioned letter to Don Imus urging him to cover the story. “Why has not Richey been arrested for practicing medicine without a license?” asked the Possum.

Ignoring the fact that the book was critical of him, and not Wynette, Richey once again played the Tammy card, drawing comparisons to Christina Crawford’s infamous Tinseltown expose of her mother, Joan, Mommy Dearest. Finally granting the newsmagazine show 20/20 an interview, broadcast on January 14, Richey categorically denied the charges. Did he have anything to do with his wife’s death? “The answer is unequivocally, absolutely, without question—no,” he replied angrily. There he sat at the white grand piano, warbling “You and Me.” He praised the treatment Wallis Marsh had given Tammy, but also admitted that Marsh had “personally showed me how to” inject Versed into his wife, insisting the doctor had not informed him of how dangerous the drug was. “No, I was not told that,” he said.

George Richey wanted to make sure the world knew that he alone understood the wishes, dreams, and soul of Tammy Wynette. “I knew her better than anyone on this earth,” he declared. “Better than her children, better than her relatives ... she was the love of my life.”

Sheila Slaughter, the new love of Richey’s life, appeared before the camera for her fifteen seconds of fame, denying that she and Richey had been an item before Tammy’s death. “In no way did we have an affair,” she demurred. “It’s ludicrous. It did not happen.” Tastelessly referencing Wynette’s trademark song in defending Richey, she added, “I will stand by him no matter what.”

Unfortunately it is extremely unlikely the facts will ever be fully known. Cyril Wecht laid the blame at Wallis Marsh’s doorstep. “Much time and effort was spent and unnecessary anguish suffered by many people in this case,” he wrote. “Much, if not all of it, could have been spared had Dr. Marsh provided a full accounting of the drugs Wynette was taking and had Dr. Levy ordered an immediate autopsy.”

It is certainly possible that Wynette suffered an accidental overdose. Although the catheter was in her back, out of reach, she was known to inject herself with drugs she’d hoarded. Said Jerry Taylor, “I know for a fact that Tammy would hide it in that house, so if she wanted some more—and it wasn’t time for her to get some more—she could get some more.” Some have considered the most unpalatable theory for Tammy’s friends and loved ones—the possibility that she herself had decided it was time to go. “Richey may never forgive me for saying this, but if Richey had anything to do with her death, it was at her wish, because Richey loved her,” said Kelli Haggard-Patterson. “Maybe she administered something, and maybe he didn’t revive her, worst-case scenario.”

“I think it was all wrong,” said Nancy Jones. “Tammy loved her daughters and she loved her grandkids. I just think it’s all wrong, because now I can see how hard it is for these girls. They’re strugglin’ really hard. I don’t think Tammy would’ve wanted them to live a life like that—I know she spoiled ’em, she gave them just what she wanted when she was alive. I think maybe she’s lookin’ down with a little teardrop.”

Richeywas dropped from the daughters’ lawsuit just weeks after the filing. In a bizarre irony, he himself, as Wynette’s spouse, would’ve gained from any settlement. A judge threw out the case against Care Solutions. The remaining parties, Wallis Marsh, UPMC Presbyterian, and University Health Center of Pittsburgh, settled out of court in April 2002.

Yet another controversy flared when George and Nancy Jones requested that Tammy’s body be moved from the main building in Woodlawn Memorial Park to a fancy, fan-friendly crypt on the Jones lot. When the Joneses visited her resting place, they considered the location unkempt and unsuitable for a legend. “The First Lady of Country Music and she’s buried in a damn wall,” Nancy told Julia Reed. Jones was upset that Tammy was interred among strangers. “She doesn’t even know anybody over there where she is,” complained the Possum.

“Tammy never wanted to be buried in the ground,” said Evelyn Shriver. “Woodlawn doesn’t really have aboveground crypts, but George and Nancy went there and convinced the cemetery to allow them to have an aboveground crypt for Tammy.” There was one catch, however. She’d still have to be buried next to her husband. “One of the girls fought me and said, ‘No, I don’t want it, because Richey’s going to be there,”’ said Nancy. “Well, Richey’s gonna be buried next to her no matter what.” Unless Richey decides otherwise, the Wynette will states that he will be buried alongside Wynette—wherever she’s interred.

“If the girls ever change their mind, I can promise the whole world there would be a huge monument for Tammy,” said Nancy, who gave up on the plan once one of Wynette’s daughters hired a lawyer. “So she’s still, as I call it, stuck on the wall.”¹⁰⁶

Richey went on TV to hawk a crappy miniature statue of his wife, helped produce a more or less lifeless tribute album, and, finally, a decade after her death, unveiled a refurbished Tammy Wynette Web site. Most of Wynette’s albums remain out of print. One of the primary raisons d’être of the old Tammy Web site seemed to be to defend George Richey. When one visitor posted material critical of him, his name, address, and phone number were revealed, with the Webmaster urging Tammy’s fans to harass the evildoer. “VIP” fans were invited to a “secret” tête-à-tête with Richey, accompanied by his wife and by former Wynette hairdresser Wanda Williams, in June 2007. At one point it was revealed that Tammy had written a letter to Richey suggesting that he get together with either Sheila Slaughter or Kelli Haggard-Patterson following her demise. What else was in this supposed missive, and exactly why Tammy felt compelled to communicate such an idea, makes one wonder if indeed she knew she was about to die¹⁰⁷

During the course of that 2000 20/20 interview, Richey was asked if he had any plans to marry Slaughter. “Absolutely not,” he announced. One year later in a secret ceremony at the Little Country Church outside Nashville, Richey did exactly that. Bride and groom arrived in his ’n’ her vintage automobiles and were serenaded by Tim McGraw. “Tammy was one of my most cherished friends,” the new Mrs. Richey boldly told the National Enquirer. “And I’m sure that she’s blessing this marriage from heaven.” Richey, then in his midsixties, went on to sire a child with Sheila, Tatum.

It appears that whatever funds were left in the Wynette bank may be long gone. Richey called Tony Conway out of the blue one day about six months after Tammy died. He wanted some comp rooms at a Tunica, Mississippi, casino that Conway used to book Wynette in. Conway did as asked. When one gets comped a suite, the casino expects you to gamble an amount worthy of the favor, as Conway found out when the irritated entertainment director called him a few days later. Richey had blown a mere three hundred dollars on the slots.

These days, Richey is said to be in poor health. He arrived at the one meeting of the VIP Tammy Wynette Fan Club in a wheelchair and with an oxygen tank. Before Richey moved to Midland, he was Tony Conway’s neighbor for a while. “Honestly, the only times I ever saw him is when the ambulance would show up at two in the morning. The red lights would be flashin’ in my window. I’d look out the curtain, they had Richey on a stretcher, he had on an oxygen mask and a little stocking cap. I’d see Sheila standin’ there with the baby—‘Okay Richey, we’ll see you tomorrow.’ This happened five or six different times.”

At least one witness reported him ferreting through the ashtray outside the Nashville apartment complex home he occupies when he isn’t in Midland, Texas, searching for cigarette butts to smoke away from his wife’s disapproving gaze. Richey told one friend, “I have bad days and I have worse days.”

On March 6, 1999, almost a year to the day after Tammy’s death, George Jones was piloting his Lexus SUV down the highway, talking to his step-daughter while attempting to navigate the cassette player in order to locate a rough mix of his new single, the aptly titled “Choices.” Jones lost control of the vehicle, and it plowed into a concrete bridge. Jones had made the choice to drink that day; an empty bottle of vodka would be found under his seat. He nearly died from a collapsed lung and torn liver. Afterward he’d say that it had been a rough past year; Nancy had been sick, and they’d lost Wynette. “I had just made friends again with Tammy ... we thought we might be able to do some other things together down the road. Then she passed away”¹⁰⁸

But Jones rose from the dead once more, vowing never to drink again. “It put the fear of God in me,” he insisted. “It’s a miracle I’m alive.” Georgette, who’s decided to pursue a singing career, helped her father return to the road sober by joining him onstage to sing her mother’s parts in the old duets. She’s recorded a song with Jones, a number she cowrote, about her relationship with her father, “You and Me and Time.” The drama of the lyrics, not to mention the stop-start chorus, would surely win the approval of her mother.

“It’s a great song,” said Jones. “I was very proud of her. It was really heart-touchin’.” And did Jones hear any of Tammy in his daughter? “Well, I do. She don’t have that really bursting-out drive type singin’ like her mother, y’know. Hittin’ those hard notes. She sings smoother. I should say quieter. Georgette’s got a beautiful voice. She does an up-tempo number good.”

A new calmness seemed to have settled over Jones—well, as calm as the Possum can ever be. “He never gets mad no more,” said Nancy. “He’s a very sensitive guy. Good husband, too.” Our interview was cut short because an impatient Jones was in the car, waiting, as always, to go to the local mall. “He loves to shop.”

Only a fool would wish for the kind of destruction and depravity Jones has lived through, but he also understands that these were the cards he was dealt. You have to live the song. George has lived every last bloody drop and, amazingly, unlike so many others—Tammy included—he has survived. But, he notes, at a price to the music.

In the bad old days “we’d always have three, four drinks just to relax us good. And maybe one or two extra. And go in there, record, and get in a sad, sad mood right with that song. And then when you’re on tour drinkin’ onstage, you get those same feelin’s singin’ ’em.

“But when you quit drinkin’ like I have, you calm down. You’re happy, you’re content, and in some cases”—he laughed a bit ruefully—“maybe that’s not too good for the work that you do. That is why we may not sound today onstage and in person like we did on records.

“I seem to satisfy the fans, but I do know in my heart that I’m not cryin’ like I used to in my songs,” he admitted. When all the chaos left his life, he knows something else left, too. “You’re feelin’ great, and you lose a lot of that hurtin’ expression in your phrasin’ because you don’t hurt anymore, y’know? You got nothin’ to cry about. Everything’s ... happy. In other words, you want to sing gospel songs and happy songs. That’s it.

“No, I don’t. Only thing I can tell you, I think He’s let me stay for a reason.” As usual, Jones was elusive on the subject of Wynette, so it didn’t surprise me that he changed the subject to the singer that had been so important to both him and Tammy—Hank Williams.

“I think he was put here in this business for us to have somethin’ to cry with. Help us cry, get rid of our misery. We only had Hank five years. Five years is all this man’s career lasted. But I still play his music all the time. He was put here for a purpose, and he left for a purpose. Because I think God put him here to open our eyes to something good, and also to the bad. In the sad songs.”

You don’t hear Wynette much on the radio anymore. Or anything else that stays with you longer than the song itself. “In those years you could ride down the road, hear a country song play, and you’d have to stop your car, it’d touch you so much,” said Norro Wilson. “It’s hard to drive down the road today.”

Gifted, complex characters like Tammy Wynette are one thing pretty much missing from American popular culture these days, particularly music. “Now everybody’s famous,” said that chilly arbiter of celebrity, Tina Brown. “And nobody’s interesting.”

As I’ve stated elsewhere, to shed tears over such inevitable developments is somewhat akin to bemoaning the fact that most of us no longer churn our own butter. This music belongs to a time and place that has vanished. Virtually every variation on three chords, a steel guitar, and a sad story has already been recorded, however. The formula was exhausted—and then some. “It’s really a more narrow art form ... it has limitations,” Nashville Row executive Tony Brown once said of country. Amen to that. Yes, it may be elusive on radio or TV, but these days classic country is more accessible to the individual than ever before—all you need is a computer with a search engine. Want to learn more about Wayne Kemp, Cal Smith, Frankie Miller? Press a button. And though Tammy is gone, her music remains, and right about now one of her songs is getting some lost soul through a dark and lonely night.

There was no joy taken in telling the end of this story. Tammy’s present only as a ghost. It’s just a catalog of depair, the brutal aftermath. There was no way around it, really. I don’t think Wynette would want the story sugar-coated. She might’ve been a teller of tall tales, but Tammy was an honest person. If you have any doubts, listen to her sing.

“I don’t know about a moral,” she said. “Judge not, lest ye be judged. I’m just thankful that she was on this earth for as long as she was and was blessed with a talent that brought so much joy to so many people, not only with her music, but by her very presence.

Your friends all miss you. I look in their eyes and see a wreck on the highway. They never got to say good-bye, and they still feel guilty ... guilty they didn’t save you. I know you’d give ‘em a big hug if you could. And then feed ’em some of that chocolate pie of yours. Boy, do they still talk about that.

Your daughters are hanging in there, although I hear one is cleaning houses. Really, Tammy, you should’ve given somebody that legal pad. Georgette would make you proud. She recently guest-starred on a cable comedy show playing none other than ... Tammy Wynette. I bet you’d get a big kick out of that.