Sing at the Super Bowl, Battle Sweatshops, and Save Your Marriage
Is there some purpose to this time in the darkness?
Lying beneath winter snows?
Will I be stronger, somehow be better?
Only my pillow knows.
—“ONLY MY PILLOW KNOWS” BY KATHIE LEE GIFFORD
The year 1995 started out as one of the best of my life. I had been chosen to sing the national anthem at Super Bowl XXIX in Miami on January 29. ABC would be broadcasting, and Frank would be hosting the telecast live alongside Al Michaels and Dan Dierdorf.
“The Star-Spangled Banner” is one of the most difficult songs to pull off. Don’t believe me? Just ask anyone who has performed it. Barry Manilow warned me to not look at the scoreboard because it would show me how many people were tuned in. So factor in the anxiety of, oh, say about a hundred million people watching you attempt it.
Terrifying.
It was time for last looks before heading off to the field to begin the game. With literally seconds to go, my makeup artist unwittingly stuck my left eye with the mascara wand, then my hairdresser, also unwittingly, sprayed hairspray into my right eye. I could not see more than a blur as I was led out before the biggest audience I would ever face.
Frank’s voice reverberated all over the stadium.
“Now, to honor America, please join in the singing of our national anthem . . . . Sung by television and recording star, my wife, Kathie Lee Gifford.”
I couldn’t believe he said that. I knew he was proud of me, but it was as if he were confirming to the whole world that the only reason I’d been chosen to sing was because I was sleeping with him. I wanted to kill him! But, of course, I couldn’t because I would have had to find him first, and that was impossible since I was now blind. Then I heard the boos. They were coming from somewhere in the stadium, but I had no time to process this. The orchestra was playing the introduction.
“Oh, say can you see . . .” I began. “No, I can’t!”
Gratefully the song came to a thrilling end as the jets flew overhead, the fireworks exploded, and the audience went crazy. There were no more boos, and somehow I was shuffled off the field and onto a plane to go home. I soon discovered that Howard Stern had asked his fans to boo me when I was introduced.
The whole experience was completely surreal, as so many moments in my life have been.
Then in March 1996 my world came crashing in. A man stood up in Congress and accused me of operating sweatshops in Honduran factories to manufacture my Walmart clothing line. He represented himself as a human rights activist, when in reality, he worked for UNITE, a garment industry lobby that desperately wanted to unionize the world’s largest retailer.
I was obviously blindsided. In six months we would be opening Cassidy’s Place after spending several years of our lives building it and millions of our dollars paying for it—most of the money coming from, yes, my Walmart profits.
All hell broke loose. Nobody cared about the truth. Nobody. I went to every network I had worked for—including my employer at the time, ABC. To their shame, and my disbelief, not one of them reported the truth about my accuser’s lies or the truth about him. The vicious attacks went on for months with no sign of letting up. We turned off the TV and avoided grocery and convenience stores—everywhere and anywhere that the dreaded tabloids peddled their poison. I can’t imagine going through this kind of hell in the social media world we live in today.
There were calls for me to be fired from Live with Regis and Kathie Lee. Thankfully ABC understood that the accusations were false and designed to ultimately damage Walmart’s reputation with no regard to mine.
I was grateful for their support but still hurt when they refused to cover my accuser’s apology to me and my family. During the darkest period of the insanity my longtime friend Larry King called to ask me to come on his show. I knew he would be fair because both Frank and I had always been treated fairly by him in the past.
Larry asked me whether my sales had taken a hit in light of all these baseless accusations, and I told him that, actually, it was quite the opposite. They had gone through the roof.
“Really?” he asked. He was genuinely shocked to hear this.
“Yes,” I confirmed and proceeded to tell him how just the other day at my show a lady had stood up and gestured to the outfit she was wearing. I recognized it immediately as a dress from my Walmart collection.
“You look great,” I told her.
She said, “When that man stood up in Congress and accused you like that, I got so mad I went straight to Walmart and bought five of your dresses!”
I am so grateful to all the people who continued to believe in me and continued to trust my heart through the most difficult times of my life.
I penned these lyrics at the darkest moment in this experience:
Have you ever felt tossed and alone on a sea of despair?
Have you ever felt lost but you know that you’re going nowhere?
Ever felt that the truth was nowhere to be found?
Ever felt like screaming but you can’t make a sound?2
All of my lyrics come from the truth I have discovered.
Finally, after diving in to fight real sweatshops, we got laws passed to protect against the abuses. The “hot goods” provision of the Fair Labor Standards Act, which had languished in Albany, New York, for nine years, was passed in nine days when Frank and I got involved. I spent a year commuting to Washington, DC, to sit with President Clinton to form an alliance between retailers and (real) human rights advocates. I testified before Congress, an audience I never dreamed I’d have (and didn’t enjoy at all, trust me).
As bad as 1996 was, 1997 was far worse and the pain much closer to home. I was already deeply wounded and battle scarred from the public execution that had resulted after the previous year’s unfounded accusations. Some people still believed, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, that I knowingly and willfully ran sweatshops. I finally had to accept that these people would never change their opinions because the false narrative somehow fit their agenda.
Frank and I emerged from the assault even stronger as a couple. He had been my champion and closest friend throughout the ordeal. He was my hero—until one day when everything changed.
On May 1, 1997, Frank met a woman at the Regency Hotel on Park Avenue in New York City and committed adultery. He had been set up to be caught by a revolting tabloid magazine.
I can’t say it any more plainly, and even writing those words all this time later pains me.
For years I avoided driving down Park Avenue, hoping to avoid the natural emotions it would trigger.
Soon after I learned the truth, I wrote the lyrics to “Only My Pillow Knows”:
There is no distance so close as two lovers
Face to face skin against skin.
There is no pleasure so deep as together.
They breathe letting no one else in.
Now there’s no distance so great
As two people in the same bed, worlds apart.
There is no chasm so steep as betrayal,
No damage so deep to a heart . . . .
CHORUS:
Go ask the river that’s run here so long.
Go ask the sparrow that still sings its song.
Go ask the willow that bends though wind blows.
But only my pillow knows.
I also began sessions with a trusted counselor. Frank immediately asked me to forgive him and I did. I had to. My whole faith is built on the foundation of forgiveness: Jesus died for me for the forgiveness of my sins. We cannot withhold from others what He has freely given to us.
But I struggled with the casual way in which Frank expected us to get on with our lives—as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t automatically feel the same way about him that I always had. He wasn’t my hero anymore. When I shared this with my therapist one day, he said words that are now emblazoned on my heart:
“Kathie, if you can’t forgive your husband, forgive your children’s father.”
It was a revelatory moment. It took my eyes off of me and set them squarely on my children, who were still completely unaware of their father’s unfaithfulness. My children’s father was a wonderful, loving, gentle, compassionate, generous, and sweet man. He was easy to forgive because I knew his heart.
Now, with new eyes to see, I prayed an almost impossible prayer. “Lord, please give me a deeper desire for Frank than I have ever had for him, even more than at the beginning.”
This was an epic request. I was crazy in love with Frank then, and grateful to finally have the kind of exciting, thrilling, ecstatic love I’d only known about from books or movies.
To my surprise, God answered my prayer and gave me a desire for Frank unlike anything we had ever experienced. Every time we made love it was truly healing for me.
“Now I see how you’re gonna get back at me, Kathie. You’re gonna kill me,” he loved to say.
The laughter returned, and our children grew up to be the most extraordinary two human beings I’ve ever known. By the time they learned the truth of what had happened, they knew an even deeper truth: their parents loved them and each other enough to trust in God’s healing.
Our lives can take some unexpected twists and turns. Some come as the result of our choices; other times it’s because of someone else’s. No matter how hard things might become, it’s never too late to bring beauty from the ashes. If you find yourself in such a place as I did—in the midst of a season of great difficulty—take a deep breath, prayerfully face the truth, find a Christian counselor to help you figure out your next steps, and trust God to lead you through.