I am a huge classic country music fan—-mostly music prior to 1970–and love the Grand Ole Opry. I was able to tell the following story, and its meaning to me, nearly 30 years ago on a tour bus as we left Kentucky and headed southwards to Music City. I took the little microphone used by the driver and let my feelings flow. This story came from my heart then and does so again on this post.
The story goes that a family in West Virginia, which played music at barn dances and weddings almost every Saturday night, finally had a free weekend. So instead of picking up the banjo, lap organ, quill harp, or fiddle instead put some biscuits and fried chicken into a basket and started to walk towards the nearest high hill in their area. With a couple blankets in their arms they made their way to the top of the hill, and while looking down saw friends and neighbors walking up from all points of the compass. They each carried food and blankets, in preparation for a night of fun. When at last all gathered they spread their blankets on the ground, and shared dinner and conversations. As the sun set, one of them who had driven an old truck to the top of the hill removed a radio from the bed of the vehicle and hooked it to the truck battery. The radio was then tuned to WSM out of Nashville, Tennessee, and there under the stars these folks listened, clapped, danced, and sang along to the Grand Ole Opry. If you try you can imagine the scene as the AM signal whistled and crackled in the nighttime air. That same mood is still created these many decades later in homes around the country, and now thanks to the internet, around the world as well though the crackle of the signal is absent.