It was one of those package Grand Ole Opry shows. I suppose that I should be surprised at the memory of being there alone but it was broad daylight and I surely wasn't the only caucasian in sight. It took all my nerve, looking back, but I managed to place myself between Minnie Pearl and the stage door. I struggled to ask for an autograph and asked if she remembered my mom, Maxine Elliott.
"Why, of course. How is she? Well, you give her my love!"
Of course I could hardly wait to get home with the news. My mom laughed and hugged me as she explained that she had approached the star herself many years earlier as she was being introduced. Ms. Pearl had been sweet to her, too, asking, "Sugar, would you mind holding my pocketbook while I'm out there?"
That was the extent of Maxine's friendship with Minnie Pearl. I'm still blushing sitting here telling the story. I don't talk about it often.
Sometimes the whole thing whirls in my mind when someone asks me about Bo or Elvis or Chuck or Jimi.
Ghosts? Well, sir, I have finally figured out that they're real if you believe in them. That's what they are. That's what they always were. Do you believe in dreams?
I've got plans to spend some time with Gene and Jerry and Speedoo. I really want to see Berry and I want to talk to Minnie Pearl. She was awfully sweet to me and Mom.
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