Reba: My Story (34 page)

They wheeled me up to the labor and delivery floor, where I exchanged my long maternity sweater, white maternity pants, and tennis shoes for a hospital gown. Then I was put into bed. I had my baby in that same bed, in the same room, and didn’t leave it for two days.

It was wonderful to have a private birthing room so Narvel could stay with me when the baby came. I had insisted that once he was born, my baby was never to leave my sight without my permission. You’ve got to understand this was my first baby, and I guess I was pretty overprotective about everything. Everyone was real nice and indulged me.

Dr. Van Hooydonk arrived and began an examination that included placing a prenatal monitor on top of the baby’s head. He also put one on my stomach. “This is it,” he said. “You’re really pretty far along.”

Then he turned to Narvel and said, “Let’s go have a Coke.” “Wow,” Narvel thought to himself. “What are we going to get a drink for at a time like this?” When they got downstairs to the cafeteria, Narvel confronted the doctor. “Shouldn’t we be upstairs?” he asked. “It could happen any minute.”

“Oh no,” said the doctor. “It will be at least five hours before the baby is born.”

That’s the first time Narvel realized it wasn’t going to be quick.

But I’d known the whole time that it was going to be painful too, and had agreed earlier to have an epidural. Right before he took Narvel down for a Coke, Dr. Van
Hooydonk tapped my foot. “Hold off on the drugs as long as you can,” he said.

Just then another hard contraction hit, and I’m not the least bit ashamed to report that I said, “Ladies, bring on the drugs!” just as the door closed behind them.

In my years growing up I had been thrown, fallen off, and been stepped on by horses, and I kept right on riding. I never let getting hurt affect me. But the pain of childbirth was something else! I figure every woman has her own threshold for pain and mine is pretty high. But this was no time to be a martyr.

Once the drug kicked in, I was like “Hey, no problem!”—I was suddenly having a good time. I couldn’t feel the contractions, so the labor nurses had to tell me when I was having them. They knew because of the monitors I was hooked up to. They were just wonderful to me, getting me ice chips and rubbing my shoulders. They never left my side. When Narvel got back, he called his parents again, and I was feeling good enough to casually tell them how far I was dilated. When I handed the telephone back to Narvel, his dad told him I wasn’t ready to deliver because I wasn’t hurting enough.

He wasn’t far wrong. I wouldn’t be ready to give birth until 4
A.M.
Then the room was filled with nurses, and it was getting really serious. Shelby wouldn’t come out. So I said, “Let me roll over.” I’d try to move him around. I’d get up on my hands and knees and back on my back, and I’d push some more and still he wouldn’t come out. His shoulders were hung on my pelvis bone.

Even though he was a veteran father, Narvel’s previous births-by-appointment didn’t quite prepare him for the excitement of natural childbirth.

Exactly at 5:04
A.M.
on Friday, February 23, my baby son was born. They cut the umbilical cord, and the nurse handed him to Narvel, who carried him to me. I was overcome with joy and began praising and thanking God for my beautiful baby boy. Dr. Van Hooydonk, a very spiritual
man, understood perfectly. The birth was a miracle; the most profound spiritual experience I’ve ever had. I was crying and kissing my baby at the same time.

I’ve seen my name in letters as tall as a house. I’ve been toasted by audiences who’ve seen me on international television. I’ve won virtually every major award my career offers. I say all of that simply to say this: I’ve never been as fulfilled as I was when my son was born.

We named him Shelby Steven McEntire Blackstock—Shelby after Narvel’s paternal grandpa, Shelby Hershel Blackstock, Steven after my paternal great-grandfather Clark Steven McEntire, McEntire after me, and Blackstock after Narvel.

By 6
A.M.
, Narvel and I were both exhausted, as much from the emotional as the physical strain of those long hours of labor. So while I had been determined never to allow Shelby out of my sight after he was born, we both said, “You’re on your own kid! Take him to the nursery.” And we immediately fell fast asleep.

As soon as I woke up, I had them bring him back to me. It’s funny, but as every mother knows, what people call “maternal instincts” are real. I knew his cry instinctively. I’d hear other babies and knew they weren’t Shelby.

Mama flew in Friday morning to be with me, and Narvel’s Dad, Narvel and Mother, Gloria, drove in Saturday. I slept and held Shelby all that day. On Saturday night, the nurses gave us a lovely surprise—they prepared a romantic steak dinner for Narvel and me! We ate by candlelight—blue candlelight actually, in honor of our new baby boy. Narvel drank some wine, and I had grape juice in a wineglass. The next day, I checked out at noon and then Narvel and Mama brought Shelby and me to our semi-settled new house while pictures were taken for a family album.

The three of us were home—grandparents and all! What a lucky little boy.

E
VER SINCE THE FIRST MOMENT OF SHELBY
’
S LIFE, I
’
VE
hated to be separated from him. I enjoy motherhood. It was something brand new for me, and I’m so glad I waited until I was mature enough to cope with the huge responsibility.

But as much as I enjoyed staying home, I knew I’d have to go back to work pretty soon. I’d taken off December, January, February, and March, then in April I recorded my first LP with Tony Brown and put the 1990 show together. We went back out on the road in May.

Shelby was too tiny and fragile to come along then, so we found a wonderful nanny, Cindy Bailey, with the help of Don Schlitz, who wrote “The Gambler.” She was a good-natured, down-to-earth Kentucky girl with a great, loving family background. She stayed with us until December 1993, when she married her one-and-only, Dean “Bud” Gillihan. Now Shelby has Michelle Nunn to take care of
him, another fun-loving Kentucky girl with a degree in preschool K-4. He loves both of them to pieces.

The same week I hired Cindy, we also found a great husband/wife team, Rose and Jimmy Carter, to be our house- and groundskeeper. They’re wonderful with Shelby too—Rose would breathe for him if he’d let her! So I know Shelby’s always in good hands.

I’d been pregnant during our last days of touring in 1989, so the bus became too rough for me to travel on. When I told Narvel we might have to cancel our last two weekends, he found a way to make our dates. We started flying. We loved it so much that, after Shelby was born, we decided to sell my bus to Patty Loveless and to continue flying. We’ve been flying ever since.

In 1990, I was flying to all of my dates. I could leave for a show around 6
P.M.
, along with Sandi Spika and Narvel, and be home by around 2
A.M.
to spend the night in my own bed. I could be there when Shelby woke up in the morning and spend the day with him, instead of spending it in a hotel room somewhere or staring out the window of the bus as the miles between our jobs went by.

The band continued, for the majority of our dates, to travel by bus, along with our stage sets, costumes, and equipment. And since Narvel and I weren’t along on most of those trips, the job of tour manager took on a new significance. The tour manager was the one who had to make it all happen, to see that all our gear made it to its destination and that our musicians got there too, in good shape and ready to play. He also had to handle any crisis with personnel, paraphernalia, or transportation that might arise along the way.

Jim Hammon was the consummate pro. I had met him in Fort Worth, Texas, in the late 1970s, and then in 1980, he sold me my first public-address system, the one that none of us could figure out how to work on the night Narvel first played with us in Nowata, Oklahoma. Jim later went on the road with Red Steagall, and then started selling
concessions for me. He printed the T-shirts himself. I remember that one night in New York, Jim sold more than $10,000 worth of T-shirts. He was as proud as a new father.

In 1988, when Narvel became my manager and the overseer of my entire organization Jim took over as tour manager. From then on, he and Narvel had kind of friendly competition, always trying to outthink each other on ways to improve the show.

Perhaps more than anybody else in the organization, Jim lived rather than worked his job. He was a benevolent “control freak,” who always wanted to know what was going on with everybody, usually for their own good. One night when we played in Switzerland, for example, my publicity director Jennifer Bohler had too much to drink at a bar; so her friend Hugh Waddel, who played drums for Johnny Cash, escorted her back to her hotel. Hugh had barely gotten Jenny inside when Jim burst into her room, demanding to know who he was and making sure that Hugh wasn’t trying to take advantage of Jenny. After Hugh left, Jenny stuck her head under the covers, sick as a dog, but thirty minutes later Jim popped back into the room—just checking to see that Hugh hadn’t snuck back inside. By that time, understandably, Jenny was pretty fed up with Jim’s protectiveness, much as she appreciated his diligence.

I benefited by Jim’s protectiveness too, and I relied on it. I felt totally secure as he led me on- and offstage through the dark and through twisting hallways that opened in front of thousands of people. Many times, I’d walk to the back of the stage at the end of a show after having the spotlight blinding me. From out of nowhere, Jim’s hand would grab me right above the elbow, and he’d steer me safely through the noise, crowds, and confusion.

Larry Jones remembers seeing Jim get angry only one time. I was somewhere signing at the head of an autograph line, and I could hear a voice in the line yelling the four-letter word I hate. Jim was on the scene instantly, yanking
the young man out of line without creating a commotion. Jim handed the kid over to the cops before he knew what was going on, and the signing went on as if nothing had happened.

A big part of Jim’s job was supervising the musicians, and it’s hard to be liked if you’re the guy who’s enforcing the rules. But Jim managed to retain the musicians’ goodwill while gaining their respect. One way he did it was by keeping his sense of humor about him at all times. Musicians are always going to poke fun at the tour manager, and Jim could take it.

I still can’t believe what Sandi, who is normally quiet and reserved in new situations, did to Jim on the second day she knew him. She had just joined the show and had barely met anyone, but she got up the nerve to play one of those inevitable road jokes on Jim. He was snoring on the couch in the middle of the day, when she snuck into her makeup bag and carefully pulled out fuchsia nail polish and applied it to Jim’s beefy fingernails. Sandi remembers that it wasn’t until it was time to eat that Jim noticed his bright fingernails. She said he had the most confused look on his face!

Sandi went after Jim another time too, when they were standing in the dark backstage. She walked up real close and began to whisper in his ear to distract him, then she started shooting at his crotch with a water gun. When he entered the lighted, crowded dressing room after the show, everyone thought he had wet his pants. He just shrugged off everybody’s laughs.

Jim looked like a grizzly, but he had the soft heart of a teddy bear.

L
ET ME INTRODUCE THE OTHER MEMBERS OF MY MUSICAL FAMILY
at that time, as we began touring after our break in early 1991.

Kirk Capello was my band leader and musical director, a genius I had hired away from the Barbara Mandrell
Show in 1989. Of all the musicians I’ve ever worked with, he had the most potential to become a record producer—the keen ear, the ability to juggle different layers of sound at once. He could play his keyboard while directing the other players and the singers without missing anything else happening onstage. He was my personal Paul Schaffer.

He also composed music. Suzy Wills had been inspired by a Bible class she took entitled “Undivided Heart” and wrote the lyrics for a gospel song of the same name. She tried to get Kirk to write the music for two years. He kept putting her off, finally finishing the song the day before what would become the last leg of our early-1991 tour.

It wasn’t surprising that Suzy couldn’t push Kirk. He was one of the most hardheaded members of my organization, a real individualist. When we toured, I liked to sightsee in the cities where we played, and usually the band would come with me. But not Kirk. Larry Jones used to say that trying to get Kirk to do things with me, his boss, was as hard as trying to get a teenager to do something with his parents.

Sandi remembers that when I wanted to stop to see Niagara Falls, Kirk refused to get off the bus, and that in Los Angeles, he snuck out halfway through the Universal Studios tour. Kirk was bored by that kind of stuff, and Jim used to fuss at him, telling him he was too cool for his own good.

But I didn’t mind Kirk’s ways. I realized that while I was the musicians’ friend, I was also their employer, so I didn’t take it personally if someone didn’t want to spend his time off hanging around with me.