By Gregg Davidson

BILLY RAY CYRUS

(PART 8)

Talk to anyone who’s famous or has spent much time around a public figure and they will all agree on one thing. Fame tends to attract people from all walks of life from the timid, long-distance admirer to the criminally insane. Without easy access to their favorite stars, some fans devise ingenious ways to tip the odds in their favor. While most celebrities enjoy the occasional encounter with their fans, it must certainly cause them to reassess the value of their precious private time.

After a week on the road with Billy Ray and Sly Dog, I realized that much more of my time was being spent around the band members than with Billy. It was not because he was unapproachable. The fact is that he had so little time to himself due to his increasing popularity and high demand for personal appearances, that we all gave him plenty of space to relax and reflect without adding more interruption to his grueling routine. Being a brand new A-list celebrity means constantly being pushed into the harsh spotlight that comes with notoriety, and it can be mentally numbing. Some quiet time to let your mind readjust to the mundane is very sobering and I believe is essential to career longevity.

Before I even had a chance to actually sit and idly chat with Billy, I was briefed by the band’s road manager (who was soon after replaced) about how to behave around him. Having known him longer than anyone else in the entire entourage, I was a bit put off by the briefing and found the whole event uncomfortable, but I suffered through it without reacting.

I was told that Billy was very sensitive and that we were not to discuss any bad reviews or other negative press concerning him or the band in his presence. I was also told that talking to the press outside of sanctioned interviews was grounds for instant dismissal. I was also forbidden to talk to anybody, especially Billy, about his ex-wives or ex-girlfriends, or to ask about any current relationships. Another taboo was any mention of his brother Kebo, still a sticky subject at the time since their musical split over five years earlier. I never intended to purposefully break any of these rules, but there was one infraction that I became guilty of.

One afternoon after a particularly long drive, I checked into the hotel and headed straight to the restaurant for some sustenance. Lunchtime had passed and there were maybe only three tables with customers in the main dining area. I strolled into the smaller, more private dining area and there was Billy sitting alone with his plate, a newspaper, and a long face. Looking up, he flashed a half-smile and invited me to join him.

As I inspected the menu, I decided not to ask about the paper. I had watched him climb on board the bus before with a copy of the latest newspaper from the previous town with that same expression of defeat, skulking past us only to sequester himself away in the master suit without so much as uttering a word. Bad reviews were not that uncommon during the tour, as many industry purists and old-school enthusiasts just didn’t understand BRC’s rocked-up brand of Country music. Some were more accepting and compared his explosive debut to the career of Elvis, while others labeled him a one-hit wonder. I wanted to remind him of how Garth Brooks, one of the biggest names in the business at the time, had to face similar opposition from the industry, from scathing reviews of his shows to personal attacks on his fashion sense and even his waistline. Instead, I decided to steer our conversation toward something positive, so I asked about his father Ron and his mother Ruth Ann. He told me his mom was coming to a few shows really soon and that his dad was presently just too busy to do so.

Against the wishes of his handlers, I asked if he had talked to Kebo in recent weeks, then instantly wished I hadn’t as he lowered his head and toyed with his fork, simply replying that he had not, adding that it had been a while. I could tell that the mere mention of his sibling affected him deeply, and so I quickly apologized, but he politely brushed it off and changed the subject . I never again brought his brother’s name up during the tour out of respect to his state of mind, not wanting to throw fuel on the fire. Later that evening, I saw Billy working off some steam in the hotel’s weight room with bodyguard Steve Wallach, and I remember thinking that Steve was probably becoming much more than just a bodyguard, secretly hoping that he could also serve as a friend to Billy during his most turbulent year.

Ruth Ann did make it out for some shows, always reminding me of my own mother with her wide-eyed curiosity, calm demeanor, and down-home good nature. Ruth is always a pleasure to be around and just makes everyone feel good while in her presence. In that respect, she brought a little bit of Flatwoods with her whenever she came, a wonderful and welcoming air of familiarity for anyone who might be feeling homesick. Today, she often house-sits for Billy while he’s away, still in the role of the doting mother that I will always remember her to be.

As I mentioned above, another of the issues addressed during my briefing was concerning the press. Once Billy’s career took off, certain opportunists went in search of dirt anywhere that they could find it. Let me just say that the one experience I’d had with a journalist spoken of last week left me on my guard from there on out. I didn’t have to deal with it often on the road, but at home, it became a different matter. The tabloid TV show “Hard Copy” became the first media outlet to descend upon BRC and his hometown acquaintances like a vulture upon road kill. Those with any association with Billy Ray either past or present became possible targets of inquiry. I know of at least a dozen people from our area that were contacted and offered money for any gossip about BRC that they could use. Some of them complied and related their tales whether factual or not, but I can honestly say that I declined to speak to anyone, including The National Enquirer, The Star, and People magazine.

My mother had to deal with their calls to her home and although Mom was a trusting soul, she was nobody’s fool and politely shamed them if they were only looking to say anything that wasn’t nice about BRC. One of the tabloids’ ways to entice one to open up was to make allegations seem already substantiated by leading you to believe that they already had facts from other sources who’d related information that they would then ask you to confirm. Such tactics may work well for law enforcement, but when applied in the manner that its employed by the press, it becomes borderline yellow journalism. Of the bunch, only the folks at People seemed to be less preoccupied with dirt and sincerely interested in the human interest angle, but I still chose to remain silent. Disloyalty is not an endearing character and does nothing but devalue your worth as a friend, let alone as an employee.

That’s not the only thing my poor mother had to endure. As soon as word got around that I was now employed by the hottest act in show business, she fielded questions from family members and acquaintances, along with the sudden emergence of distant relatives that she hadn’t heard from in years. She somehow handled all of it with dignity and grace, two attributes that we all might do well to utilize during such occasions, but her most exasperating experience came from a fan.

After claiming my baggage at one of the nation’s largest airports, I realized that a flight tag (with my mom’s phone number on it and with her address listed as a default destination) was missing from one of my small pieces of luggage, but I didn’t give it any further thought. A week later, Mom told me that a young woman claiming to be my girlfriend had called asking for me and had already mailed two letters addressed to me to her home.

Mom knew that my real girlfriend was busily attending Morehead University, but perhaps intrigued by the girl’s gift for fabrication, she let her jabber on about how we were in love and how she was hoping that we would be married one day. We had a good laugh about it during a phone call and hoped that it would blow over… instead, it got weird. At least once a week, the postman began bringing a fresh letter, sometimes with a package containing stuffed animals, semi-precious jewelry, and eventually photos of the girl in romantic settings on the beach or a backyard Jacuzzi.

Mother began telling the girl that enough was enough, but it seemed to only make it worse and she began to get snippy. In the end, Mom had to change the phone number that she’d had for many, many years just to evade having to deal with this obsessive person whom I have no recollection of ever actually meeting – and I was just a part of the road crew! Finally, the mail from her stopped coming and things got back to normal, but I never again put a phone number on anything that might in any way be exposed to the public.

Another weird and potentially dangerous situation occurred before a show in Pensacola, Florida. My first cousin LaRue Frasure drove from Fort Walton Beach to see the show and hang out with me. We met up at the Marriott and he'd brought along his girlfriend and a buddy. I gave them all some complimentary tickets and backstage passes before I had to head to the venue, planning to meet up with them again after my work was done.

I drove around to the rear and was allowed entrance through the gate, but had to park and wait for the load-in door to be opened from inside. I’d waited maybe twenty minutes when suddenly six police cruisers and two ambulances whizzed past me and gathered near the door where I was due to enter. They jumped out of their vehicles and began scurrying around, talking to the small group of venue workers who had assembled and pointed to the steep, grassy incline that led to a forested hillside behind the loading zone. When one of the officers approached me to ask if I’d seen anything, I assured him that I had not and questioned what was going on. He informed me that some gunshots had been heard coming from the grassy knoll just around the time that Billy himself had arrived. I’d been listening to music and hadn’t heard a thing. I knew of no threats on Billy’s life, but not all attackers give fair warning, so I was immediately concerned more with security matters than I had ever been before.

I worried that LaRue could have been hurt, but without the convenience of modern cell phones, all I could do was wait and pray. After a delay of well over an hour, word finally came that some officers who went scouring the woods had discovered some amateur hunters who’d been shooting at squirrels. I was finally allowed to approach the dock and once inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. While the stage was being prepared for the sound check, I met up with LaRue and his party, giving them their first backstage excursion, and even an introduction to Billy. It is now one of my fondest memories since losing LaRue at age 31 to diabetes complications in 1996.

On a lighter note, I have to share this story with you. I was sitting watching TV with the band one night after a show when we decided to order pizza, but the pizzeria told us that they had just closed when we called. No one else was open either, so we called them back and promised them a big tip if they’d just bring us some food. It got to the point where we had to play the BRC card and told them it was for him and his band. Their tone quickly changed and they agreed to accommodate us if we would give them six autographed pictures for the employees who were still left. We assured them that we would, and waited.  

When a knock came on the outer door sooner than we expected, the Sly Dog members gathered up a half-dozen promo pictures and started autographing them. I answered the knock, but instead of hot pizzas, I was met by Leticia Findley (who was very pregnant with Miley) looking for Billy’s room. I told her that he was next door in the attached suite and she thanked me and turned away. Finally, the grub did arrive, accompanied by three smiling delivery people who immediately asked for the autographs.

We were now in a dilemma. We didn’t want to disturb Billy and Tish, so we improvised and signed his name ourselves. Our intentions had been good, but we fell victim to unforeseen circumstances and were forced to resort to deceit. Not my proudest moment, but while consuming those delicious pies, it seemed hilariously worth it. Hold my dinner hostage will ya?

Most encounters with fans actually do turn out really well. Sometimes you might become friends with a supporter or two. This happened to me at a gig in Indianapolis. Billy was playing on a flatbed truck during the Indiana State Fair to honor an older contract. I was walking near the security gate when two girls caught my attention and asked me to get them backstage passes, a recurrent request at nearly every show. Normally, I would make some excuse and meander off, but these women showed me proof that they worked for Mercury Records at the Indy distribution office. I chatted with them for a while longer and realized that they were true fans who actually knew Billy’s other songs besides “Achy Breaky Heart”. They turned out to be really sweet, funny people and not at all pushy, so I grabbed some passes and got them in.

We hung out and clowned around for the rest of the afternoon before later enjoying the show from a choice position. Afterwards, we exchanged contact info in case BRC came back into town. I was pleased when over the course of the next few years, I began receiving a free copy of every new Mercury release in the mail. Thank you, ladies. Maybe nice guys (and girls) don’t always finish last.

Mercury Label Girls

Indianapolis Stage Shot