By Kenneth Howard Smith
September in 1965 brought a dry, searing heat to the Antelope Valley, scorching the Joshua trees and carrying the faint, electric promise of the emerging Bakersfield Sound. For fifteen-year-old Kenneth Howard Smith, however, the new school year felt like an exile.
After two solid years of finding his footing at Antelope Valley High School, Kenny’s reign there had come to an abrupt end. The construction of Rosamond High School was ninety-nine percent completed, and his parents, wanting him closer to home, enrolled him as a junior in the brand-new, sterile facility.
The move cost Kenny more than just his daily routine; it severed his musical connections. The rehearsals with his first band, The Telestars, over in Lancaster, suddenly became a logistical nightmare. Even worse, the relocation restricted his access to the creative sanctuary of Glenn Records on Sweetbrier Street in Palmdale.
Glenn Records was a legendary local hub, the home label to pioneering regional acts like George Weston, Wally Cox, Merrell Fankhauser, and the Velvetones. To a music-obsessed teenager like Kenny, his bi-weekly treks to the recording sessions were a vital lifeline. Too young to drive and refusing to let distance defeat him, Kenny took to skipping school, standing on the dusty shoulder of the highway, and hitchhiking down to Palmdale. He was completely, irreversibly hooked on the magic of the studio.
It was late in the afternoon when Kenny finally arrived at the desert studio. The air inside smelled of warm vacuum tubes, dust, and magnetic tape. Glen MacArthur had not long returned from Bakersfield, where he worked as a recording engineer and producer for Tally Records, owned by the influential Lee Talley.
Before Kenny could even catch his breath, a long, sleek black Cadillac pulled up to the curb outside. Glen peered through the window, a spark of urgency in his eyes. He turned to Kenny and explained that he had a rush recording session with a couple of folks who needed to get some tracks down immediately. Without hesitation, Kenny jumped in to help, setting up several microphones and positioning chairs in the small, intimate studio space.
A gentle knock sounded at the door. When it swung open, the tall, unmistakable frame of Porter Wagoner peeked through. On the wall just inside the entrance, a framed 45-RPM single of a new group called Sandy Nelson caught the light. Glen hurried over from the console to greet him warmly, and as Porter stepped inside, a young lady carrying an acoustic guitar case followed.
Kenny, eager to be helpful, immediately offered to take her guitar case.
"Please and thank you," she said, her voice a sweet, melodic Southern drawl, accompanied by a brilliant, genuine smile that instantly lit up the wood-paneled room.
Glen formally introduced Kenny to Porter Wagoner. Looking at Porter, Kenny felt a jolt of recognition. The man’s sparkling style and booming country voice instantly matched the flashes Kenny had seen on television. Then, Glen introduced him to Miss Dolly Parton. She was only several years older than Kenny, but she carried herself with an effortless, captivating grace.
The encounter pulled a vivid memory from Kenny's childhood. When he was just seven years old, his father had worked as a local stagehand on Cousin Herb Hanson’s television show, which was recorded in an old barn for KERO-TV in Bakersfield. Kenny remembered tagging along with his dad, watching him move heavy sets and bales of hay around the stage while the musicians played under the bright studio lights. Standing in the room with these rising stars, the circle felt beautifully complete.
Time was of the essence. The main Tally Recording studio in Bakersfield was booked to the absolute brim, and Porter urgently needed a quick, high-quality demo of several songs for their upcoming television appearance.
Within minutes, Glen had the levels set, and the tape was rolling. Porter and Dolly stepped up to the microphones. Their first recording was a gorgeous, soaring duet, their voices blending in a perfect harmony that sent chills down Kenny's spine. After the duet, Porter stepped back, and Dolly sat alone with her acoustic guitar.
In the quiet of the Palmdale studio, she recorded two acoustic songs by herself. Kenny watched in absolute awe as she poured her soul into the microphone. The songs were raw, poetic, and utterly mesmerizing: "Coat of Many Colors" and "Jolene."
As the final notes faded into the desert air, Glen quickly transferred the tracks. The master was preserved on a seven-and-a-half-inch, quarter-inch tape, wound onto a ten-minute reel. Glen handed the precious reel over to Porter.
With the tape safely in hand, the two stars said their quick goodbyes. They had to make their way back to Bakersfield over the winding Frazier Park Pass to get to the television studio with enough time to spare before airtime.
After the excitement of the session subsided and the dust settled on Sweetbrier Street, Donna MacArthur offered Kenny a ride back. Sliding into the plush interior of her brand-new Cadillac DeVille, Kenny stared out the window at the Joshua trees passing by in the blue twilight, his mind still spinning from the melodies he had just witnessed. Donna dropped him off safely at his home in Rosamond, his secret afternoon adventure remaining a quiet, triumphant secret.
The very next afternoon, Kenny sat eagerly in front of the television set. The Cousin Herb Hanson Show came on, and sure enough, Porter and Dolly stepped onto the screen, looking radiant under the studio lights.
Dolly didn’t get the chance to perform either of her solo acoustic songs on the broadcast that day. Instead, she and Porter only performed their duet live on television.
Decades would pass, and those names would become giant stars in the sky of music history. Yet, for Kenny, the memory remained anchored in that dusty Palmdale afternoon. Strangely, he could never quite remember the name of the duet they sang on TV that day. The only song that truly burned itself into his memory was the one that never aired on the show—the haunting, beautiful acoustic melody of "Jolene."
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