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In 1982, Conway Twitty built a place where his wife, his mother and his grown children could all live close to him. A few years later, the marriage at the center of it was over. Twitty City opened in Hendersonville, Tennessee, as Conway’s enormous nine-acre home and tourist complex. Fans could walk the grounds, visit exhibits about his career and sometimes even see Conway himself. But it was also a family compound. The property included the home Conway shared with his longtime wife, Temple “Mickey” Medley, along with homes for his mother and his four adult children. After decades on the road, Conway had created a place where the people closest to him could literally live within walking distance. From the outside, it looked like everything had finally come together. But Conway and Mickey had already survived years of strain, including an earlier divorce and reconciliation. By the mid-1980s, their marriage ended for good. Twitty City remained. So did the houses, the records and the crowds. But the woman who had known Conway before “It’s Only Make Believe,” before the No. 1 hits, and before there was ever a Twitty City was no longer beside him.

Twitty City and the Family Conway Twitty Built Around It

In 1982, Conway Twitty opened Twitty City in Hendersonville, Tennessee, and for many fans it looked like a dream made real. The nine-acre property was more than a tourist attraction. It was a showplace, a home, and a statement about how far Conway Twitty had come. Visitors could walk the grounds, browse displays about his career, and sometimes catch a glimpse of Conway Twitty himself. The place reflected the size of Conway Twitty’s success, but also something more personal: his desire to keep family close.

Twitty City was designed as a family compound. Conway Twitty lived there with his wife, Temple “Mickey” Medley, while homes on the property also housed his mother and his four adult children. After years of travel, performances, and life on the road, Conway Twitty had created a place where the people most important to him could live within walking distance. On the outside, it seemed like a picture of stability and arrival.

A Place Built on Success

By the early 1980s, Conway Twitty was already one of country music’s biggest names. His career had stretched across decades, and the name Conway Twitty had become familiar far beyond the recording studio. Twitty City turned that fame into something physical. It welcomed the public, celebrated the music, and gave fans a way to step into Conway Twitty’s world for a little while. It also showed how deeply Conway Twitty valued the life he had built outside the spotlight.

That balance between public triumph and private hope made Twitty City feel especially meaningful. It was not just a monument to hits and trophies. It was a home base. It was meant to hold a family together. But even the most carefully built places cannot always protect a marriage from strain. Temple “Mickey” Medley and Conway Twitty had already endured earlier breaks and reconciliation before the relationship finally ended in the mid-1980s. Conway Twitty later married again in 1987, and the family story moved into a new chapter.

What Stayed Behind

When the marriage ended, Twitty City remained. The houses stayed. The records stayed. The crowds kept coming. The attraction continued to carry Conway Twitty’s name, and the public still came to see the place that had once felt like proof that everything important could be kept together under one roof. But the emotional center of the story had changed. The woman who had known Conway Twitty before the big fame, before the long run of hits, and before Twitty City was no longer beside him in that shared life.

That is what gives Twitty City its lasting power. It was never only about size or spectacle. It was about a man trying to build something lasting for the people he loved. In the end, the place outlived the marriage at its center, and that contrast makes the story feel even more human. Success can build walls, roads, and houses. It cannot always keep a family from changing. Conway Twitty understood that better than most, even while the lights were still on and the gates were still open.

 

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People once expected Kris Kristofferson and Merle Haggard to clash. Nearly fifty years later, Kris stood at Merle’s funeral and sang him home. When they first met, Kris was the long-haired songwriter some in Nashville saw as a hippie. Merle was already one of country music’s biggest stars. People expected them to be at odds. Kris remembered it differently. “From the first handshake we were best friends,” he later said. That friendship lasted for decades. They toured together, and less than two months before Merle died, they were still sharing a stage in California. Merle died on April 6, 2016, his 79th birthday. Three days later, at his private funeral, Kris picked up his guitar and sang “Sing Me Back Home.” It was one of Merle’s most personal songs, drawn from his memories of San Quentin and a fellow inmate facing death. Nearly fifty years after that first handshake, the man everyone expected Merle to clash with was there for one of his final goodbyes.

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Hours before Buck Owens died, he was already walking toward his car because he felt too sick to perform. Then some fans from Oregon stopped him. Buck had eaten his favorite chicken-fried steak at the Crystal Palace in Bakersfield, but told his band he wasn’t feeling well enough to go onstage. On his way out, he met fans from Bend, Oregon, who told him how far they had traveled just to hear him sing. Buck turned around. “If somebody’s come all that way, I’m gonna do the show and give it my best shot,” longtime Buckaroo Jim Shaw remembered him telling the audience. Buck performed that night, then went home. A few hours later, he died in his sleep. He was 76. There had been no farewell announcement. No one knew they were watching his final show. Buck had been too sick to play. But when he heard how far those fans had come, he turned around and gave them the show. It turned out to be his last.

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People once expected Kris Kristofferson and Merle Haggard to clash. Nearly fifty years later, Kris stood at Merle’s funeral and sang him home. When they first met, Kris was the long-haired songwriter some in Nashville saw as a hippie. Merle was already one of country music’s biggest stars. People expected them to be at odds. Kris remembered it differently. “From the first handshake we were best friends,” he later said. That friendship lasted for decades. They toured together, and less than two months before Merle died, they were still sharing a stage in California. Merle died on April 6, 2016, his 79th birthday. Three days later, at his private funeral, Kris picked up his guitar and sang “Sing Me Back Home.” It was one of Merle’s most personal songs, drawn from his memories of San Quentin and a fellow inmate facing death. Nearly fifty years after that first handshake, the man everyone expected Merle to clash with was there for one of his final goodbyes.

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CONWAY TWITTY FINISHED A SHOW IN BRANSON ON JUNE 4, 1993. BY THE NEXT MORNING, IT HAD BECOME HIS LAST. That Friday night, Conway was still doing what he had done for decades — standing in front of a country crowd and singing the songs that had made him one of Nashville’s biggest stars. After the show, he climbed aboard his tour bus for the trip back toward Tennessee. Nashville’s Fan Fair was ahead. He never made it. During a rest stop in southwest Missouri, Conway collapsed on the bus. He was rushed to a Springfield hospital, where doctors operated after an abdominal aneurysm ruptured. On June 5, Conway Twitty died from complications following surgery. He was 59. There had been no farewell tour. No announcement that Branson would be the last time. The audience had simply watched Conway Twitty sing, applauded, and gone home. By the next morning, they were part of a farewell none of them knew they had witnessed.