The Greatest Oldies Music

Country

LITTLE JIMMY DICKENS BROUGHT A STEPLADDER ON STAGE TO WELCOME SIX-FOOT-SIX TRACE ADKINS INTO THE GRAND OLE OPRY, PROVING THAT COUNTRY MUSIC’S BEST MOMENTS OFTEN COME WITH A GOOD LAUGH. Back in June 2003, country star Trace Adkins finished a set at the Grand Ole Opry when the diminutive, 4’11” Little Jimmy Dickens walked out wearing a bright blue Nudie suit and carrying a stepladder to look him eye-to-eye. Climbing the steps so the two could meet at nearly equal height, Dickens delivered the legendary invitation to join the Opry family, kicking off a tradition that Adkins would carry forward fifteen years later by surprising Dustin Lynch on that same stage. Formalized by childhood hero Ronnie Milsap in August 2003, Adkins’s Opry membership reshaped his sense of duty and respect for the institution’s legacy. From a clever onstage joke involving a tiny stepladder to a lifelong badge of honor, the moment remains a masterclass in how country music honors its past while passing the torch to the next generation.

LITTLE JIMMY DICKENS STOOD 4’11”. TRACE ADKINS STOOD 6’6″. SO WHEN DICKENS CAME OUT TO INVITE HIM INTO THE GRAND OLE OPRY, HE BROUGHT A STEPLADDER.

By 2003, Trace Adkins was no longer the unknown Louisiana singer who had come to Nashville looking for a place

He had already built a run of country hits, survived hard years, and made the Grand Ole Opry part of his story. His first Opry appearance had come on November 23, 1996, only months after his debut album introduced that deep baritone to country radio.

The Opry was not just another stage.

For singers raised on country music, it was the room that made the work feel official.

Then, on June 14, 2003, Adkins finished his set and prepared to leave.

That was when Little Jimmy Dickens walked out.

He was wearing a bright blue Nudie suit.

And he was carrying a stepladder.

The Joke Worked Because The Moment Was Real

Dickens stood 4’11”.

Adkins stood 6’6″.

The sight alone told the story before anyone needed to explain it. Dickens set down the ladder, climbed the steps until he could get closer to eye level, and asked Adkins how badly he wanted to become part of the Grand Ole Opry family.

The room understood the joke immediately.

But underneath the laughter was one of the highest honors country music could offer.

Little Jimmy Dickens was not only being funny. He was carrying the weight of the Opry’s invitation, using humor the way country music often does — to soften the emotion without weakening it.

Adkins accepted.

A tall man was being welcomed by a small legend with a ladder.

It was pure Opry.

Trace Chose Ronnie Milsap To Bring Him In

When the formal induction came, Adkins was allowed to choose the Opry member he wanted to welcome him into the family.

He chose Ronnie Milsap.

That choice mattered because Milsap was one of Adkins’ musical heroes. The invitation from Dickens had given him the news in unforgettable fashion. The induction by Milsap gave the moment a personal stamp.

On August 23, 2003, Ronnie Milsap officially inducted Trace Adkins into the Grand Ole Opry.

The Louisiana singer who had first stepped onto that stage in 1996 was no longer only a guest.

He belonged to the family now.

And in the Opry, family means more than a plaque or a title.

It means carrying the room carefully.

The Membership Changed How He Carried Himself

Twenty years later, Adkins returned to the Opry stage to celebrate the anniversary of his membership.

By then, the stepladder story had become part of his own  country lore. But the meaning had moved beyond the joke that made the invitation famous.

Adkins said Opry membership had affected the way he conducted himself because he felt responsible for representing the institution.

That is the part outsiders can miss.

The Grand Ole Opry is not only a venue where country singers perform. It is a living chain of elders, newcomers, jokes, rituals, old songs, new hits, and quiet expectations. Once a singer is brought in, he is not simply collecting an honor from the past.

He is expected to help carry it forward.

Then Trace Became The One Sent Out

In 2018, the tradition came back around.

Adkins walked onto the Opry stage unexpectedly during Dustin Lynch’s set and asked him to join the Opry family.

That moment gave the old stepladder joke a deeper echo.

Little Jimmy Dickens had once walked out to get Trace Adkins.

Fifteen years later, Trace was the man walking out to get someone else.

That is how the Opry keeps itself alive. Not only through formal announcements, but through scenes people remember — a surprise, a laugh, an older member’s hand on a younger singer’s shoulder, a moment when the stage stops being just a stage and becomes a doorway.

Adkins had once stood on the receiving end.

Now he was helping open the door.

What Little Jimmy Dickens’ Stepladder Really Leaves Behind

The deepest part of this story is not only that Little Jimmy Dickens used a stepladder to invite Trace Adkins into the Grand Ole Opry.

It is that the joke became a handoff.

A 4’11” country legend.

A 6’6″ Louisiana baritone.

A bright blue Nudie suit.

A ladder on the Opry stage.

Then Ronnie Milsap’s formal induction, twenty years of membership, and Adkins later surprising Dustin Lynch with the same kind of invitation that once changed his own night.

Little Jimmy Dickens knew how to make a room laugh.

But he also knew how to make an honor feel human.

That night, he did both.

And when Trace Adkins later stood on the same stage to welcome the next singer in, the ladder was gone — but the tradition was still there, reaching just high enough for one generation to meet the next.

Video

Related Post

Alan Jackson spent ten years living with Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease before explaining publicly why he was having trouble keeping his balance onstage. By the end of his touring career, he was using his farewell to help fund research into the condition. Diagnosed in 2011, Jackson had inherited the degenerative nerve disorder from his father, Eugene. His grandmother and older sister were also affected. As it weakened his lower legs and feet, moving around during concerts became more difficult. He disclosed the diagnosis on *Today* in September 2021, concerned that audiences might mistake his unsteadiness for drinking. He continued performing, launching *Last Call: One More for the Road* in 2022. The arena tour concluded in Milwaukee in May 2025. Along the way, he adapted: singing from a tall stool or using the microphone stand for support. Even as his fingers became less nimble, he kept signing cowboy hats and tossing them to fans near the stage. On June 27, 2026, more than 50,000 people gathered at Nashville’s Nissan Stadium for his final full-length concert. Jackson was 67. Luke Combs, Eric Church, Miranda Lambert, Carrie Underwood, Keith Urban, Luke Bryan, Jon Pardi and Lee Ann Womack joined the celebration. The evening also supported the CMT Research Foundation. One dollar from each ticket went toward its work, with anonymous donors contributing another two dollars per seat. After decades of touring and 35 No. 1 country hits, Jackson stepped away from full-length concerts to spend more time in Tennessee with Denise, their three daughters and their grandchildren. His last stadium audience had helped support research into the disease that made leaving the road necessary. More below follows the final *Last Call* tour and the Nissan Stadium celebration, alongside one of Jackson’s classic performances.

Jerry Reed filled “Amos Moses” with things listeners weren’t supposed to believe. The one-armed poacher, the father who used his son as alligator bait, the sheriff who vanished in the swamp—all belonged to a tall tale. The law pursuing Amos, however, had a real reason to be there. When the record arrived in October 1970, alligator hunting was illegal in Louisiana. Reed had set his story roughly 45 minutes southeast of Thibodaux. Louisiana had closed its alligator season in 1962 after a steep population decline, and the ban remained in place. A limited legal hunt would not return until September 1972, when 59 hunters were permitted to participate in a single parish. The storyteller himself came from Georgia. Born in Atlanta in 1937, Reed spent seven childhood years in foster homes and orphanages and taught himself to thumb-pick guitar on a porch in a cotton mill village. By 1970, he was an established Nashville session musician, and Elvis Presley had recorded his songs. “Amos Moses” gave Reed a character as distinctive as his guitar playing. Country radio took the single to No. 16, while its bigger audience came through pop: it reached No. 8 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early 1971 and sold a million copies. No documented real-life Amos has emerged behind the story. Reed nevertheless kept the fictional poacher close. In 2005, when asked to choose three songs he could sing for the rest of his life, he named “Amos Moses” first.

Waylon Jennings arrived at the Ryman Auditorium in a wheelchair on July 3, 2001, to say goodbye to Chet Atkins. Diabetes had made walking difficult, but he had returned from Arizona to honor the producer who signed him—and with whom he had so often argued. Atkins brought Waylon to RCA in 1965 and produced his early hits. Their disagreements grew from the records themselves. Chet favored Nashville’s established session musicians; Waylon wanted to record with his own band and follow the sound he heard onstage. In 1972, Waylon secured creative control. The following year, he made *Honky Tonk Heroes* without Atkins. Nearly three decades later, those battles remained part of the friendship he remembered outside Chet’s funeral. Listed among the honorary pallbearers, Waylon called him a genius. He recalled arguments that left them furious with each other, followed by sessions that produced records he was proud of. He also told a local television reporter about an earlier moment, when he was new in Nashville. Faced with someone in the studio who doubted him, Chet had announced that he had found himself a star. Waylon and Jessi Colter had already sold their Nashville home and moved to Arizona. His health was deteriorating, and five months after the funeral, doctors amputated his left foot. He died at home on February 13, 2002, a little over seven months after Chet’s service. On that final visit to the Ryman, he had remembered both the man who challenged his musical choices and the man who believed in him before the hits arrived.

You Missed

Country

Alan Jackson spent ten years living with Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease before explaining publicly why he was having trouble keeping his balance onstage. By the end of his touring career, he was using his farewell to help fund research into the condition. Diagnosed in 2011, Jackson had inherited the degenerative nerve disorder from his father, Eugene. His grandmother and older sister were also affected. As it weakened his lower legs and feet, moving around during concerts became more difficult. He disclosed the diagnosis on *Today* in September 2021, concerned that audiences might mistake his unsteadiness for drinking. He continued performing, launching *Last Call: One More for the Road* in 2022. The arena tour concluded in Milwaukee in May 2025. Along the way, he adapted: singing from a tall stool or using the microphone stand for support. Even as his fingers became less nimble, he kept signing cowboy hats and tossing them to fans near the stage. On June 27, 2026, more than 50,000 people gathered at Nashville’s Nissan Stadium for his final full-length concert. Jackson was 67. Luke Combs, Eric Church, Miranda Lambert, Carrie Underwood, Keith Urban, Luke Bryan, Jon Pardi and Lee Ann Womack joined the celebration. The evening also supported the CMT Research Foundation. One dollar from each ticket went toward its work, with anonymous donors contributing another two dollars per seat. After decades of touring and 35 No. 1 country hits, Jackson stepped away from full-length concerts to spend more time in Tennessee with Denise, their three daughters and their grandchildren. His last stadium audience had helped support research into the disease that made leaving the road necessary. More below follows the final *Last Call* tour and the Nissan Stadium celebration, alongside one of Jackson’s classic performances.

Country

Jerry Reed filled “Amos Moses” with things listeners weren’t supposed to believe. The one-armed poacher, the father who used his son as alligator bait, the sheriff who vanished in the swamp—all belonged to a tall tale. The law pursuing Amos, however, had a real reason to be there. When the record arrived in October 1970, alligator hunting was illegal in Louisiana. Reed had set his story roughly 45 minutes southeast of Thibodaux. Louisiana had closed its alligator season in 1962 after a steep population decline, and the ban remained in place. A limited legal hunt would not return until September 1972, when 59 hunters were permitted to participate in a single parish. The storyteller himself came from Georgia. Born in Atlanta in 1937, Reed spent seven childhood years in foster homes and orphanages and taught himself to thumb-pick guitar on a porch in a cotton mill village. By 1970, he was an established Nashville session musician, and Elvis Presley had recorded his songs. “Amos Moses” gave Reed a character as distinctive as his guitar playing. Country radio took the single to No. 16, while its bigger audience came through pop: it reached No. 8 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early 1971 and sold a million copies. No documented real-life Amos has emerged behind the story. Reed nevertheless kept the fictional poacher close. In 2005, when asked to choose three songs he could sing for the rest of his life, he named “Amos Moses” first.

Country

Waylon Jennings arrived at the Ryman Auditorium in a wheelchair on July 3, 2001, to say goodbye to Chet Atkins. Diabetes had made walking difficult, but he had returned from Arizona to honor the producer who signed him—and with whom he had so often argued. Atkins brought Waylon to RCA in 1965 and produced his early hits. Their disagreements grew from the records themselves. Chet favored Nashville’s established session musicians; Waylon wanted to record with his own band and follow the sound he heard onstage. In 1972, Waylon secured creative control. The following year, he made *Honky Tonk Heroes* without Atkins. Nearly three decades later, those battles remained part of the friendship he remembered outside Chet’s funeral. Listed among the honorary pallbearers, Waylon called him a genius. He recalled arguments that left them furious with each other, followed by sessions that produced records he was proud of. He also told a local television reporter about an earlier moment, when he was new in Nashville. Faced with someone in the studio who doubted him, Chet had announced that he had found himself a star. Waylon and Jessi Colter had already sold their Nashville home and moved to Arizona. His health was deteriorating, and five months after the funeral, doctors amputated his left foot. He died at home on February 13, 2002, a little over seven months after Chet’s service. On that final visit to the Ryman, he had remembered both the man who challenged his musical choices and the man who believed in him before the hits arrived.

Country

Before Toby Keith built OK Kids Korral, a grieving mother told him what it meant to arrive at a hospital with nothing—and find that someone had thought of what she would need. Her two-year-old daughter, the child of one of Toby’s bandmates, had been diagnosed with a tumor. Toby helped connect the family with St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Doctors could not save her, but her mother never forgot the support she received: a room, meals at any hour, and gift cards for necessities, all without a bill. Toby wanted families in Oklahoma to have that kind of help. His foundation began supporting children with cancer in 2006. On January 7, 2014, it opened OK Kids Korral near the children’s hospital in Oklahoma City, offering free accommodation to families whose children were undergoing treatment. He described the place as “Ritz Carlton meets Disney World.” His golf classic raised more than $15 million to support it, and the Korral grew to welcome about 300 families each year. When Toby received his own stomach cancer diagnosis in 2021, he later said one of his early concerns was who would look after the Korral. He died in February 2024, at 62, having called it the best gift he ever gave the world. The idea had stayed with him because of one family’s experience. Years later, other parents could bring their children to Oklahoma City for treatment knowing that a place to stay—and help through the days ahead—was waiting for them.