The County Opry

Most people entering Pamlico County by road take North Carolina Highway 55, past the Handy Mart gas station and several lonely houses surrounded by forest and fields. Eventually, they see a building with the faux facade of an old red barn and a marquee stating, “Opry Band Dance.” The County Opry in Grantsboro has coaxed many newcomers to pull over to take a photo.

On this Saturday, 21 vehicles, mostly trucks, are parked in the gravel lot beside the Opry. There are no streetlights on this part of 55. The passing headlights and the lights of the Opry make the night look darker.

A gray-haired man wearing a black t-shirt and cowboy boots smokes the last of his cigarette under the long awning at the entrance and goes inside. I follow him down a hallway lined with autographed pictures of country music singers and celebrities. At the end, we pay a 10-dollar cover charge (it is waived for those who can’t afford it) and enter the dance hall.

The Country Opry Band is onstage playing the Doobie Brothers song “Give Me the Beat Boys.” The group’s five members don’t perform anywhere else. Families with toddlers and seniors with walkers sit at banquet or bistro tables. About 50 people are here to dance or watch.

Richard Lombard, 87, leads Sandra Ipock Riggs, 77, to the wooden dance floor. They are wearing matching green shirts. Most attendees have on cowboy boots or sandals, but Richard wears penny loafers. The band starts a new song, “Lord Have Mercy on the Working Man,” by Travis Tritt. There are American flags on the wall, a cross and a portrait of Elvis.

Richard and Sandra are in step, holding each other’s hands. Richard gently spins her under his arm.

When the song ends, they return to their table for two, which holds a Diet Dr Pepper, a bottle of water and a baggie full of cough drops. They tell me they met at the Opry and have come every Saturday for the past three years. “He is my dancing partner--my boyfriend,” Sandra says. “My husband and his wife are both deceased.” We have to talk loudly to hear one another over the next song.

“He’s the first man I ever slow-danced with,” Sandra shouts.

Tonight’s house managers are Randy and Irma Armstrong. They also met at the Opry and are regular volunteers here. Randy teaches a line-dance class on Friday nights. Ed and Beverly Terry, the Opry’s much-loved owners, are not present tonight, which is rare; they had a funeral to attend. The Terrys opened the dance hall 16 years ago.

“This place has changed a lot of people,” says Randy.

The band announces it is taking a break, and the audience gives the musicians a round of applause. The overhead lights come on, and the Armstrongs call out the winners of a raffle. Sandra wins three times and gives away her prizes to friends at neighboring tables—except for a Mini Chopper food processor. The crowd jokes and yells that the raffle is rigged.

Randy calls out that it’s time to line dance. Popular music starts to play, and he taps his foot to the beat. The lights dim again. Young people take the floor and form a circle. They walk counterclockwise, then shuffle; they step back, step forward and change direction. One of them, 17-year-old Whisper Johnson, wears boots with high heels.

“Uh-oh, look at those shoes,” says Sandra. She and Richard stand up, return to the floor and resume dancing, still slow, in a corner.