Days of Wine and Poses

Bye-bye, Betty Banner

[As published in Nashville Life magazine, April/May 1998]

Email | Print By Kay West

From the time I was a small child, I knew I would be a writer when I grew up. Thankfully, it worked out that way, because writing is about the only legally marketable skill I possess. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to specialize in, though I was pretty certain it wouldn't be poetry, textbooks or mystery novels. That still left me a lot of ground to cover. In 20-odd years in the trade, I've done haute couture and high finance, fried catfish and foie gras, football and Fan Fair. I've interviewed Warren Beatty, Jack Nicholson, David Lee Roth and Hank Williams Jr. I've written about my family, friends and lovers. I've even — God forgive me — dispensed sex advice in a national men's magazine.

But no assignment presented quite the challenge or provoked more questions from friends and readers than the personality I embodied in print for nearly a decade: Betty Banner, society columnist for the now-departed Nashville Banner.

Quite honestly, for the first several years I lived here, in spite of the fact that I read both the morning and afternoon paper, I paid scant attention to Betty Banner. At the time — in the early '80s — Betty paid little attention to the music industry, where I was then employed, and God knows the music industry paid absolutely no attention to anything that took place outside of the closely guarded borders of Music Row. It may be hard for newcomers to believe, but it has been only in the past decade or so that the very real barriers and prejudices between Nashville's hillbillies and bluebloods have been surmounted.

Betty Banner was as peculiar to Nashville as the concrete polar bears, Old Hickory Boulevard and Mayor Bill Boner. I can't imagine any one of them existing anywhere else. No one seems quite certain when or how Betty started, though it is generally acknowledged that Emmie Keeble, a long ago society editor at the paper, was the driving force behind her genesis. Among Keeble's correspondents were socialites Alyne Massey and Jane Dudley, as well as community activist Ida Cooney.

Though the Banner maintained an admirable newsclip library, Betty Banner was never indexed in such esteemed company. That's a shame, as the clips would provide a unique chronicle of a peculiar slice of Nashville life. Though the column was consistently one of the Banner's most popular and well-read, it was never held in very high regard within the paper. The photographers, who would have much preferred to be shooting a five-alarm fire or SWAT team operation than a black tie gala, were particularly disdainful (though always polite to their subjects).

In the beginning, there wasn't the plethora of pay parties with which Nashville is overwhelmed today, so Betty did lots of ladies club meetings, coffees, cotillions, bridal showers and the dreaded "Down The Aisle" wedding photo feature.

Betty took a little sabbatical in the '70s, when the poor thing, befuddled by Vietnam, Women's Lib, the sexual revolution, Watergate, the hostage crisis and Jimmy Carter, became — perish the thought — irrelevant. Thank goodness for Ronald Reagan, who made irrelevance relevant again.

My immediate predecessor — and Betty Banner mentor — was Susan Quick, a writer from West Virginia whose last name perfectly described her mind, her wit and her tongue. Susan, who is now associate food editor at Glamour magazine, dragged Betty kicking and screaming into the real world. Under the tutelage of Lifestyles Editor Beth Stein, she even gave Betty — whose B&W silhouette looked remarkably like Betty Crocker's — a much-needed cosmetic makeover.

Susan took Betty to Music Row parties and included people of color in the reports and photos. That didn't sit well with some. Susan remembers that the first African-American wedding shot for "Down The Aisle" elicited some very unfavorable responses from segments of the white community. The new diversity didn't sit well with some retired Betties either. In 1990, when I was doing a wrap-up of Betty history, I interviewed a few by telephone. One was being quite pleasant and helpful until she told me: "Betty Banner was fine until they started putting in the music industry and blacks. Then it went right in the gutter."

When I assumed the Betty Banner personality in 1988, I was ill-prepared to enter the world of high society. Until then, most of my Nashville social experience had been limited to free music industry parties celebrating hit records and rowdy afternoons on the hill at the Iroquois Steeplechase. I knew I didn't have the clothes, the pedigree or, I feared, the temperament to be Betty Banner.

Make no mistake, as frivolous as the subject matter seemed, you could not approach the Betty Banner column lightly. Although Betty was technically an imaginary character, in order to write Betty Banner, you had to become Betty Banner. And that was a neat trick itself.

"Who is Betty Banner?" was a question that was often asked within and without party circles. In the literal sense, it was the worst kept secret in Nashville society. Though Betty, for very sound reasons, was meant to be anonymous, the corps of volunteer women who produced every social and charity event in town knew just who Betty was. Interestingly, even they spoke of her — as I always did — in the third person, as in: "Hi Kay, this is Anne. Would Betty be able to come to our menu tasting next week?"

In the figurative sense, "Who is Betty Banner?" was a question I posed to myself many times through the nine years I wrote the column. Betty, also known as BB, Betts and Bettums, was definitely a throwback to another generation, yet in my view, she was never outdated. I preferred to think of her as timeless. Betty was not of the world she covered, so she kept a respectful distance, while at the same time offering readers a bird's eve view of Nashville society. Betty was apolitical and nonjudgmental. Betty didn't gossip, didn't dig for dirt and didn't dish. Betty wasn't tacky or catty; she had impeccable manners and always found something nice to say. Betty may have gotten tipsy, but she didn't get drunk; she liked to flirt, but neither made nor accepted advances. Betty Banner knew what she was doing wasn't brain surgery, but she never failed to recognize the enormous contributions made possible by the fundraisers and benefits she covered.

More than anything, Betty Banner seemed to me to reflect the city of Nashville, inherently gracious and generous and kind. Much like the city itself, Betty Banner broadened her horizons, made new friends, explored new territory and changed her look over the years, but she remained at heart the same sweet gal.

Betty Banner, like Nashville, may have been a little outdated, a little old-fashioned, a little small-town, but in a fast-paced and often harsh world, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I hope I gave Betty and Nashville the respect both are due. I wasn't the first Betty Banner, but I am tremendously proud to have been the last.