DeFord Bailey: A True Star of Early Country With a Misunderstood History

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This article is a contribution by writer, musician, and long-time Saving Country Music reader Steven Paul.

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There are many tall tales and outright fabrications in the world of music, and country music is no exception. Ridiculous stories persist into the present day about country music’s biggest stars, and there are true stories that are wilder than even the most inventive mind could imagine. 

One tall tale has so long outrun the truth that it has been shared, spread, and repeated ad nauseam until even some of the most studious country music historians mistake it for fact. It’s the story that DeFord Bailey (1899-1982)—one of the biggest country stars of the 1930s—was fired from the Grand Ole Opry because he was Black. 

Though writers, historians, and country music experts have endeavored to set the record straight (at the time of this writing, even Wikipedia reflects the actual reason for Bailey’s firing) decades of country music fans have believed in error that Bailey’s firing was racially motivated.  

Born in Tennessee in 1899, DeFord Bailey was only a couple of generations removed from slavery. In fact, in keeping with the trend of freed slave families adopting the surnames of their former owners, the Bailey surname comes from the family’s ancestral slave owner. But DeFord Bailey would rise to become the first Black country star, the most popular country artist besides Uncle Dave Macon, and a harmonica player of such respect that later country artists, including harmonica virtuoso Charlie McCoy, all but begged to record with him or to record him personally for posterity.

Armed with a riveting backstory befitting a country legend, DeFord Bailey was a star in the making even before he came to prominence. As a child, Bailey was afflicted with Polio that kept him bedridden for several months, during which time he practiced harmonica and mandolin, but mostly harmonica, learning to imitate his grandfather’s fiddle tunes, the sounds of wildlife, and the sound of a passing train. Bailey would listen to passing trains as a child, but due to his illness, he would not see a real train for many years.

As a result of his childhood illness, Bailey would retain a slight stoop, a full height of only 4’10” (one inch shorter than ‘Little’ Jimmy Dickens), and a small frame that kept him from performing the more grueling farm labor, which in turn provided Bailey ample time to practice. By the time he was mature, Bailey was already well known for his virtuosic playing, train impressions (his signature “Pan American Blues” would be the first recording of a harmonica blues solo), and repertoire of fiddle tunes. Bailey would later enter and win a harmonica contest. But because of his skin tone, he was only awarded second prize, despite his victory.  

Though not technically the first country artist on the radio, nor the first on WSM, Bailey is generally regarded as having been the first ‘Opry’ performer. It was while introducing Bailey that WSM manager ‘Solemn Old Judge’ George Hay followed Bailey’s “Pan American” with the now famous “Opera to Opry” quote that some consider the beginning of the Grand Ole Opry. Since Uncle Jimmy Thompson played on the original WSM Barn Dance, and Bailey was the first performer on the Opry, both artists have been called the first Opry performers.


To understand the eventual causes of Bailey’s termination, it is essential to provide a full understanding of what country music performances and tours looked like.  

First, there were few if any solo country stars in the early days. Even the most famous country artists traveled in groups, invoking the sights and sounds of the medicine show. A “country” performance was usually several artists in varying styles: a singing duo such as Sam and Kirk McGee or the Delmore Brothers, a solo banjoist or fiddler, a three-or-four piece string band, and a comedian or other variety act. DeFord Bailey and Roy Acuff were both known to do tricks with yo-yos, and Acuff may have gotten this from watching Bailey.

It was Uncle Dave Macon who challenged the notion that hillbilly or early country musicians couldn’t keep a crowd engaged as a solo act. One quote from the book Dixie Dewdrop goes something like, “No one put on a whole show by himself. Uncle Dave Macon can.” 

This style of montage performing meant that few country stars were expected to have large repertoires of songs. Instead they did a few crowd pleasers that audiences came to expect from them. Besides “Pan American” (a DeFord Bailey original), he came to be known for playing “It Ain’t Gonna Rain No More,” which he may have learned by watching Dave Macon, “Fox Chase,” a common harmonica show tune, and “Evening Prayer Blues.”

Bailey would tour and perform with Dave Macon, Bill Monroe, Roy Acuff, the Delmore Brothers, fiddler Sid Harkreader, and others. This is important information in light of the rumor that Bailey’s firing was racially motivated, since it has been claimed that Bailey’s skin color was kept secret by the Opry. This unsubstantiated claim is both blatantly false and, frankly, ludicrous.

Bailey’s race was well known to country audiences at the time, though on some tours he would struggle to find accommodations. Some performers would leave Bailey to sleep and eat in the car, but the Delmore Brothers, Dave Macon, and others would only eat or sleep where Bailey was welcomed, and the Delmore’s would even share a mattress with Bailey. To circumvent some segregated lodging, Dave Macon and Bailey would pretend that Bailey was Macon’s valet. Given Dave Macon’s long list of eccentricities and boisterous behavior and Bailey’s quiet, reserved personality, this act would usually be accepted without question.

It is also important to note that during his Opry run, Bailey would rent out rooms to guests where he was living, and though he never paid for a hotelier’s license, Bailey effectively ran the first desegregated place of lodging in the area, with persons of all backgrounds coming to stay, often hoping for a chance to hear Bailey play. 

DeFord Bailey was first recorded in 1927, then later in Nashville in 1928. He was among the first artists to be recorded in Nashville, and these recordings ultimately led to his termination by the Opry. A quick look through the list of Bailey’s 1920s recordings reveals that they include his best known performance tunes, as would be expected. The list includes “Fox Chase,” “Dixie Flyer,” “Pan American,” “Evening Prayer Blues,” and others. Unfortunately, this would lead to the functional end of the legendary career of DeFord Bailey, who at the time was the biggest star of WSM, with the exception of Dave Macon. 

Without getting too into the details of copyright law, it must be understood that WSM refused to pay the higher fees demanded by performance rights organization ASCAP beginning in 1940, and that ASCAP songs weren’t to be played on the station as a result. WSM was not unique in this, and stations across the country suddenly found themselves in need of new material to broadcast. This meant that many working musicians were expected to arrange public domain material or compose new songs.

Across the country, fan favorite songs were no longer available to performers. “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” for instance, wouldn’t be public domain until 1943. Audiences quickly took umbrage to finding their favorite programs playing soft arrangements of well known ballads and classical pieces. Musicians were discouraged from improvising in case they accidentally borrowed from a copyrighted melody. Songs like “Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair” may have been as ubiquitous as the cans of spam that would inspire the legendary Monty Python routine that resulted in unwanted mailings and phone calls being called “spam.”

The effects of the ASCAP strike were far-reaching, partly contributed to the decline of big band music, and also impacted the careers of many established stars. Jack Benny couldn’t play “Love in Bloom,” Burns and Allen couldn’t use “Love Nest” and more important to the topic at hand, Deford Bailey couldn’t play “Pan American.”

Since the Bailey recordings of 1927 and 1928 were copyrighted, it meant that Bailey could not play the songs he was known for playing on WSM, and that audiences expected to hear on WSM. If audience reactions to other artists changing their repertoire is any indication, had Bailey performed other songs, it would have been as well received as a peanut butter and artichoke pizza. 

DeFord Bailey was let go from the Opry in the spring of 1941, ending a nearly decade-and-a-half run with WSM and effectively ending the career of one of the biggest country stars of the era. In October, the ASCAP strike would come to an end, but DeFord Bailey would not return to the Opry. (Reinstate who?) 


Since 1941, the rumor mill has churned out all sorts of tall tales about Bailey’s termination, most of them somehow involving his race, even though it is unlikely that the Opry would fire one of their biggest stars for something most audience members evidently couldn’t have cared less about. 

Part of the urban legend around DeFord Bailey’s termination stems from Judge Hay’s 1945 book, A Story of the Grand Ole Opry, in which Hay describes Bailey unflatteringly as “lazy” and claims he “refused to learn new tunes.” As previously stated, given how audiences responded to other acts trying out new material, it would have done little good for Bailey to have done so. Bailey himself would later claim that Judge Hay was nothing but nice and helpful to him, and that Hay’s hurtful characterization of Bailey was written to appease his superiors on the matter. 

In any case, after the ASCAP strike, Bailey was not asked to return to the Opry, and though some have claimed the decision not to rehire Bailey was racially influenced, it is impossible to fully validate or refute such a claim. What is known is that Bailey did not ask the Opry for his old job back. It can be reasonably assumed that the matter of Bailey’s job post-1941 was a stand-off, with neither side wanting to make the first move for fear of having egg on their face. It isn’t a stretch to imagine Judge Hay squirming at the thought of asking someone he’d just fired a few months prior to come back with no hard feelings, nor is it hard to imagine Bailey being eager to humble himself asking for his old job back. 

It’s also possible that DeFord Bailey was simply a casualty of a rapidly changing world. Bailey was fired in spring of 1941, the ASCAP strike ended that October, and that December a major news story would consume the waking thoughts of most Americans for the ensuing several years. The disappearance of DeFord Bailey likely crossed very few minds of the forties. Also, other high profile country performers would go on to be fired or banned from the Opry in the coming years, including Hank Williams and Johnny Cash.

Without the Opry, Bailey returned to his pre-Opry job shining shoes, now with several employees. Bailey would often play his harmonica for guests while his employees worked, drawing crowds of all colors and backgrounds. He also continued his room renting on the side, with his room renting providing a reasonable secondary income. Important to note, the David C. Morton book DeFord Bailey, a Black Star in Early Country Music does describe an isolated incident of a cross being burned on the family’s lawn.

As a side note: The Delmore Brothers had left the Opry in 1938, and after the war would add another harmonica vunderkind, Wayne Raney (of Raney and Glosson fame) to their entourage. With Raney, the Delmores would record the obviously Bailey-inspired “Pan American Boogie” featuring Raney’s harmonica. Since many country fans would recall seeing Bailey and the Delmores on the touring circuit, some listeners have mistakenly credited DeFord Bailey for playing on the Delmores’ post-war recordings.

DeFord Bailey would perform a few times on the Opry in the ensuing decades, including his seventy-fifth birthday celebration and to celebrate the Opry leaving the Ryman house. He also performed in folk circles during the folk revival of the sixties. At this time, Bailey would sing and play banjo and guitar as well. Bailey, who was left-handed, was probably a better banjoist than Dave Macon, but played the banjo upside down.


It is important to understand that Bailey was not wanting for opportunities to perform. Bailey did not, as it is often claimed, languish in obscurity because no one would hire him. In fact, Bailey would turn down most offers to perform or be recorded. The primary reason Bailey declined many job offers is because he felt most offers were too low.

One famous story goes that Bailey was asked to be involved in a production that featured Johnny Cash, and Cash was to be better paid than the other contributors. Bailey would have only accepted the offer if he were paid equal to Johnny Cash, and negotiations ended. Given the status of Johnny Cash, a list of performers the producers would have been willing to pay as much as Cash could probably be counted on one hand. 

A few late career recordings of Bailey do exist, and Bailey did work with David Morton to publish a biography that is quite the page turner for anyone with a passion for early country music. But Bailey still faded from Country music consciousness.  His son ‘Junior’ Bailey would begin his own musical career and be a mainstay on TV’s Night Train in the sixties. Prominent in Junior Bailey’s band during the Night Train era was a guitarist who would later become famous by the name Jimi Hendrix. (Hendrix and DeFord Sr. are known to have met multiple times.) Clearly, the influence of DeFord Bailey stretched to all areas of American culture. 

After the 1982 passing of DeFord Bailey, much dialogue has centered on recognizing his place as a pioneer of country music and an institution in his own right, and an equal amount has been said about Deford Bailey’s race, much of it misinformed by Judge Hay’s 1945 testimony.  

Make no mistake, country music—like all American institutions dating back far enough—has its skeletons in the closet concerning race. Lefty Frizzell would call Charley Pride the notorious word that rhymes with ‘bigger.’ In his biography, Grandpa Jones recalled being approached by a Black man who took exception to the vocabulary of Grandpa’s repertoire of traditional songs. Though Grandpa would defend the songs as being folk songs that merited faithful preservation, he understood the man’s perspective.

It bears mentioning that DeFord Bailey ended his Opry career in 1941, and Charley Pride wouldn’t be the first solo Black singer on the Opry until 1967, leaving a gap of over a quarter century.

DeFord Bailey was a cornerstone of American country and blues music, a performer who was second in stature only to the biggest star of his era (Dave Macon), and an influencer who touched the careers of artists as diverse as Doc Watson, Jimi Hendrix, Pete Seeger, Roy Acuff and Charlie McCoy. The significance of Bailey’s work—limited though his recorded output was—is hard to overstate. Despite his significance to the early Opry, much of DeFord Bailey’s lasting impact has been overlooked, reduced, or downplayed as the dialogue shifted to race.  

DeFord Bailey deserves to be remembered and respected for his artistry and for what his career meant to the advancement of country and blues music in the 1930s and into the 1940s. Any discussion on what that meant with regards to race should be done with accurate information.

The history of Country Music is vast, complex, and full of colorful, often bizarre characters. But certainly among the most memorable is the soft spoken 4’10” Black harmonica wizard always in a fine suit who’s train impressions remain among the most inspiring ever performed on the instrument, and who’s career was destined to become the stuff of Country Music legend. 

DeFord Bailey was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2005.  

For further reading on the early and golden era of country music: 

George Hay: the Story of the Grand Ole Opry (1945) 

David C Morton: Deford Bailey, a Black Star in Early Country Music 

Michael Doubler: Dixie Dewdrop, the Dave Macon Story 

Grandpa Jones: Everybody’s Grandpa 

Alton Delmore: Truth is Stranger than Publicity 

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