STORY BY JOSEPH HUDAK
George Jones is still a badass. Sliding into the driver’s seat of his tricked-out Audi, the 81-year-old doesn’t bother to buckle his seatbelt. Instead, he hits the gas and starts descending, with Country Weekly in the back seat, down the winding driveway of his manor in Franklin, Tenn. It’s an impressive, sprawling property, 78 acres in total, his forever-young wife of 30 years, Nancy, says. “You don’t have any rich friends who want to buy it, do you?” she asks. She and George are contemplating selling and moving into a gated community.
George seems fine with that change, but bristles when the idea of turning his current home—with its closets of Nudie suits and walls of awards and photos with presidents and artists like Porter Wagoner—into a Graceland-type attraction is suggested.
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