For years, the world has known Jimmy Fortune as the soaring tenor of The Statler Brothers—a voice of velvet and reverence, a man who stepped into the shoes of a legend and somehow made them his own. But behind the lights, the harmonies, and the standing ovations was a quieter story. A story not told onstage. A story known best by one woman.
Now, after decades of silence, Nina Fortune—Jimmy’s wife and quiet anchor—has finally opened up about the deeper truth behind the man millions have admired. Not to sell a book. Not to chase headlines. But to share the kind of story only a partner can tell.
“Jimmy always gave everything to the music,” Nina begins. “But the world never really saw what it cost him.”
In her voice is neither bitterness nor regret—only a steady compassion that comes from walking through fire with someone and still choosing to hold their hand.
“There were nights he’d come home from a show and just sit in the dark,” she says. “Not because he was sad, but because he had nothing left to give. He left it all on that stage.”
She describes a man who bore the weight of filling Lew DeWitt’s shoes—not just musically, but emotionally. “He didn’t step into The Statlers to replace Lew,” Nina explains. “He stepped in to honor him. That pressure… it wasn’t easy.”
Behind closed doors, Jimmy wasn’t always the calm, smiling figure fans saw. He wrestled with doubt. With exhaustion. With the deep ache of wanting to live up to a legacy while still trying to build one of his own. And through it all, Nina stood by him—not as a manager, not as a fan, but as the one person who reminded him that he was enough even when the applause faded.
“I watched him fight to keep his humility in a world that rewards pride. He prayed more than he sang,” she recalls. “Sometimes I’d hear him whisper to God in the kitchen, asking, ‘Am I doing this right?’ That’s the Jimmy most people didn’t know. The one who needed to know he was being faithful—not famous.”
Nina also opens up about the toll the road took on their marriage—how faith and forgiveness became as essential as food and sleep. “There were times I felt like I was second to the music,” she admits, her voice cracking. “But he always came back to me. Not just physically—he came back with his heart.”
And when The Statler Brothers sang their final song together, it wasn’t an end for Jimmy. It was a beginning—a time for reflection, for writing his own songs, and for finally letting his voice speak not just for the people, but from the soul of a man who had been carrying stories for years.
“I don’t think people realize how much music can save someone,” Nina says. “But in Jimmy’s case, it didn’t just save him—it gave him something to give. And when he sings now, it’s not for fame. It’s for healing.”
As the interview closes, Nina reaches for a worn photo—Jimmy in a church, eyes closed, hand over his heart. “That’s the Jimmy I know,” she says softly. “Not the star. Just the servant.”
And now, so do we.