Stafford and Gentry had a very small wedding in 1978, but they did allow a reporter from the Memphis Commercial Appeal to attend the ceremony on their 120-acre horse farm in Somerville, about 45 miles east of the city.
“It’s wonderful to stand on your own land, where you plan to live and raise a family,” Stafford is quoted as saying at the time.
Today, computer databases clearly show that perhaps the nation’s most reclusive pop star lives in an 8,000-square-foot house with a great pool not all that far from the old homestead. Real estate agents confirmed it.
So, yesterday, I found myself looking at a phone number on my computer screen for several seconds. No reporter, to the best of my knowledge, has spoken to Gentry in decades.
I punched the numbers.  
After a few rings, a pleasant woman’s voice said: “Hello.” 
I introduced myself and my newspaper. I said I was looking for the person whose name appears on the property owner’s record. 
There was a dead pause of several seconds. My fingers clenched open and closed. 
“There’s no one here by that name,” she said, finally. 
I apologized and started to read back the number, to make sure I had dialed it correctly, and she hung up. 
But there isn’t really any doubt. 
I talked, for about 13 seconds, to Bobbie Gentry.