After more than half a century of silence, Temple Medley — known to fans as Mickey Jenkins, the first and only wife of Conway Twitty — has finally spoken. Now 82 years old, the woman who once stood quietly beside one of country music’s greatest legends has revealed the deeply emotional truth behind their divorce, their enduring bond, and why she never remarried.
For decades, she avoided the spotlight. While Conway’s fame grew from rock ’n’ roll heartthrob to country icon, Mickey remained a mystery — a chapter rarely discussed, even by those closest to him. But in a new, quietly recorded interview shared by family friends, her voice carries the tone of both tenderness and time.
“I never stopped loving him,” she admits softly. “But sometimes love isn’t enough to survive the world that comes with it.”
The couple married young — long before “Hello Darlin’,” “It’s Only Make Believe,” or the stage lights of Nashville ever defined him. They raised four children together, built a family from scratch, and weathered the lean years when money was tight and dreams seemed far away. But as Conway’s career soared through the 1960s and ’70s, the distance between home and the road began to widen.
“I used to wait up for him,” she recalls. “Some nights, he came home so tired he couldn’t speak. Other nights, he couldn’t come home at all.”
By the late 1970s, the strain had taken its toll. Conway’s fame had turned him into a public figure of mythic proportions, while Mickey — devoted mother, steadfast partner — found herself fading into the background of his growing legend. Their divorce, finalized quietly and without spectacle, left her heartbroken but resolute.
“People always ask why I never remarried,” she says, pausing for a long breath. “Because once you’ve loved someone that deeply, you don’t start over. You just keep loving them differently.”
In her words, there’s no bitterness — only reflection. She speaks with grace about the man the world adored and the husband only she truly knew: gentle, conflicted, driven by music and haunted by loneliness.
“When he sang ‘I’d Love to Lay You Down,’ I knew that part of him still longed for home,” she confides. “But the stage became his home. And I had to let him go.”
Now, after all these years, Temple Medley’s voice offers the missing half of Conway Twitty’s story — the love that shaped him, the heartbreak that deepened his songs, and the quiet devotion that never really ended.
“He was my first everything,” she says in closing. “And in some ways, he still is.”
For the millions who grew up on his music, her words add a final verse to the song — not about fame or failure, but about the kind of love that outlasts both.
