Of all the things that happen backstage at the Grand Ole Opry, the making of the lemonade might be the most tightly guarded secret.
It appears to involve nothing more than mixing powder, sugar and water, which blend overnight into a sweet-tart burst that lingers on the tongue. Still, Diana McBride shields it from view as she adds the ingredients, refusing to let anyone else learn the recipe.
“Flavored water,” she said recently, putting jugs of the drink into a nearby fridge after vigorously shaking them from side to side. “And tomorrow, delicious lemonade.”
Making lemonade is just one of the responsibilities that Ms. McBride, 65, juggles as a one-woman whirlwind of backstage hospitality at the Opry. But her signature backstage-only beverage has become so beloved that Ms. McBride is now known as “Lemonade,” briskly circling between dressing rooms and other backstage areas with gallon jugs in hand.
“I think God gives each one of us a talent,” Ms. McBride said. “I think my talent is being able to connect with people. And obviously, making lemonade.”
She is one of the legions of workers who have helped the Grand Ole Opry, a behemoth in country music entertainment, reach its 100th anniversary, which officially takes place on Friday. As Nashville and its signature industry evolve, it is people like Ms. McBride who ensure that certain things about the Opry never change.
“You can just show up on a Saturday night, you never know who’s going be there and all the rooms are open — no matter how famous the people are,” said Holly Williams, the granddaughter of Hank Williams, referring to the rooms where performers prepare backstage. On a recent night, she tapped Ms. McBride to ensure that a guest, Gwyneth Paltrow, could step onstage to sing as a surprise.
Ms. Williams, a singer who spent part of her childhood backstage and had her own children in tow, added, “You really feel like your uncles and aunts and cousins are the ones helping you.”
Ms. McBride, petite with a crop of gray hair, grew up in Nashville, across the Cumberland River from where the Grand Ole Opry now stands. She recalled watching the building slowly rise before the radio show — now the longest-running in the country — moved in 1974 from the Ryman Auditorium downtown.
She and her mother would sometimes would listen to the broadcast, which airs repeatedly every week. But she never saw a show in person.
“I think we always thought of the Opry House and the Ryman as a place that tourists visit,” she said, “not us.”
It wasn’t until 12 years ago, after a career in sales, that Ms. McBride headed to the Opry House one day, searching for something to help fill the absence left by the deaths of her parents. Maybe, she thought, she could become an usher.
“I think I’m meant to be here — I think this is where I’m supposed to be,” she recalled telling someone as she applied. She ended up in concessions, helping sell food to guests.
About two years in, the coffee machine backstage broke and Ms. McBride was asked to temporarily make fresh coffee. Hers was such an improvement from the muddy instant concoction that she was eventually asked to stay backstage.
When a second machine — one that dispensed tea, punch and lemonade — started to leak, she had it removed and decided she could make the drinks better herself.
They were “not sweet enough — we’re in the South,” Ms. McBride said with a hint of disbelief. Her mother’s iced tea recipe was easy enough, but lemonade was a bigger challenge to get right. For one thing, Ms. McBride does not like the taste of lemons.
Squeezing fresh lemons, she quickly determined, would take too long. And it was important to never make more than a gallon at a time, so that those partaking would not taste differences in sweetness.
“It had to just be right, it couldn’t be OK,” she said. “It has to be delicious.”
As the batches were served in glass jars, the lids slightly askew to let the mixture breathe, Ms. McBride would linger nearby, hoping for feedback. When a performer got her attention backstage one night by yelling, “Hey, Lemonade,” her boss overheard and quickly made her a name tag.
The nickname stuck, and her drink developed a cult following.
“I’ve never tasted lemonade like this — it feels like you’re laying in the grass on a hot summer day and the worst thirst you’ve ever had has been quenched,” said Aubrey Beiser, who leads tours of the Opry. “The taste, the feel, the way it hits your tongue — I mean, all of it — it just doesn’t taste the same.”
Recipe: Grand Ole Opry Lemonade
Ms. McBride now rarely introduces herself by anything other than “Lemonade,” even if it causes a double take.
Such was the case on a recent night when she greeted members of the management team for the Grammy award-winning R&B singer Ne-Yo. Lingering outside the room reserved for artists making their Opry debuts, she told them, “Hey y’all, I’m Lemonade,” and offered to help with whatever they needed.
“Iced tea,” one man deadpanned as he shook her hand in greeting. “Coffee,” said another.
Soon after, Ne-Yo came down the hall to say hello to Lemonade himself. She shook his hand and congratulated him on his debut. Then she was off, ready to check on her lemonade and arrange dressing room glasses in a circle — always unbroken, in proper Opry tradition.
Ms. McBride is among the many Nashville residents who have not fully embraced the city’s changes; she moved away from the city in part to escape its rapid growth. Most important to her is that everyone, from the superstars to the young children she slips stickers to, continues to feel valued and welcomed at an institution once known for unforgiving rules.
“I think a lot of it is etiquette and respect for them,” Ms. McBride said of what she is trying to maintain for the Opry’s artists and other backstage guests. “I’m here because they need something from me.”
That could be a hairbrush, a button repair or a guitar so that an Opry artist can play an impromptu performance for backstage tourists. Ms. McBride keeps three pairs of shoes in the kitchen, switching between them over the course of thousands of steps each night. She slows her frantic pace every time she approaches a door, wary of getting into a collision or ruining a photo.
In addition to her official duties, “you do stuff that’s not really your job” to enhance the Opry experience, she said as she cut into one of the many cakes served this year as part of the show’s 100th anniversary festivities.
Ms. McBride has won widespread appreciation not just for her lemonade, but for remembering every repeat guest’s name or dressing room preferences, regardless of celebrity status. This week, she was announced as a finalist for a Country Music Association touring award, in the “unsung hero of the year” category.
“She is who always remembered me and came right up to me to make me feel comfortable,” said Carter Faith, a singer-songwriter who first performed at the Opry in 2022. Ms. Faith’s stylist, Kennady Tracy, added that Ms. McBride “runs the tightest ship in country music” and called it a “claim to fame” to be able to text Ms. McBride directly.
During the early days of the coronavirus pandemic, when many in the entertainment industry were abruptly laid off or put on leave, Ms. McBride thought she might never be able to come back. But there she was this week, focused on preparing as many as 30 gallons of lemonade for two anniversary shows on Friday.
“This place just gets in your blood,” she said, “and you want to be here.”
Emily Cochrane is a national reporter for The Times covering the American South, based in Nashville.
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