It started with a call from one old high school friend to the other.

"Get your butt over here and bring $15,000," Paul Emola said.

To this day, Johnny Lyon still is the type of person who will only buy T-shirts when there's a two-for-one sale. He had long since taken to heart advice his father once gave him: "It's not what you make. It's what you don't spend."

But on that rare occasion, more than three decades ago, Lyon didn't hesitate. He scraped together his savings from 20 years working his way up through the ranks in the military and playing honky-tonks with his country band on the weekends.

A short time later, the Texas Hall of Fame opened.

The live-music venue turns 30 years old this year. It's an age that at times seemed unfathomable for the dancehall, which has outlasted everything from downturns in business to a fire that nearly destroyed it. But the three-decade mark seems to fit nicely -- helping give credence to the venue's reverence among country music fans.

"Usually dancehalls don't last that long," Lyon, now 71, acknowledged during a recent interview with Spotlight. "This place has become a legend, but I attribute that to the community."

'Destined to be the best'

Lyon's founding partner, Paul Emola, got his start in the music business working as a bouncer at Lakeview -- a popular hangout among Aggies located about 12 miles outside of town, toward Kurten. Eventually, he bought the place.

That's where he and Lyon, who attended Bryan High together, eventually reconnected in the '70s.

Lyon was stationed with the Air Force a few hours away and made a deal with his old friend to start playing there with his band, the Country Nu-Notes.

Emola gave him a choice upfront: He could receive either $500 per show or 60 percent of the revenues from the door. Lyon took the $500 guarantee, which, after a few years of playing there and building up a local fanbase, he started to regret.

Eventually he began to wonder if he was on the wrong side of the music business.

"I said, 'The guy making the money is the club owner,'" he explained. "So I was really fixing to do it."

Lyon had heard rumors that some Austin folks were planning to build a club within Bryan city limits, which could potentially suck away Lakeview's business, he warned his old buddy. Emola initially dismissed him -- until he obtained paperwork from the city confirming the rumor.

When Emola called two months later, telling Lyon to bring the money, he didn't have to do much persuading.

"I think my dad told me he thought we were crazy," Lyon said. "But I didn't even give [the proposal] a second thought."

They put down $30,000 cash upfront to purchase six acres at the site along F.M. 2818 where the dancehall now stands. They then used their new land as collateral in obtaining a loan for an additional $320,000 -- used to purchase another 13 acres and build a venue modeled loosely after a now-defunct club Lyon once enjoyed performing at in Austin.

They built fast, and the Austin company eventually backed out of its own plans, Lyon recalled. Emola, who died four years ago, came up with the name. It still confuses newcomers to this day, Lyon said, explaining that people will still ask, "Is that a museum?" But it seems to have been catchy enough to work.

"Our theme when we built this was, 'Built to be the biggest. Destined to be the best.'" Lyon said. "We were the biggest for a long time."

The club still probably is among the top five country-themed bars in Texas, size-wise, he said. Lyon -- who still travels the state, often playing gigs with country legend Johnny Bush -- claims he hasn't yet played a bigger venue in recent years.

The Hall actually seemed much bigger when it first opened, he said. But like a well-lived-in house, it has been filled with additions and mementos over the years.

For instance, there's now a circular mini-stage in the center of the dance floor (that some older regulars still despise), there are three bars (New Orleans-themed, 12th man-themed and honky-tonk-themed) and just this year Lyon's bassist helped build a raised VIP seating area to the side of the stage.

For years, a mechanical bull also was part of the atmosphere. But it's been retired to a back room for about a year. Too much liability and paperwork, Lyon said. There will be future additions, too, such as a massive Texas flag he recently acquired. He just needs to figure out where to put it, he said.

"Back then, it just looked huge," Lyon said of the venue's opening 30 years ago. "It's hard to be the biggest anymore, and yet, to me, this is a great size. So we've got to strive to be the best."

'Built on traditional country'

Like any venue that has managed to have a lasting presence in a college town, the Hall has rolled with the trends over the years -- relying in part on its younger employees.

For instance, there was the Vanilla Ice concert about nine years ago, which still causes Lyon some chagrin. Attendance was amazing and he didn't mind trying something different.

"I'm just more fond of a calmer crowd," he said, grousing at the crowd-surfing and the patrons who broke bottles on the dance floor after the show ended. "There just wasn't anything common about it."

The venue has never had much of a reputation for trouble, but things were different 30 years ago when A&M was still more of a military school and the town seemed smaller, Lyon said.

"Back then, the sheriff went to high school with us, the judge went to high school with us [and] everybody knew we didn't start trouble," he said. "We had the good ol' country boys: 'Yes, sir. No, sir. Don't tell my dad, sir.'"

Things have changed a bit since then, he said. But he's not discouraged.

In fact, he's even bringing Vanilla Ice back again. The pop icon will return Sept. 3 for a $15 show. Fellow '90s hip-hop stars Ton Loc and Sir Mix-a-Lot also are expected to be at the club. And just this week he tried another new concept for the club: Hosting little-person wrestling.

The Hall is unique, Lyon said, in that it strives to appeal both to students and to townies. Competitors like Hurricane Harry's might look similar, but it's a different concept, he said.

"They're a bar. That's what they care about," he said. "If I were to turn this into just a bar, I wouldn't enjoy it.

"We're not a bar that has bands. We're a place where bands play and we have a bar. We're built on traditional country music and my goal is to keep live country music in business."

So far, he and Emola seem to have done a pretty good job.

The biggest crowds at the venue have showed up when Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson played. But the dancehall has also been a training ground for future stars such as George Strait (who once played for $3,000), Alan Jackson and Toby Keith. Aaron Watson recorded his live album there and wouldn't mind recording another there, he recently told Spotlight. He's still a regular, as is Kevin Fowler.

"The Hall ... stuck with us in the early years when we couldn't draw flies," Fowler said in an e-mail interview with Spotlight. "They believed in us."

Johnny Bush also found a home at the venue despite voice issues that plagued him for years. He knew Emola well and attended his funeral.

"You know, your partner helped more musicians than any club owner I know," Bush told Lyon at Emola's funeral, sparking a friendship between the two that has resulted in multiple tours together.

There have been nights when up to 2,000 Aggies have packed the house. But those aren't really the norm, Lyon said, explaining that he personally prefers a more "pleasant" showing where patrons can use the dance floor.

Still, he's always open to new ideas that might be the club's next big event. In a college town where a large portion of the clientele are only temporary residents, "you've go to build a new batch all the time."

Not a miracle man

One of the earliest chances Emola and Lyon took was serving mixed drinks from the outset. It nearly killed them.

"Beer-only was the name of the game," Lyon said, explaining that they were the first honky-tonk in the area to run with such a concept. "We were still a country town," he said, and locals wanted the freedom to bring their own liquor -- paying only for refreshments to mix it with.

"We were about to think we were going to lose everything," he said. "Then overnight it clicked in and became a success."

To this day he's not sure why it -- or any of the other concepts over the years -- started working.

"Thirty years of doing this and 22 years since buying Melody Ranch [in Waco] and I swear I still can't tell you what starts and stops the crowd," he said. "It's crazy. People think I'm a miracle man. I'm not."

In fact, Lyon didn't really know much about what he was doing when he opened the place.

For the first three years, Emola ran the place while Lyon finished out his career in the Air Force. He had flown T-38 supersonic jets over Vietnam, achieved the rank of lieutenant colonel and managed to launch a successful weekends-only music career that few of his military colleagues knew about.

"All I had done was a band," he said of the entertainment business. "Of course, I knew how [Emola] ran the Lakeview and I knew he knew what he was doing."

It wasn't until Emola sold Lyon his half of the venue about 10 years ago -- his health suffering after spending a career inside smoky environments -- that Lyon began to take a dominant role in the day-to-day aspects. Since then, he's tried to rely on common sense and what his former partner once taught him.

"I'm a college graduate. Paul is high school," he said. "But he could turn a nickel into a dollar better than I ever knew how.

"I haven't been the same since [his death]. He had really been an icon."

Another 10 years?

Lyon still remembers Sept. 28, 1978 -- the first night the Hall opened. He served as the opening band, playing before an Elvis impersonator that Emola had found.

He hopes to have another memorable performance this fall to commemorate the club's resilience over the years. Johnny Bush will be there to take the stage and hopefully Johnny Rodriguez -- helping Lyon fill out the "Johnny" theme for the free all-day event.

Will there someday be a 40th celebration, or perhaps even a golden anniversary? Lyon certainly isn't ruling it out.

"I guess it will depend on how long I have," he said of the club's lifespan. "I'm old enough it wouldn't hurt for someone to buy me out, but I'm right in the growth area, so I'm almost foolish to sell it. I keep hoping I can come across a person that will make it right for me."

The Hall's location has served as both a hindrance and a boon to the business over the years. It's far enough away from the center of the Bryan-College Station area that a lot of people don't seem to bother coming out unless there's a big event, he said.

But on the other hand, he said, "I have a piece of property paid for that does nothing but appreciate." Because of that, he's no longer haunted by the ups and downs of the business like he was in the beginning. "If that club doesn't do good, I'm still happy," he said.

Lyon never thought the Hall would get this far. Then again, he never thought he'd buy Emola out either, he said.

"I'm sure there will be a day this isn't a dance hall, but I would be good for another 10 years, I'd hope," he said. "I could sell this thing for a warehouse, but I'd like to see it continue. It's an icon.

"We have 30 years of Texas A&M students who remember the Texas Hall of Fame. If they stop by and say 'hi' sometimes, that'll keep you in business."

• Craig Kapitan's e-mail address is craig.kapitan@theeagle.com.