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Newton filed a $20 million lawsuit against fellow croonmeister Tony Orlando. Actually, Newton's June 21 suit was a return volley -- Orlando fired the first salvo in this real-life Celebrity Death Match, having launched his $15 million lawsuit against Newton two months earlier, on April 28. Their feud centers around the theater that -- up until December -- Newton and Orlando shared in Branson, Mo.

Branson is, without question, the preeminent Ozark Mountain vacation spot. Replete with more than three dozen musical revues, paddle-wheel riverboat cruises and a 19th century theme park, it's also home to a boatload of once-famous entertainers -- from Andy Williams to Yakov Smirnoff -- whose careers have gotten a third wind in this show-biz anomaly in the southwest corner of the "Show-Me State."

But venture just a little bit outside of town -- say 10 minutes south down Highway 65 -- and suddenly you're not in the "Las Vegas of the Midwest" anymore. There, in rural Arkansas, sandwiched between the Omaha Church of Christ and what's left of the dilapidated Dinosaur Dumplin' Palace, you'll find Bax's Guns of the Ozarks, a scary bumpkin bazaar whose sign advertises an "AMMO SALE 62 3.75 BOX," whatever that means.

There's just no escaping the fact that Branson, which wags have dubbed "the Redneck Riviera," lies perilously close to genuine Hatfield and McCoy country, where feudin' fever is as common as 'possom pie. How else to explain why two performing pals -- who had been friends for more than 30 years -- would now be embroiled in a particularly ugly celebrity squabble?

Yellow ribbons and red roses

In case you snoozed through the '70s, here's a little refresher course to help you tell one cheesy entertainer from the other. With his band Dawn, Orlando recorded three No. 1 tunes: "Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree," "Knock Three Times" and "He Don't Love You (Like I Love You)." The trio even enjoyed a television variety show on CBS for two years in the 1970s.

Newton never reached No. 1 on the pop charts, though his repertoire, which includes "Danke Schoen" and "Red Roses for a Blue Lady," may be familiar. Still, by maintaining a maniacal appearance schedule -- mostly in Las Vegas -- Newton is said to have become the highest-paid nightclub performer in history.

Though they took slightly different paths to fame, Orlando and Newton mined the same sort of fun, schmaltzy material, and the two former friends shared so much more. They both dropped their first names -- Carson Wayne Newton had a professional "Carson"-echtomy, while Michael Anthony Orlando Cassavitis disposed of both his first and last names. In 1997, Orlando invited Newton to share the stage with him at Tony's Yellow Ribbon Theatre in Branson. And in April 1998, they even leased a theater together, which they christened "The Talk of the T.O.W.N. Theatre," an acronym for "Tony Orlando Wayne Newton." Sadly, all they share today is their April 3 birthday. Oh, and a mutual hatred for each other.

That's because their theater on Highway 65 at the junction of Highway 248, though still very much the talk of the town, has changed its name to the "Wayne Newton Theatre." And it was here that, almost a year ago, Newton and his wife locked Orlando out in the December cold.

What could possibly have transpired to put good friends at odds with each other? To engage in a juicy "He said, He said" war of words in which accusations of illegal wiretapping, conspiracy, planting of evidence and the kidnapping of a young girl's Christmas toys have played a part? To stage a battle royale in a Springfield, Mo., federal court where even the "Omnibus Crime and Safe Streets Act" has made a cameo?

Next page | Tony's tale ...