Chicken Soup for the Country Soul Read online

  Bill Anderson, Jan Howard, Skeeter Davis, Johnny Counterfeit, Buck White, Stonewall Jackson, Little Jimmy Dickens, Joe Diffie, Vince Gill, and the whole Opry cast, for their constant smiles, concern and support.

  Loudilla, Loretta and Kay Johnson of the International Fan Club Organization, for helping us solicit stories from all of their wonderful fan clubs. With their constant e-mails, faxes and letters we were able to reach out to the fans, whose amazing energy, enthusiasm and loyalty to their favorite artists continually impressed us.

  Mike Smith at The Nashville Scene, who helped us solicit stories from local artists, songwriters and fans.

  Joe Moscheo and Kathy Kinsch at the First Union Bank, who helped Ron expand his activities at American Entertainment Concepts during this crucial time.

  Martin Clayton, Donna Priesmeyer and Kate Haggerty at Interactive Media and CBS Cable, who helped us make literary history. Through their Web site at country.com, we were able, for the first time in history, to involve thousands of country music fans in helping us decide the final content of this book by evaluating and commenting on over fifty stories.

  Larry and Susan Blankenship, for designing our AMENTCO Web site, which later became the model for country.com and IFCO.com.

  Barbara “Bobbi” Smith, Carolyn Halloran, Rita LeFevre and Karla Adam, who helped us conduct valuable research for the book.

  Jonnie Barnett and Rory Lee, the winners of the story-writing contest we sponsored during the final phases of the project, whose story, “The Chain of Love,” appears in this book.

  And last, but not least, Jimmy Lowe, former drummer of the Pirates of the Mississippi, and his wife, Cindy, and also Tess Blyveis and her children, Nathan and Emily, for providing a home with hugs and love for Ron’s first year in Nashville.

  Thank you to the following people for taking the time to read and respond in the most complimentary and supportive fashion: Fred Angelis, Barbara Astrowsky, Patty Aubery, Judy Barnes, Christine Belleris, Samantha Berry, Emily, Nathan and Tess Blyveis, Terry Brown, Diana Chapman, Tom Corley, Robin Davis, Ron Delpier, Matthew Diener, Lisa Drucker, Thales Finchum, Randee Goldsmith, Melissa Goodson, Sherry Grimes, Nancy Richard Guilford, Vernell Hackett, Allison Janse, Tom Krause, Sharon Little, Donna Loesch, Inga Mahoney, Paige Manual, Heather McNamara, Susan Mendes, Linda Mitchell, Nancy Mitchell, Tomas Nani, Lance Nelson, Ron Nielson, Cindy Palajac, Kesha Pope, Dave Potter, April Robbings, Frank Saulino, Barbie and Bobbie Smith, Caroline Strickland, Jaltel Thomas, Peter Vegso, Debi Way, Rebecca Whitney, Martha Wigglesworth, and Maureen Wilcinsky.

  Neil Pond, senior entertainment editor, Country America Magazine ; Martin Clayton, vice president and general manager, Interactive Media, CBS Cable, country.com; Mark Edwards, operations manager, Country Coast-to-Coast, ABC Radio Networks; Bob Cannon, editor in chief, New Country Magazine ; Linda Fuller, senior producer, SJS Entertainment; Paula Ghergia, entertainment editor, The Insid e Connection, Premier Motor Music Networking Company; Mike Greenblatt, editor, Modern Screen’s Country Music Magazine ; Vernell Hackett, editor, American Songwriter Magazine ; Jackie Jarosz, editor, Teen Country Magazine ; Loudilla Johnson, president and cofounder, International Fan Club Organization; Dick McVey, Nashville senior news editor, Performance Magazine ; Erin Morris and Jim Della Croce, The Pre ss Office ; Ray Pilszak, director of national sales, Amusement Busine ss; Jon Rawl, Country Music Journalist; Lindsey Rawl, segment producer, Crook and Chase ; Al Wyntor, host, NASCAR Country and On-Line to Music Row; Richard McVey II, managing editor, Music City News.

  All the other Chicken Soup for the Soul coauthors— current, past and future—for sharing abundantly of their resources and themselves in an incredible spirit of TEAM (Together Each Achieves More).

  And to all the people at Health Communications, Inc.— our publisher—thanks a million! You can’t believe how much goodness you shed upon our lives. We especially wish to thank:

  Peter Vegso and Gary Seidler, for believing in this book from the moment it was proposed, supporting it, and skillfully helping us get it into the hands of millions of readers.

  Christine Belleris, Matthew Diener, Allison Janse and Lisa Drucker, our editors at Health Communications, Inc., who skillfully take our work to the highest level possible before it is published.

  Randee Goldsmith, the Chicken Soup for the Soul product manager at Health Communications, Inc., who is always there to support us and give us words of encouragement along the way.

  Kim Weiss, Larry Getlen and Ronnie O’Brien, our incredibly creative and effective publicists, who continue to help us keep our books on the bestsellers lists.

  Claude Choquette, who manages year after year to get each of our books translated into over twenty languages around the world.

  John and Shannon Tullius, John Saul, Mike Sacks, Bud Gardner, Dan Poynter, Bryce Courtney, Terry Brooks and all our other friends at the Maui Writers Conference and Retreat who inspire and encourage us every year.

  We also wish to thank the over five hundred people who took the time to submit stories, poems and other pieces for consideration. You all know who you are. Without you this book could never have happened. While most of the stories submitted were wonderful, we were only able to include the stories you find here. The decisions were often agonizing. We hope in each case we have done what is best for the book.

  Because of the immensity of this project, we may have left out names of some people who have helped us along the way. If so, we are sorry. Please know that we really do appreciate all of you.

  We are truly grateful for the many hands and hearts that have made this book possible. We love and appreciate you all!

  Reprinted by permission of Dave Carpenter. ©1998 Dave Carpenter.

  Introduction

  Country music springs from the heart of America.

  Tex Ritter

  A song ain’t nothin’ in the world but a story just wrote with music to it.

  Hank Williams Sr.

  Three years ago Ron Camacho approached us with the idea of our compiling a book of Chicken Soup stories by and about country music artists. Because the Chicken Soup for the Soul books had been gathering and presenting stories from the heart of America for the past five years and country music had been doing the same thing through songs for over seventy, it was natural for the two to come together in a book of heartwarming stories to nurture the souls of country music fans and anyone else interested in the love, wit and wisdom that emanate from the world of country music.

  With former tour manager Ron acting as the point man, we took off on a venture that would profoundly change our lives—especially Ron’s. After a few months, it was clear we needed to go where the music and the artists were. Ron actually relocated from Southern California to Nashville—which we visited often—and began meeting with artists and their managers. We all received a warm welcome as people were excited about the project. Artists, managers, agents, songwriters, deejays, journalists and people at the record labels and the Country Music Association all opened their office doors and their hearts to us.

  Then it was off to Lukenbach, Texas, for Willie Nelson’s Fourth of July Party and back to Nashville—where Ron now resides—for Fan Fair, with lots of stops in between. Along the way, we had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of some of the warmest people we have ever met—entertainers, writers, sound technicians, cowboy poets, street prophets, pastors, and, most important, country music fans. Everywhere we went, we were treated with down-home cooking and neighborly hospitality. Before we were done, we must have asked over a thousand people to submit a story for the book.

  Porter Wagoner and Billy Walker at the Grand Ole Opry introduced Ron to everyone he needed to meet, and Prime Time Country and Crook and Chase welcomed Mark on their shows to put the word out to get stories. The people at country.com—a new country Web site— allowed us to post stories every week for evaluation and the Nashville Scene and Country Weekly helped us sponsor a story-writing contest to solicit even more stories.

 
I go through a thousand songs to find ten for a new record.

  Conway Twitty

  Similar to Conway Twitty, we have gone through over five hundred stories to end up with the stories that appear in this book. While the decisions were often painful, we hope we have created a final result as good as any double-platinum record you have ever purchased. What you are about to read is the best of the best.

  In the same spirit of bringing together the best of the best, Porter Wagoner of the Grand Ole Opry invited 112 Opry stars and country entertainers to come together to record “In the Shade of the Family Tree” as a fund-raiser for the Opry Trust Fund. We are proud that we have been able to include this song in a CD in this book and that twenty cents for each book sold will be donated to the Opry Trust Fund.

  We are very excited about this book and the accompanying CD, and we hope that you will have as much fun reading and listening to them as we have had compiling and editing them.

  We’d Like to Hear from You

  We would love to hear your reactions to the stories in this book. Please let us know which stories are your favorites and how they have affected you.

  Also, please send us stories you would like to see published in future editions of Chicken Soup for the Soul. You can send us stories you have written or ones that you have read and liked from somewhere else—a book, newsletter, newspaper or magazine. If we choose to publish a submission, we will pay you for an original story and credit you for submitting someone else’s story.

  Send your stories to:

  Chicken Soup for the Soul

  P.O. Box 30880 • Santa Barbara, CA 93130

  fax: 805-563-2945

  To send e-mail or visit our Web sites:

  www.chickensoup.com

  www.clubchickensoup.com

  1

  ON LOVE

  AND KINDNESS

  Great people are able to do great kindnesses.

  Miguel de Cervantes

  Giving

  “Love is a verb.”

  Anonymous

  Giving love is doing,

  and there’s always more to do.

  Share with those in need,

  and it will all come back to you.

  For when life on earth is over

  and your time to go has come,

  You won’t be judged by what you have,

  but by good deeds you’ve done.

  So greet with open arms

  every soul you run into,

  ’cause giving love is doing,

  and there’s always more to do.

  Randy Travis

  Love Goes a Long Way

  Love received and love given comprise the best form of therapy.

  Gordon Allport

  I have received some wonderful fan mail over the years. I’ve received letters from couples who have fallen in love with my music, gotten married because of my music and raised their children on my music. I’ve had fans write and tell me of playing my music at weddings and on special wedding anniversaries. I’ve even been told of fans playing my hymns at a loved one’s funeral.

  There have been many tender, touching letters, but one in particular, I will never forget. It came from a young lady in Canada, and it took me back to a night in the late sixties when I had played a concert in her hometown.

  I remember the night well. Jan Howard was touring with me, and we were booked into an ice hockey arena in eastern Ontario. Prior to the show, we sat backstage killing time in the dressing room when a man came by and asked if he might speak with us a moment. We said sure, and he walked in.

  He sat down and softly told us about a young man from the town who, he said, had wanted to attend our concert more than just about anything in the world. All he had talked about for weeks was our coming to town, telling everyone how he was looking forward to seeing our show. But only a few days before we arrived, this young man was critically injured in a motorcycle accident. And he was lying cut, badly broken and only semi-conscious in a hospital bed on the other side of town. The prognosis for his survival was not good.

  “I have a feeling,” our visitor continued, directing his request toward me, “that if you and Jan would just take a minute of your time and go by the hospital to see this young man, it would be the best medicine anyone could possibly give him. He may not even recognize you, but he’ll know you were there. I can’t tell you how much he loves and admires both of you. If you’ll just go say hi, I’ll be glad to drive you over and I’ll bring you back.”

  Fortunately, there were two shows set for that night with over an hour’s intermission scheduled between the ending of the first show and the beginning of the second. Jan and I agreed we would go to the hospital between shows. “But we’ve got to come directly back,” I cautioned. “We can’t afford to be late.” The man said he understood fully, and he told us he would be in his car with the motor running outside the stage door at the end of the first show.

  I was surprised to find, when we arrived at the hospital, that the “young man” we had been told about was a big, strapping dude, well over six feet tall and probably weighing over two hundred pounds. His name was Arthur, and to my further surprise, he was married and the father of several children. I had expected, for some reason, an irresponsible teenager.

  Arthur was hurt every bit as badly as our visitor had indicated. I remember seeing legs in casts, arms in casts, wires and tubes connected to virtually every part of his body. He was apparently receiving large doses of medication, and he appeared to be only partially awake.

  Jan and I walked over to his bedside and told him who we were. We told him we were sorry he had gotten banged up so bad that he couldn’t make it to our show. And we told him that we fully expected him to get well so that the next time we were up that way he could come to see us. We tried to keep everything on a light, positive note, but it wasn’t easy. The young man was obviously very seriously injured. He could barely move his eyes to let us know that he was even aware we were in the room. I left his side feeling less than hopeful.

  But God is still in the miracle business. The next contact I had with him was a letter from the family a few months later telling me that Arthur was improving. And the letter thanked me over and over again for having taken the time to come see him.

  “You and Jan coming to the hospital gave him the will to live,” the letter said. “He says he is going to get well enough to come see your show next time you’re here. And we believe he will.”

  I was back in the area again about a year later, and I thought of Arthur and wondered how he was and how his recovery might be coming along. I didn’t have to wait very long for my answer. When we pulled up to the arena, here came a big, husky guy in a motorized wheelchair grinning from ear to ear. He hugged my neck so hard he nearly broke me in two. All the family hugged me too, saying repeatedly that our visit to his hospital room was the medicine that saved his life.

  The next time I saw Arthur, he was in the parking lot outside my office in Nashville. He had gotten well enough to drive and with the help of a special apparatus connected to the steering column of his car, he drove nearly a thousand miles to come see us at the Grand Ole Opry. He was truly a living miracle.

  I stayed in touch with him and his family over the years. I saw him several more times, and he never failed to mention the visit Jan and I had paid him during the darkest moments of his life. And then I didn’t see him or hear from anyone in the family for quite some time. One day I received a letter from his oldest daughter. It was very simple and to the point. She said simply that Arthur had become very ill and had died. She told me very few details. But she wrote one line that will stay with me forever:

  “Thanks to you,” she said, “I had a daddy for twenty years.”

  Whisperin’ Bill Anderson

  Sir . . .My Waiting Room Angel

  The five-minute drive to the hospital seemed to take hours. I leaned against the passenger door of the car and tried to let the coolness of the window calm me. My mother had
sent her friend to come get me. How like Mom to think of me driving to the hospital in my worried and frantic state—I had just gotten the news that my father had suffered a massive heart attack. Shock, worry, uncertainty and sheer terror all bombarded me without yield. I could not speak. I could not think. It was as if an unseen force controlled every part of me. I whispered prayers that I was not too late.

  When we arrived at the hospital, I ran through the emergency room doors and back to the room where my father was stretched out on a table. My beautiful mother was collapsed in a heap in the middle of the floor, crying uncontrollably. She saw me and extended her arms for me, and then I heard it—the thin shrill cry of a flatline.

  Doctors, nurses and orderlies filled the room barking orders in that medical language you see on television. I heard the crash of equipment being pushed through emergency room doors and a series of blips and bleeps. A metal tray haphazardly crashed to the floor somewhere behind me and I heard one brave, calm soul counting down numbers, “One-Two-Three-Four-Five-Breathe!One-Two-Three-Four-Five-Breathe! Clear.” A volt of electricity ran through my father lying helplessly on the table and at that moment a part of me died inside.

  After several minutes, a comforting series of bleeps began. His heart was beating on its own again. The next few hours were frightening. A team of emergency technicians was constantly monitoring his vital signs; however, his condition had improved quite a bit.

  While asking a nurse to watch over my mother, I excused myself and found an empty waiting room. Like many people in the midst of a crisis, I had been keeping a tight rein on my emotions. Now, I chose a couch in the farthest corner and collapsed. The tears flowed uncontrollably, the sick and helpless feeling in my gut returned full force, and the experience began to take its toll. I prayed out loud for guidance from above to please not let my daddy die. I prayed for strength so I could be there for my mother—but I didn’t know from where that strength could possibly come. I was frightened and felt very small and very alone. I worried that my father would die without truly knowing just how much I loved him. We had always been close, but how . . . how could words describe that kind of love? I buried my head in my hands and continued crying.