Ronda Rich
Syndicated Columnist
Three years ago, Tink and I attended my all-time favorite event. It is the induction into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Songwriters are my favorite of all writers. In three minutes, they tell a story that hangs in your heart meaningfully. Many years ago, I was in Branson for a Mel Tillis show where he invited me backstage. In his dressing room, he eased into a rocking chair that made his painful back feel better.
We talked for two hours, during which I asked him about writing the megahit, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.” The song has sold tens of millions of records by various artists, including Kenny Rogers and the First Edition, who took it to number one.
Mel told me that, when he was a little boy in Florida, they lived in tract housing about 15 feet apart. At night, as he lay in bed, window open, he heard the arguing that went on next door. The husband had returned from WWII, paralyzed from the waist down. Nightly, while they argued loudly about her partying, the little boy listened. Twenty years later, it inspired a storytelling song.
That night at the Songwriters Induction, we were seated at a front row table, guests of our friend, Cindy Owen. The entire evening thrilled me abundantly. Five noted songwriters were inducted, including Toby Keith who, as a singer, sold over 30 million records. He was to be on stage, last. As the next-to-last inductee was accepting, I glanced to the right and saw two or three large security guards, in dark suits and ties, escorting Toby and his wife to a front table, two over from us.
“That’s odd,” I thought. “Why would he need security? These are his friends.” The truth was that, out of 500 people, we were only two of a few music outsiders.
Ronnie Dunn, of Brooks and Dunn (his voice is my favorite ever), came out to sing a Keith hit as part of the induction. He was to sing “I Should’ve Been A Cowboy.”
Dunn looked over at Toby and said, “I always knew you were a great songwriter, but I never realized how great until I tried to learn this song. You make hard look easy. I’ve yet to sing it without making a mistake, so just be prepared.”
No mistakes. He knocked it out of the park and it was terrific.
Toby Keith, 6-foot-3 and 240 pounds, took the stage in the most gorgeous, tailor-made suit I’ve ever seen. I’m willing to bet that the fabric cost $2,000 a yard. At least. And it fit him beautifully. A white shirt, trimmed to match the suit, and a black cowboy hat. I kept looking at his right shoulder that did not buckle or crinkle. It was perfectly fitted and that’s hard to do with a man his size.
He expressed his gratitude then told this story. “Most of y’all had grandmothers who knitted. I had a grandmother who toted a gun and ran a honky tonk in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Every summer, from the age of 14, Mama put me on a Greyhound with two sandwiches and sent me there to work for my grandmother.”
There, the young boy learned to play guitar, write songs, and join in drunken brawls and fight with the best of them. Those experiences, no doubt, led to many of the great songs he wrote. Out of 31 major hits, he wrote or co-wrote 28.
He left the stage, took his wife’s hand, then security surrounded him and hurried out.
Odd, again. Until six months later, when he announced he had stomach cancer. He had finished his third treatment a few days before that night. Security was protecting his compromised immune system.
About a year later, I picked up the newspaper and read the news. My heart ached.
The cowboy had ridden away. Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell Mystery series. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.