Transcription
Around the Cosmic Campfire by Tony Wright
Chapter 21
When the last note is ringing, out of the blue, I got a call to come and sing the national anthem for a national equestrian event held outside town in Nashville, Tennessee. It was an odd call since I had not been performing for many years, except for a local writer’s night I was hosting in my historic community in the middle of nowhere. Where the caller got my name and number, I don’t recall, but it was instinctively receptive, and also I was flattered. I accepted.
As I started to think about it, I got a little bit afraid as well. My performing chops were not really up to speed; I’d been off the road for 20 years. But perhaps I could do some rehearsal in my little music room with my guitar and find myself acceptable. I was always my own worst critic. It was a la-di-da event for sure, with some of the most prosperous horse jumpers in the national field, and I hoped I would be up par for their standard. It was going to be quite organic—just an acoustic guitar on my voice—and if I was lucky, they would provide me with a small PA and I could plug my fairly decent microphone into it. Otherwise, no one would ever hear me outside in the expansive field. There were hundreds of people there, coming from all over the United States, not to mention all the activities and sounds of the horses.
I reached back for a moment, remembering my days of performing in clubs and on the road and how it all started. It was with the horsewoman, Linda. She was a local band booking agent in Iowa who heard me sing at one of the clubs in Des Moines in 1974 and asked if I needed an agent. I liked her right away, and we became spirit friends. She became my agent and booked me all around the Midwest and Canada as a single performer and eventually as a duo, trio, four-piece, and a five-piece band. She was very faithful in sticking with me and whatever musical incarnation I came up with—whatever kind of music, whatever my act was—she was there for me. I even lived in her bunkhouse for a while on her horse ranch and could watch her husband break horses on any given day of the week. It was a life totally foreign to me. I could never understand the passion for risking one’s own neck continually from cavorting with bucking broncos. It was also exciting, and wow, the smell of hay, dung, leather—it was a cowboy’s life for sure. It was a life I savored and admired between my musical notes while hanging onto the wooden fence. She booked me on the road until the 1980s when I retired from traveling to have my daughter, settling in Nashville and working in recording studios on Music Row. Linda had a series of unfortunate events, such as the bunkhouse burning on their ranch and their family leaving Iowa. I had a series of health issues and moved from the city out to the woods via several various apartments and temporary housings. With those events against us, we lost each other completely and lost touch. I had no idea where to find her; there was no internet back then. She was still breaking horses herself along with her husband. I didn’t know if there would be a directory for that, and I didn’t know what state they even lived in. So, in time, I lost touch with this very warm spirit friend I had made. It was quite a loss. We have been estranged for many, many years.
I packed my guitar to my car and headed towards the national anthem. I wasn’t even sure where to park. Unfortunately, the day was sunny and beautiful, as opposed to me singing under an umbrella, hoping not to get electrocuted in a lightning storm. With all the worry and rehearsal and anxiety that I might fold on myself, I didn’t last very long. I stepped up to the mic, sang my guts out, holding out the last series of powerful notes at the end, and the “home of the brave”—then poof, the gig was over. Some people were acutely aware that someone was singing, and some especially recognized it was our national anthem and paused, clapped, appreciated; and many were not paying attention—they were jumping large animals into the air. It was not the zing I had thought it might be, for instance, like the honor of singing the national anthem at the New York Yankee Stadium, where people are hanging on every word. But I let it be powerful enough for me. I was pleased with myself, which is rare, and let it be a sweet experience, a bit brief. I was glad it was over; I was getting really hot out. I packed up my guitar and microphone and thanked the sound guy for helping me with the technical end of things and headed into the long series of tents set up to keep the searing sun off the event goers. It was getting humid outside and nasty as it can be in Middle Tennessee in the summer.
I was headed towards the car when I heard screaming—screaming really loud, screaming coming at me. People sort of parted, as in the movie—a crazy person was squealing at the top of her lungs and running full speed in my direction, and I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I was slightly alarmed. When I squinted and watched the emerging figure running through this crowd under a long tent, I realized it was Linda, my long-lost soul friend and agent from many, many years ago. She grabbed me, and the crowd was separating, watching, interested, wondering what in the world was going on. And she looked around at the people and actually was shouting to them, “I found her! I found her!” I was so stunned I dropped my guitar case, and we hugged each other for so long. It was a crazy moment for sure.
The most interesting thing about this reunion was that she was on the back of the event property in a trailer. She had not heard me sing the national anthem except for the last note when she happened out of her trailer for a second. She was far enough away that she could barely even hear that as well. When the last note was still ringing, she knew it was me, and she ran and ran and ran for me and was indeed able to get me before I raced away in my car on the sun-blistering Tennessee day.
How did I get to that event after years of not singing? Who was it that called me to do it? A stranger for certain. How was it that Linda was at this event and came out of her trailer to hear the last note and to recognize it was my voice from 40 years ago and run for me and catch me before I scurried to my car? How do these things happen? Such beautiful stuff. We have never lost each other since; only fools would do that. We still marvel when she comes through Nashville as we catch up about the moment of our relocating each other. I will always remember her—her dedicated integrity and her dedication and willingness in the spirit just to run for me, no matter what, and help me not be lost from here again. I appreciate these soul synchronicities. I appreciate this life and the mysteries I am lucky and open enough to explore and accept. We hear of these chance meetings all the time between people, but I can attest nothing is chance. It’s almost like angels and oversouls are looking down, helping us tune our god station in so we can hear what we are supposed to hear. The orchestration goes on and on and on. Life is music and is full, vibrant, and harmonious. We just need to tune in and stop and listen for the last note of every song, every anthem, every moment, as we delight that everything, for certain, will be softly, softly ringing.