There is a time to be silent.  There is a time to be still.  There is a time to write.  There are times when all of these things present themselves at the same time.  And I don’t want to touch a single one of them.

Last month my dear friend Kelly Samons’ wife, Nancy, passed away.  This was not expected two weeks beforehand.  I have been at a loss dealing with this.  How can I leave my friend a voice message and say what I always say, “Enjoy your evening.”  When he doesn’t answer that is what I still leave him with.  I feel like a fool.

Looking inside, optimism has had to be at the forefront of a great deal that I have done and continue to do.  Only when I am still and silent do I see some of the things behind me that I am not sure how I made through so seamlessly.  Well, I do know, and I am still amazed.  If not for the grace of God, I would not have stood a chance.

Somewhere in Mississippi right now my football buddy, Aunt Barbara, is bedridden and fading in a nursing home.  We spoke on November 24th for just over ten minutes.  She sounded pretty bad.  Through it all, the last football question she asked me was if Arch Manning is going to hang with Texas or transfer as is the fashion in college football these days.  Our last phone transmission was on December 2nd.  We talked for nearly six minutes.  I did most of the talking.  She did not have much energy and sounded much worse.  Just as I suspected when our conversation ended, we have not shared a phone call since.  Via a nurse’s station on Christmas Eve, I wished her a Merry Christmas.  I have a kind uncle, her brother-in-law, keeping me posted now.

Aunt Barbara and I talked often.  We covered a great deal of ground.  She is 88 years old.  One thing she told me was that she sure didn’t want to end up in a nursing home in the shape she is in now.  That part is hard to take.  We talked Ole Miss football.  We talked family.  We talked life.  In the late 80s, 90s, and early 2000s, we attended Ole Miss games in Jackson, Oxford, and Lexington.  She came up and saw a few Indiana Hoosier games too in the 1990s.  We talked of those times often.  

Most of our phone calls were while I was on the walking trail in the afternoons.  I’d tell about what was around me.  I think it helped her get a mental picture or two away from her home where she lived alone until this past October when she went to an assisted living facility.  Her husband died in 1988.  He had a brain tumor.  They had no children.

On December 4th, as I was on the walking trail, I took this photo to mark the sun going down on the phone calls we had, the laughter we shared, and the beautiful meaning of it all.

As 2024 came on, I finally decided to wave the white flag on an endeavor I have hinted at and never accomplished.  There was one curious question I had for Justin Hayward and I never got an answer out of him.  Part of that was my fault.  The first time I inquired, his very kind publicist allowed me to forward some questions.  I was told he was not doing press at the time.  When he was, I did not get my questions answered.  I tried again over a year later and told the students in my English class involved nothing of my one question; I kept it in the weeds.  Nothing again. We got nowhere.  I suppose one of the questions (thee question) that I sent wasn’t supposed to be answered.  Some things we just leave alone I suppose.

My question was about Buddy.  Justin Hayward has often referenced Buddy Holly as being one of his heroes.  When he plays his solo shows, Justin always mentions Buddy when talking about the next song played.  What was my question?

Had Buddy Holly lived, would we still be here had there not been a torch to carry on?

Crazy things happen to kids when their hero dies.  Buddy Holly influenced so many musicians of a certain vintage.  Buddy paved the way for young songwriters whose desire was to do it their way.

I don’t blame Justin for passing on the question.  I wrote a song called Unspoken Feeling a long time ago.  I get it.

When I saw this new tour promo, I smiled.  There may be another day to listen to his songs yet.  There is not a 77 year-old dude that ever did it better.  Nostalgia need not apply here.  He’s still bringing new tunes and new arrangements.  I’m still bringing a new sense of awe to every show and I am glad I have been afforded the opportunity to appreciate music the way I have.  Listening to Justin Hayward again or writing another one of my own songs, for the first time I can balance the two with ease and I don’t need Justin to tell me the answer to that question after all.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson