Gossamer Wings

Flying home from Nashville triggered a memory. When I first moved to New York City in the 1970s and was a starving artist, I tried desperately to earn a living doing anything other than wait tables. So, I decided to compose lyrics for country & western songs. Now keep in mind that I am not a musician. I don’t play an instrument, and I can't read music. I can barely carry a tune. Yet I convinced myself I could make a small fortune writing the lyrics for best-selling country songs heard on radios across the country.I sat in my tiny studio apartment at the wobbly-legged table and scratched out lyrics for weeks and weeks. I had a folder filled with surefire hits. I could imagine musicians in Nashville getting into arguments or even fistfights, battling over who would get the opportunity to put melodies to my poetry. I wrote a story song about a waitress at a truck stop in Tulsa who got stabbed and died in the arms of her forbidden lover. I wrote about the terrors of going on a blind date with a marginally sane woman who drank too much and wrecked my new Impala. I wrote about bluetick hounds sleeping under a rusted pickup truck, beer brawls, and burying my sweet, dear wife on the lonely prairie. I was convinced I would make wheelbarrows full of money so I could afford to live in NYC and pursue my dreams of becoming a theater artist. I mailed the bundle of masterpieces to every publishing house in Nashville, and I waited for the accolades and money to roll in.

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“Wrapped in the gossamer wings of grace.”

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Every single publisher, manager, and musician rejected my lyric poems. They returned the envelope with a red stamp: No Solicitations. Some institutions didn’t even bother responding. Except for Tom T. Hall, God bless his soul. He actually took the time to send me a letter gently suggesting that I seek another line of work. His response was not a form letter. It was typed on a piece of stationary, and at the bottom was Tom T. Hall’s signature and a hand-written scribble: Good luck! I lost the letter years ago, but I still remember the man’s kindness.Of all the corny stories and sappy lyrics that I wrote, one line still lingers in my memory: Wrapped in the gossamer wings of grace. I think that line is pretty darn good. If a country & western singer or composer is reading this book, I offer that line up to you: Wrapped in the gossamer wings of grace. I would love to hear that sung on the radio.