www.auramartone.blogspot.com
by Laura Martone
Willie Nelson, controversial as he might be, has always been my favorite famous person. For me, there’s just no contest. I’ve been listening to his music for as long as I can remember, and I’ve loved every damn song I’ve ever heard, from “Heartland” to “On the Road Again.”
Whenever I’m feeling blue, it’s Willie Nelson that helps me through my funk. There’s just something indescribable about his soft, weathered voice, those ubiquitous braids, that unabashed grin. Every time I’ve seen him in concert, I’ve left feeling elated.
Because, despite tax troubles and misguided love affairs and everything else of which you might not approve, you can’t deny that the man’s got heart. And, just as John Hughes was, he’s always been generous with his fans.
When I was fifteen, my mother and I took a trip to Branson, Missouri, and naturally, of all the concerts we saw that week, his was my favorite. I sat in the front row, and given that I was probably the youngest female in a sea of retirees, he actually made eye contact with me during the concert.
Afterwards, when he was signing autographs and joking with his fans about his recent IRS dilemma, there was a flicker of recognition when I stepped up for my photo opportunity, told him how much I admired his music and his message, and stood beside my hero for an instant – a moment I’ll never forget.
Years later, when I was going to college in Chicago, I attended a Willie Nelson concert at the House of Blues. After the show, he stepped forward to sign his fans’ programs, T-shirts, and whatever else they wanted autographed. Heedless of his post-concert routine, the HOB staff, which apparently had a strict policy against such fraternizing between musicians and their fans, closed the curtains on Willie.
With a sly grin, he stepped from behind the curtains, clearly ignoring the wishes of the house, and I took my chance. I pushed to the front and held up my photo from several years earlier. Willie looked at the picture, smiled at me, and signed the back of the photograph – just before security officials were able to drag him from the stage.
Of course, I have no illusions that he remembered me from the first concert, but it’s still a memory that I will forever treasure. If only because, for an instant, I was able to tell him (without words this time) how much he and his music have meant to me – and always will.
http://lauramartone.blogspot.com/2009/08/friday-fantasies-john-hughes-and-willie.html