“I mean, it’s just - ” she says, then stops for a few seconds, looking for the right words. She thinks about so many of the trying times that led them here. She thinks about how each of them fought through the thunderstorm just to make it to the bookstore, how they each have their own stories about their connections to her husband - and now with her. She gazes at the long and still growing line of people. In a short break between strangers, Mary pauses to absorb the moment. Several people want to share with her, too, not only the parts of her husband’s music they appreciate, but their own experiences caring for stroke survivors and other ailing loved ones. It’s a particular form of brain damage that prevents him from formulating speech - but unlike some aphasia patients, he follows a conversation and understands what’s happening around him just fine.Īs Randy signs books (with his left hand) and poses for photos, Mary stands a few feet away, dressed all in black, talking to her own smaller line of fans who’ve seen her interviewed somewhere or read about the astonishing journey she’s been on over the last few years. When his wife, Mary, talks about the condition - which seems to be pretty often since the book came out - she refers to it by the medical diagnosis: aphasia. That’s because a near-fatal stroke in 2013 took not only most of the movement on the right side of his body, it also took most of his voice. He smiles that legendary smile - the one that got him into movies and network television - and he shakes some of their hands, but they don’t hear him say more than “Thank you.” They certainly don’t hear him sing. He nods and makes eye contact as stranger after stranger tells him about the painful or triumphant or just downright transformative times in their lives they now associate permanently with his songs. Most want to tell him about some moment from their personal lives they experienced while listening to his music, moments cemented into their memories through the power of his voice.īut as the line works its way past Travis, he says almost nothing. They want to share a few seconds with him. They’re here to get their books signed, yes, but they also want to meet the man himself. The fans in line are all holding their own copies - and a lot of them have two or three. The 60-year-old country star is seated at a table surrounded by posters promoting his 2019 memoir, Forever and Ever, Amen, which was also the name of one of his biggest hits. At least one couple flew in from overseas - because they didn’t want to miss the chance. Some of these people have come all the way from Tennessee. A line stretches across the store, twisting and turning around tables and bookshelves, slowly building over an hour or two. But that didn’t stop more than 200 people from fighting the rain and wind to get here. A ferocious thunderstorm has lashed the area all day, and through the bookstore windows, it still looks like the inside of a washing machine out there. It’s especially apparent during his live appearances, like a recent book signing at a Barnes & Noble in North Dallas, about an hour from where he lives. At concerts, he’d sometimes hum into the microphone, and his voice would send throngs of women - and plenty of men - into fits of ecstatic joy. During an era when Nashville’s brightest stars thrived making increasingly shallow, increasingly banal tripe, this lean, winsome young man from small-town North Carolina made music that sounded like it may have always existed somewhere in your mind, waiting to be recognized. He could take lyrics that might otherwise be corny or trite and make them poetry. With song after song, his gilded baritone rounded the sharp edges of life for millions of people - and ultimately changed the direction of an entire genre of music, producing a slew of platinum records and 16 No. For decades, the voice of Randy Travis was a smooth pour of warm syrup on a cold morning. A stroke may have robbed him of his voice, but the legendary country singer still has something to say.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |