Walk to Beautiful: The Power of Love and a Homeless Kid Who Found the Way

by Wayne, Jimmy

  ON JANUARY 1, 2010, WHILE THE REST OF THE WORLD WAS waking up to the Rose Bowl Parade, football games, and family events, I washed out my coffeepot, checked the clothes dryer and water faucets, and unplugged everything I could. I planned to be gone for at least three months. Bitterly cold winter air smacked me in the face as I left my townhouse at 9:44 a.m. and headed to Monroe Harding. When I arrived, I was met by a crowd of supporters, including my friend and record label boss Scott Borchetta and the staff of Valory Music Company. Jenny Bohler and Mike Kraski, from my management company, were there too.

  Grand Ole Opry star and country music legend John Conlee braved the cold to see me off that morning as well. John gave me a special coin to carry along with me on my journey. “My son is in the Marine Corps,” John said, as he gave me the coin, “and I want you to know that just as I am proud of what he is doing, I am proud of what you are doing. I’ll be praying for you.” John’s kind gesture deeply touched me.

  I went inside and spoke to the kids participating in the foster program, living at Monroe Harding. They were incredibly encouraging and appreciative. After talking briefly with the kids, I was having an interview with the media when Scott Borchetta stepped up in front of the live television news cameras and said, “I am donating fifty thousand dollars to project Meet Me Halfway.” Although I was grateful for such a generous gift, I was shocked at Scott’s promised contribution, especially since I hadn’t solicited funds from anyone and was merely seeking to raise awareness of the plight of foster kids through my efforts.

  It was finally time to start walking, and I was ready. I stepped over to my vehicle and hoisted the heavy Marmot backpack onto my shoulders for the first time. Whoa! Who packed this thing? I hadn’t road-tested the fifty-pound backpack until the moment I began my seventeen-hundred-mile trek. It suddenly struck me just how poorly prepared for this journey I really was, but it was too late. To the cheers and encouragement of numerous onlookers, I took the first steps out of the parking lot, toward Highway 70, eventually heading west toward Memphis. I paused momentarily and looked back. “Here we go,” I called to the cheering crowd. “This is the beginning of the walk. Seventeen hundred miles!”

  Despite the below-freezing temperatures, a large group of enthusiastic, exuberant people, including Scott and the Valory team, walked the first mile along with me. That initial mile seemed relatively easy; friends and associates were talking to me and laughing, and of course, I was still running on adrenaline, but I noticed the backpack was not getting any lighter. The end of the first mile was bittersweet as Scott and the Valory staff and I parted company. I didn’t realize that their departure was a living metaphor, soon to be played out in my future.

  By midafternoon I had barely cleared the West Nashville suburbs, and already my crowd of fellow walkers had vanished. I was on my own, alone, walking out Highway 70. Cars whizzed by at fifty-five miles per hour or faster, whipping the already chilling winds across my face as they passed. Semitrucks roared past me, as well, a few blowing their horns as they sprayed me with a mixture of road dust and diesel smoke. I didn’t know if they were greeting me or telling me to get off their turf. I stopped at a Hardee’s restaurant, glad to take off the backpack for a while. I gobbled down a chicken filet sandwich, stopped at the restroom, and went right back out on the road again.

  Day One of the walk was a mixture of excitement, adjustment to the cold temperatures, and a sudden awareness of the horrendous loneliness I felt. Despite my best efforts to stave off the devil’s attacks, depression was only a step away. The devil kept taunting me, telling me that I was stupid, that this walk was all in vain, and that I was a fool for walking away from a successful music career, leaving behind everything for which I had worked so hard the past twelve years. And for what? For a bunch of kids whom I would never know and who would never know my name.

  I remembered Jesus’ words, “Get behind me, Satan!” (Matt. 16:23).

  And I sensed God telling me, Keep walking, Jimmy.

  So I took the next step.

  Forty

  WALK ON!

  WALKING SEEMS LIKE SUCH AN EASY THING TO DO, AND IT is until you know you have more than three million steps to go! As I strode out of Nashville, I felt like a soldier going off to war, not knowing what to expect. I sensed there was a possibility I may never return—and if I did, I probably would not be the same person.

  I tried to keep up a good pace, hoping to cover approximately twenty-five miles per day. I was so naive; I thought I could do it! And I could—the first day—but the second day, my entire body was protesting. I was stiff and sore when I crawled out of my sleeping bag and got up off the ground. The walk took an early emotional toll too. Walking by myself allowed plenty of time for thinking, so I guess it was natural that I relived many of the significant steps of my life with every mile traveled by foot.

  Day Two brought more of the same until a man named Terry Johnson stopped alongside the road and gave me a cup of hot chocolate. He’d read about Meet Me Halfway in the newspapers. Despite my warm Marmot ski clothes, the hot chocolate hit the spot, especially since the temperatures in Tennessee had plummeted into the teens. Terry decided to walk with me for a while, and I appreciated his company.

  Three days into the walk I said to myself, What was I thinking? I turned around, looked back toward Nashville, and felt sure I could still see my house. This was a slow process, much slower than I had anticipated. My spirits tumbled, and I wondered why I was even doing this crazy walk.

  About that time, as I was walking along the side of the highway, I noticed a brick on the ground, and it had my name on it! Along with the brick was a bottle of root beer, an apple, and a handwritten letter addressed to me.

  Jimmy,

  You’re doing this! Thank you for allowing us to join you at the kickoff. It was awesome to feel the excitement of the day. You keep walking, and we’ll keep praying! From a family that loves you very much!

  The letter contained no signature, but it certainly lifted my spirits and reignited my passion. I smiled as I recalled the many times when Bea Costner had revived my spirits with the help of a soft drink.

  As my thoughts drifted back to my years with Bea, I thought of her best friend, Fan. I didn’t realize when I agreed to cut Bea’s grass, it also meant helping Fan keep her two-acre lot cut as well. I didn’t mind, though, since Bea and Fan had been friends since they were nine years old, and Fan was a widow. I would have gladly cut her grass for free, but she paid me twenty dollars, just like Bea. I think Bea’s arranging the deal was her way of encouraging me to become more of a businessman.

  Bea always reminded me when it was time to cut Fan’s grass. I’d load the riding mower in the trunk of Bea’s brown four-door Buick—she preferred her car rather than Russell’s pickup truck—and we’d head to Fan’s place. Bea and Fan would sit on a porch swing while I cut the grass in the hot summer sun. I developed a pattern, and when I’d get to the big tree with the bottom of its trunk painted white in Fan’s front yard, about an hour into mowing her lawn, that’s when Fan would yell out, “You thirsty?”

  I’d nod my head yes, and Fan would go inside and pour me a glass of ice-cold Coca-Cola. Meanwhile, Bea read her Bible while Fan was gone. Before long, the Coke and Bible break became a weekly ritual.

  One day when I reached break time, I stood in the front yard and watched through the screen door as Fan went into her kitchen to get me a glass of Coke. She had two bottles, a new one and one that was half empty. I watched in anticipation as Fan grabbed the opened bottle of Coke, took a long swig from the bottle, and smacked her lips as if she were taste-testing it to see if it was flat. She then poured the remainder of the contents of the opened bottle into my glass, walked outside and handed it to me. I looked at the slightly used drink, then at Fan and Bea. Oh, well. I took a big gulp. It gave the slogan “Have a Coke and a smile” a whole new meaning for me. All these years later, Bea’s memory is still with me, inspiring me, reminding me that I can do more than I ever
dreamed.

  That night, near Dickson, Tennessee, I found a spot in the brush, not too far off the highway, where I set up my tent. It was extremely cold, and it had been a long, lonely day. Before trying to sleep, I kept in touch with fans by posting quick highlights on Twitter, reading messages from supporters, and sending updates to Jenny Bohler at my management company. It was so quiet out in the wild that I could hear my heart beating. I huddled in my sleeping bag, attempting to keep my face under the cover. The temperature dropped to nine degrees above zero, with the windchill below zero; it was so cold in my tent that my sleeping bag froze! But inside my Marmot clothes and sleeping bag, I was toasty warm.

  BY THE FOURTH DAY I WAS DEPRESSED OUT OF MY MIND. AN arctic blast moved through Tennessee, and the temperature remained at thirteen degrees, with the windchill hovering around zero. Walking into the bitter wind took even more effort than usual, impeding my progress and slowing me down. Later that same day a fireman stopped and gave me a bottle of water; I appreciated his kindness so much. Two women stopped and gave me a few hot dogs and a soda; two guys stopped and gave me some hot chocolate.

  Despite the cold—or maybe because of it—I met some really good people along the way. I stopped at Collins Food Mart, where the proprietors allowed me to charge my phone and warm up inside. On Day Five, a man named Don Davis stopped roadside and gave me a bottle of milk and a bottle of water. Bill Hatley met me on the other side of the Tennessee River at the edge of the bridge. He gave me a thermos half filled with coffee and a bag of doughnuts. “My wife sent me out here two hours ago,” he said, “and I’ve been trying to find you.” I couldn’t help staring at him. Although he was much younger, he reminded me so much of Bea’s husband, Russell Costner.

  At 8:12 p.m. that same evening, Dierks Bentley texted me: “hope u r in a hotel room.”

  I wasn’t. I was huddled in my tent.

  The following day the temperature continued to drop, but people continued to warm my heart with their kindness. A man came out of his shop and handed me twenty dollars. An elderly couple paid for my breakfast at the Down Home Restaurant. Another family paid for my dinner that evening. Anthony and Keliea McCartney brought me some water and food, and Anthony prayed for me before they left. David Hochreiter dropped by and gave me his government-issued cold weather suit that he used when he served in Iraq. It was rated for minus-fifty degrees. Keith Reilly saw me walking by his lane as he was pulling out in his pickup. When he saw me squinting into the snow, he went and got me a set of ski goggles to protect my eyes from the ice particles blowing sideways in the intense wind. People were incredibly good to me.

  Again and again I heard someone say, “I just want to help.” Some people brought food and water to me as I walked. Others left little care packages at various points alongside the road, by a tree or someplace they could be sure I’d find their gift. I always did.

  On Day Eleven Samantha and Danny Marx and their four children traveled five hours from Indiana to Jackson, Tennessee, to show support for Meet Me Halfway. They spent the day walking and stopped with me at McKenzie’s BBQ along Highway 70 to have a sandwich. The manager asked me to go out back to a house where an old man was lying in a hospital bed in his living room, apparently dying. The entire family held hands, and I prayed for the man; then I continued walking.

  The media coverage of my walk went well during the slow news days of early January, and I tweeted regularly on Twitter as well. Then on January 12, 2010, a massive earthquake struck the nation of Haiti, causing catastrophic damage in and around the capital city of Port-au-Prince. Thousands of people died, and thousands more were made homeless. I was deeply saddened by the deaths and destruction. The media’s attention shifted away from the crazy guy out walking along the highway to the tragedy in the Caribbean. Rightfully so, of course.

  But I was still walking.

  THE MORNING OF JANUARY 13, RANDY TRAVIS CALLED ME, and we talked for approximately twenty minutes. The previous day, Ben and Matt, two deejays from KNIX, a radio station in Phoenix, had pranked me terribly on live radio by pretending that one of them was Randy. I was so excited to receive a call from one of my musical heroes that I threw down my gloves so I could handle the phone easier. “I can’t believe it!” I repeated about a dozen times. I was gushing all over myself, telling “Randy” what a big fan of his I was.

  “Randy” was equally complimentary. “I heard what you are doing, and I think you are one of the best new singers out there,” the voice said. “I love ‘Sara Smile’ too. I tried singing it once, but it’s not in my range.”

  “I am so honored that you would call me . . . I’m a huge fan of your music, Randy,” I said, “and have been since I was a little boy.”

  The pranksters at KNIX couldn’t stand it and finally confessed, playing a song specially put together for the prank. We all had a big laugh. The deejays at KNIX actually supported my efforts wholeheartedly, and they called me at least three times a week so I could update their listeners about the walk. To some of their listeners, the “Jimmy Wayne Update” became a regular part of their day, like their morning cup of coffee.

  I later heard from some locals in Phoenix that they laughed so hard when they heard this prank that they had to pull their vehicles over. On the other hand, some people protested the radio station because they were “picking on the guy walking for homeless kids.” I had to call in from the road to clarify that the KNIX deejays and I were good friends.

  Apparently the real Randy Travis heard about all the commotion, so he called me while I was walking out on the road. We had a great conversation, and he was incredibly encouraging to me.

  “Whether you know it or not this side of heaven,” Randy Travis told me, “you are making a huge difference in the lives of some people who need a lot of help, Jimmy.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Jason Garkey, a nineteen-year active duty serviceman in the US Army, drove from Richmond, Virginia, overnight and walked with me all day. Trim and fit, LTC Garkey ate with me that night at the world-famous Gus’s Chicken. We then found an area along the side of the highway where we could set up our tents.

  The next morning, I woke up shortly after 6:30 a.m. When I popped my head out of my tent, I saw that LTC Garkey had already shaved, brushed his teeth, and packed his sixty-pound backpack, including the tent. This guy is good! I thought.

  Bobby Goodman, a gentleman we had met while walking the previous day, had invited us to his home for breakfast. Bobby fried up some bacon and baked some biscuits, but the biscuits caught fire, and the smoke was so intense, we had to evacuate the house. Bobby ran back in and smothered the fire, and LTC Garkey and I ate the burned biscuits and bacon anyway. We tried not to laugh at the charcoal in the corners of our mouths. LTC Garkey stayed and walked with me all week long, giving up his vacation to show support for Meet Me Halfway.

  ON JANUARY 18, GARY LUFFMAN, OWNER OF HISCALL.COM, a communications company in Tennessee, donated a used car and a used recreational vehicle for me to use for several months as support vehicles, so I’d have a place to rest and have a meal during the walk. He had the vehicle wrapped, advertising his business and the Meet Me Halfway walk. The RV was quite old and didn’t have any heat or air conditioning, but it was a shelter out of the cold, a place where I could make some coffee and store my clothes. It reminded me of the abandoned trailer without heat or electricity that Uncle Austin allowed me to sleep in, but this RV was much nicer. The name of Gary’s company, Hiscall, reflects obedience to God’s call in our lives and doing what He asks us to do. So giving the RV was part of his response to God’s call on Gary’s life.

  Later, Geoff Penske of Penske GMC donated another support vehicle that I could use for the remainder of the walk. I really appreciated the car and the RV. I now had a support vehicle in which I could leave part of my heavy load while walking. The vehicle also made it possible for me to have my guitar sent out on the road along with me, which was a great help since I was missing my music badly. Each day I instructed the driver t
o position the RV five or ten miles ahead of me, making it a goal to push toward with the reward of a place to stop and rest when I achieved each incremental goal. I hired three separate drivers over the course of the walk and had several volunteer drivers.

  In Memphis, I stopped by Youth Villages, a foster care facility, where I hung out for a while with the kids and performed some songs for them. In turn, they shared their stories and poems with me, and it was an emotionally moving time for all of us. Being there reminded me so much of my time at Faith Farm. My purpose for the walk was to raise awareness of foster kids’ dilemmas, but increasingly I noticed that so much about the walk was reminiscent of my own experiences.

  I got up at six o’clock to have breakfast with the kids at Youth Villages before continuing my journey. I walked through Highland Heights in East Memphis, an impoverished, high-crime section of the city, also known as Hurt Village. Alcoholics, drug addicts, and other homeless people lay on the sidewalks, and dirty syringes were openly evident. This was National Football League player Michael Oher’s hometown and the same community on which the movie The Blind Side was based.

  Everyone I met warned me not to walk through that part of Memphis because I’m white, but I grew up in a racially charged section of the country and had long since lost any prejudices I formerly carried regarding skin color. I encountered no serious trouble, but I never realized how huge Memphis is or, perhaps, how lost I got. I walked all day long and into the night, not stopping until 11:41 p.m. on the west side of town.

  The following day, just for kicks, I dressed up like Elvis Presley and walked the few miles out of Memphis into West Memphis. I soon discovered that people in Memphis take their Elvis impersonators quite seriously, and I was warned to take the costume off before I got into real trouble. But I had fun with it anyhow.