by Wayne, Jimmy
Later that day an old homeless man pulling a grocery cart stopped me on the sidewalk in West Memphis. “Are you that famous guy I heard about?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I responded. I told him why I was walking for foster kids.
He looked at me and said, “If I had any money, I’d give it to you.”
Forty-one
NEW FRIENDS, SNAKES, AND A DOG
IF YOU’VE NEVER TRAVELED THROUGH THE SOUTH IN THE dead of winter, you may not realize that Arkansas can become freezing cold. I soon discovered that winter in the Deep South can be every bit as chilling as a winter night in New England or Minnesota. A severe ice storm struck about the time I was passing through Little Rock; the blizzard was so bad that all the main roads were shut down. I was stranded by the ice, so I stayed in the cold for two days, trying to sleep in my tent, but I was repeatedly awakened by the ice pelting the canvas. When the manager of Capital Hotel learned of my circumstances, she offered my support driver and me two free hotel rooms along with meals. For several days I went out and walked each day, then returned to the hotel at night. We certainly appreciated the warmth and the food. While in town I visited Job Corps, speaking to the youth there and performing a few songs.
Whether I was fatigued or confused, I’m not sure, but somehow I missed a turn in Little Rock and walked forty miles in the wrong direction! Fortunately, a guy named Greg Oswald from the William Morris Agency came out and walked eighteen miles with me on Highway 8. Greg was as clueless as I was about directions, but between the two of us, we finally figured out how to get back on the correct route to Phoenix. But my mistake actually led to a tremendously meaningful meeting.
I met Topher and Gigi Warren at Melba’s Country Restaurant in Norman, Arkansas. Topher later told me that when they saw me walking with my hoodie, trekking poles, and ski goggles, he nudged Gigi and said, “Look at this cat right here!” I stopped to talk with them, and they offered me a room for the night on the Pea Patch Ranch in Caddo Gap, Arkansas. Talk about the gift of hospitality; these folks have it. When I walked through the door, I could smell the stew simmering on the stovetop and the aroma of sweet cornbread in the oven wafting through the air. We ate supper and then swapped jokes and stories half the night. Anyone looking in through the windows might have thought we were getting high, but truth is, we were simply high on life.
Two days after Valentine’s Day I reached the Oklahoma border at 7:12 p.m. I stepped into Oklahoma with a look of amazement on my face, astounded that I had made it so far. My joy was short-lived, though. A few days later I returned to the RV and was doing a telephone interview with Lauren Tingle for Country Air Check when I looked up and noticed that my belongings were gone. “Lauren, hold on a minute,” I said. “I think somebody stole my clothes!” Sure enough, all of my clothes, a leather jacket, and other belongings had been stolen out of the RV while it was parked in Hot Springs. The only things I had left were the clothes on my back. Yet, thankfully, the thieves hadn’t found my guitar.
KNIX, as well as The Bob and Sheri Show, from Charlotte, North Carolina, and other radio stations called in for a report, so I told them about the theft. “Can you believe that?” the deejays voiced over and over. “Jimmy’s out there walking to help some kids, and somebody steals all his stuff! If you see someone out there in Arkansas wearing ski gear, give us a call!”
When Topher heard about what happened, he and Gigi drove out to pick me up. It was snowing the day they took me back home with them. I called Marmot and told them what had happened. I said, “You guys have been so good to me, I hate to even tell you this, but everything you gave me is gone. Someone stole it while I was walking.”
Alison Smith didn’t even hesitate. “We’ll get a shipment right out to you,” she said. “Let us know where you are, and we will get you everything you need.” I could hardly believe my ears. Marmot replaced every item that was stolen from me.
Topher and Gigi allowed me to stay on the Pea Patch Ranch until the shipment of Marmot clothes arrived. Meanwhile, Topher’s dad, Kenner Warren, bought me a pair of farmer-style bib overalls down at the feed store in Glenwood. I’ve never farmed a day in my life, but I thought I looked pretty good in them. I stayed with this family for four full days and loved every minute of it. Gigi made pancakes and bacon for breakfast, reminding me so much of Bea Costner’s kindness to me. Those folks at the Pea Patch Ranch are something else. They won’t steal your pants, but they will sure steal your heart.
BY EARLY MARCH I KNEW I WAS IN TROUBLE. I HAD ALLOWED three months for the walk, and I was not yet halfway. This is going to take a lot longer than I thought. LTC Jason Garkey came out to walk with me for the second time, and he helped me pick up my pace. We walked 25.4 miles, the longest distance I’d ever walked in one day.
Another dose of reality hit me in mid-March, when I walked into Del City, Oklahoma, and realized that the route I was traveling was almost identical to the road Mama, Tim, and I had driven when I was only thirteen and Tim was running from the law. But this time I was replacing the bad memories with good ones.
Touching my heart, some special friends, Mearl and Tina Trevethen, flew all the way from Sacramento to join me on the walk. Their daughter, Lauren Trevethen, met me along the roadside—in her wheelchair—to celebrate her twentieth birthday with me. Lauren lives victoriously, despite cerebral palsy, and when she heard about Meet Me Halfway, she wanted to help. LTC Garkey pushed Lauren for a while, and then Lauren allowed me to push her along the road in her wheelchair for more than five miles. I felt as though she had given a special birthday gift to me.
Also in March the Red Roof Inn hotel chain offered to be a sponsor of Meet Me Halfway, allowing my support driver and me to stay at any of their hotels along the way. Although I tried to avoid walking on interstate highways, where many of their hotels were located, the Red Roof offer was a great blessing when I could take advantage of it. Regardless of where I spent the night, whether in a hotel, with a family willing to take me in, or out on the ground in my tent, wherever I stopped walking in the evening, I resumed the walk at the exact spot and mile marker when I returned.
Just before the first day of spring, I received a box of clothes from Marmot. They came in handy, too, since the winds had picked up and the temperature dropped rapidly each evening, plunging from the 70s to the 20s in a matter of hours after the sun went down. I finally reached the Texas state line on March 27, after walking nineteen miles that day. The sign said, “Welcome to Texas: Drive Friendly.” No problem with that!
In Wheeler, Texas, I met Clint Devoll. “Hey, there, pardner,” Clint said, tipping his big cowboy hat in my direction. “We got a place you can stay tonight.” I went to Clint’s RV that night, and he cooked me an enormous cowboy steak. After dinner I noticed an old guitar.
“Do you mind if I play your guitar?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Well, I don’t know; my dad gave that guitar to me before he died.”
“Never mind,” I backed off.
“Oh, okay, go ahead.”
I thanked him and picked up the guitar and started to pick. But the guitar’s action was too high. “We should take out the bridge and sand it down so it will lower those strings,” I told him. “I know how to do it, if you have a small file.”
“Okay, but be careful; my dad gave me that guitar a long time ago.”
Clint went to get a file. I looked over at his friend and noticed he had a big black eye. He looked like a firehouse dog. “What happened to your eye?” I asked.
He pointed in Clint’s direction. “Me and him are best friends, but we got in a fight.”
“You’re best friends, and you fight?”
“Yeah, man,” he said in a nasal sounding voice. He didn’t crack a smile.
I could imagine these guys doing some heavy drinking and then getting mad at me, so I was especially careful while working on the guitar. Too careful. I filed too much off the bridge and ruined the guitar’s action. I felt horribly about it, but I could
n’t glue the sawdust back together.
“I think I broke your guitar, Clint,” I finally admitted. “I’ll buy you a new one, but I’m sorry; I’ve sanded it too low.” I ordered a new Takamine guitar and had it sent to him, and Clint’s dad’s guitar became part of the musical photo I was taking in my mind and would eventually record in song. But it was time to move on.
I WAS WALKING INTO WHITE DEER, TEXAS, WHEN A rancher named Drew Hodges pulled off the road and offered me some water. “Hey, I have an extra room in my farmhouse if you and your support driver want a place to stay tonight.” As was my policy, I accepted almost all invitations since my twofold goal was not only to simulate homeless life but also to raise awareness about foster kids with anyone who might listen.
“Sure, I’ll be glad to come,” I responded.
When we got to the house, I saw a cute, black-and-brown female dog that Drew and his girlfriend had recently rescued from a kill shelter. The tiny Chihuahua and Miniature Pinscher mix was lying in a dog bed with two other pups and looked like a lot of the kids for whom I was walking—she was the runt of the litter, scared, just out of the facility, and ignored by the other dogs. She looked up at me with her big eyes and stole my heart instantly. “This little girl needs a home,” I said, thinking of my childhood dog, Sparkles.
“Do you want her?” Drew asked. “You can have her.”
“She can’t possibly walk with me, and I’m a long way from home,” I replied. “But maybe I can have her sent back to Nashville.”
When I arrived in Amarillo a few days later, the halfway point in my walk, Drew brought the dog to me, so I named her “Ruby Amarillo” and sent her back to Nashville. I couldn’t wait to get back home to be with her.
ON APRIL FOOL’S DAY, ROB DANIELS, MY FORMER GUITAR player, joined me on the walk as my new support driver. It was great to be reunited with my friend. His first day out, I walked twenty miles on the famous Route 66. Rob was amazed. This was a far step from bounding across the stage at Madison Square Garden!
As I walked, I usually listened to music or audiobooks on an iPod or MP3 player, so I often had earbuds in my ears, with the audio drowning out much of the road noise. But, fortunately, I was listening to the sounds of nature as I walked alongside the road into Adrian, Texas. I was weary, having walked nearly twenty miles that day. I was about to take another step when I heard a sound that struck fear into me. I saw something raise up under my foot as I stepped down near what I thought was a piece of bowed metal. The “metal” flopped backward, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake. I flipped the snake back farther with my trekking pole and veered away, as the rattler coiled then slithered away. Had the reptile been a copperhead, I would have been dead. But the ominous sound was just enough of a warning to get my attention.
From then on I saw a lot of rattlers in the desert, especially in the evening. At night they’d come out and lie on the warm road, and if I wasn’t careful, I could easily walk right on top of one. After my first encounter with a rattlesnake, I took precautions and no longer wore earbuds while walking; nor did I walk in the grass or gravel alongside the road but stayed on the asphalt, which was harder on my feet and knees but safer.
Another seventeen miles on a dirt road dead-ended at someone’s ranch; the road abruptly ended, and there were no directional signs or people anywhere in sight. I discovered that Route 66 simply stopped near New Mexico, so as I looked at a map, trying to figure out which way to go, I drew a straight line down to Clovis, New Mexico, and connected it to Phoenix. I decided to head that way since there was nothing but freeway to walk Route 66 in that section of the country.
ON MAY 1, 2010, A MASSIVE FLOOD HIT NASHVILLE AS more than thirteen inches of rain fell on the area within a few hours. Whole sections of the city were inundated with water. Thousands of people were displaced, and even the Grand Ole Opry was flooded. Nashville music artists naturally rallied around, raising money to help in the relief of flood victims. My heart was torn between continuing the walk and wanting to return home to help, but it was soon apparent that every artist in town was participating in benefit concerts, and the Nashville music community raised millions of dollars to help in flood relief. I was proud of my colleagues, and I knew they could do what they were doing without me, so I felt compelled to keep walking.
Forty-two
PIE TOWN
IN EARLY MAY I RECEIVED GREAT NEWS. CALIFORNIA General Assembly Member Jim Beall Jr. invited me to Sacramento to speak to the California Congress. State Senator Dennis Hollingsworth introduced me on the Senate floor in Sacramento to share my story on behalf of Assembly Bill 12, a bill to extend foster care programs for kids until they turn twenty-one years of age.
It was a successful effort, and the congressmen and senators assured me that the bill would pass in September and Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger would undoubtedly sign it. I was ecstatic! Whether project Meet Me Halfway had any influence on the decision, I may never know, but I was thrilled that the goal was in sight. I was bubbling over on May 4, 2010, as I left Sacramento for Albuquerque, on my way back to Fort Sumner to resume my walk. The anticipated positive results in California motivated me to return to the walk with even greater purpose.
I had landed and was in the transport vehicle, when at 2:23 p.m. my phone rang. I noticed the call was from my management company. “Hey, Jenny,” I answered, and I immediately began babbling about the victory we had experienced in Sacramento. Jenny remained surprisingly subdued as I recounted the events of the morning.
“Jimmy,” she finally interrupted in a serious tone of voice. “We need to talk with you.”
Another familiar voice came on the call. I recognized Mike Kraski’s voice. “Jimmy, this is Mike here,” he said, “and we have some bad news for you.”
I listened somberly as Jenny Bohler and Mike Kraski informed me that my friend Scott Borchetta had dropped me from the Valory Music Company. The message had been delivered in an e-mail from Scott’s general manager. Although I had a number-one song for three weeks, and I had “Sara Smile” on the charts at the beginning of the walk, it was “just business.”
Somebody has said, “Money doesn’t change people; it exposes them.” I was seeing the truth of that statement revealed more and more every day in the music business.
I was devastated, not so much that my label was letting me go but that my friend—the guy who discovered me, signed me, and helped develop me as an artist—did not call me himself. Had Scott said, “Hey, Jimmy, you aren’t selling enough product, and we’re going to have to make some adjustments. Let me help you find another opportunity,” I’m sure I could have handled it. But he didn’t. It hurt me deeply because Scott was the one person besides Bea Costner I thought genuinely believed in me.
I fulfilled every obligation that had been previously scheduled. Even during the walk, I continued to perform concerts, including an appearance on the Grand Ole Opry, which by tradition gives all performers the same small fee. The payment wasn’t enough to cover a one-way ticket to Nashville, let alone the flight back to my New Mexico location, where I resumed walking.
I didn’t miss a single concert date due to Meet Me Halfway. I actually booked some dates along the routes I traveled. When I arrived in a town, I simply went to the hotel, where I showered and rested a bit before the evening performance. The audiences loved it when I said, “I just walked here from Nashville!”
If I wasn’t selling enough product to keep the label happy, it could have easily waited until the Meet Me Halfway walk concluded. I wasn’t recording any new albums while on the walk, and while I wasn’t selling in large numbers, I was probably doing as well as my label-mates, Justin Moore and Jewel. Most disappointing to me, the music was increasingly my main means of getting the word out about the kids who need help.
When I received the news, I was heading into Fort Sumner, the place where Billy the Kid was killed. The parallels between Billy the Kid and me hit too close to home: He was an orphan kid who migrated west on t
he orphan train. His foster mother’s name was Sara. He was a singer, he was rejected by the people who supposedly loved him, and he was betrayed, shot in the back by his best friend, Pat Garrett. I visited his grave that evening before the sun went down, wiping away my tears. Was I disappointed? Of course. But as I thought about it, another incident from Bea’s life helped me put my own loss in perspective.
I recalled a time shortly before Bea closed the woodshop. She sent out notes to her long-term clients who had purchased churns and baskets from her over the years to resell them in their shops all around America. She informed her customers that she was closing her doors and this would be the last time they could order from her. One customer from Ohio ordered more than five hundred churns from Bea! That was the good news; she had a huge order. The bad news, of course, was that it took a lot of work to make one churn, and she now had hundreds to make—all by herself.
Bea spent the next four months working and sweating over the saws and hammers and building those handmade churns, one by one. When she finished, she shipped the entire order to the client, along with an invoice. Months went by, and she received no payment. Bea sent more invoices, but the customer never paid her.
When I found out that someone had ripped off Bea, I was ready to drive to Ohio and get Bea’s money. But Bea wouldn’t hear of that. “No, Jimmy,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.” And she just walked across the yard with a smile.
The way Bea handled that situation was an example I would never forget. Had she been done wrong? Definitely. Had someone she trusted taken advantage of her good nature? Absolutely.
But Bea refused to harbor a grudge. Rather than allowing herself to get bitter, she chose to forgive, cut her losses, and move on.