Ronnie Milsap a legend in his time

 

Nearly 40 years of patience finally paid off Friday night when I finally got to see Ronnie Milsap in concert. Thanks go to the Austin County Fair for bringing in this great musician and singer to entertain the crowds.

As a boy growing up in the 1970s, I was a hard-core country and western music fan. None of that rock and roll for me, no sir! (That would come later.) Just give me the likes of Waylon, Willie, Dolly, Loretta, Kenny, Eddie, Tammy, Glen, Johnny, Donna and many others, including Ronnie.

Growing up in the sticks of Colorado on a budget that didn’t include concerts, I spent a lot of time listening to the radio and recording songs on my trusty cassette tape recorder. I would later be able to buy records and tapes. As an adult, thanks in large part to a career in journalism, I eventually began seeing my musical heroes in concert, often meeting many of them in person.

Ronnie Milsap was one of those high on my list, but I was never in the right place at the right time to see him until Friday night. When he was first led on stage, I was struck by how frail he seemed. Once he was seated at the piano, I was impressed at how powerful he was. His 71-year-old voice was as strong as it was when songs like “A Legend in My Time” and “Daydreams About Night Things” were topping the charts.

It was the first time I had seen a blind performer and I was initially surprised by his lack of interaction with the audience. At the same time, however, you could see and feel how the audience was connecting with him. You could tell by his smile that he was definitely feeling the love.

I don’t imagine the people around me were feeling the love from me. I kind of pushed my way toward the front so I could get pictures for the paper. Although I had two cameras with me, I was having difficulty with the lighting and had to resort to using flash photography. To those who had to put up with it, I am sorry. It was necessary and it worked.

To those around me who had clearly over imbibed and were having a joyous time, I’m glad you enjoyed the show. In a way, you helped make it more entertaining.

For weeks leading up to the concert I had a number of Milsap’s songs stuck in my head. “Daydreams About Night Things” was tops on that list and if anything disappointed in the show it was that he did not sing that song. (Note: if he did sing it, I missed it. Someone please correct me if I’m wrong.) It reminded me of the time I finally got to see Glen Campbell in concert and he did not sing “Rhinestone Cowboy.”

Prior to Milsap taking the stage, Daryl Singletary appeared in concert. Although he was not high on my list of entertainers to see I thought he put on a pretty good show. Unfortunately, he had a fairly sparse crowd. To his credit, he was up against the PRCA rodeo and a very humorous act by a hypnotist, all happening at the same time.

Now that my decades-long wait to see Ronnie Milsap is over, there are a handful of other classic country singers I wish to see. Tops on the list are Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton and Donna Fargo. If there is any way of dropping a hint to the fair board for next year, please consider this it.

Grief, relief, guilt tinge grandmother’s passing

I remember the first time I walked through a nursing home and saw room after room of elderly people lying in bed waiting to die. I shuddered at the thought of loved ones abandoned (or warehoused) in lonely places cared for by strangers.
I swore I would never let that happen. Not in my family and not in my lifetime. Yet for years I did just that. My grandmother lived her life in Omaha. I’ve never lived closer than 530 miles to her and that was during my childhood in Colorado. Currently I am nearly 1,000 miles away. That distance is now permanent.
Helen Ekborg passed away two weeks ago, less than a month shy of her 97th birthday. Her husband passed away 14 years earlier and her daughter, my mother, died in May. She lived briefly with my parents after Grandpa died in 2000, but returned to Omaha where she then left her home of 40-plus years and moved into an assisted living center.
I visited her there in 2003 and that was the one and only time she met my two youngest boys. When we left her, I assumed there would be plenty of time to see her again. Unfortunately, things went south in my life and I later moved south to Texas.
Grandma’s health slowly deteriorated and she eventually moved to a nursing home. My folks visited her twice a year for Mother’s day and her birthday. I would occasionally send cards or call, but in the last few years her mind started slipping and using the phone became a difficult chore for her.
About a year ago she suffered a stroke and became a complete invalid. I was told that even if I made the effort to see her that there wasn’t much of her left to see. She may or may not recognize me and if she did, conversations would be brief. Last Mother’s Day, knowing my mom was in the hospital and unable to visit or call her, I made the effort to call her via the nursing home staff.
They held the phone to her head and I said hello and told her who I was and wished her a Happy Mother’s Day.
“Oh, Joe, it’s good to hear your voice,” she said.
I tried asking her how she was doing. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I told her that I loved her.
“I love you too. Bye, bye.”
I tried to draw out more conversation, but all she could say after that was “bye, bye.” So I said goodbye and hung up.
That was it. After 48 years of her devoted love, care, gifts and sacrifice, I would have nothing more to do with her. I’ve agonized over that for some time. I loved my grandmother deeply, but always felt there was nothing I could do for her, especially being 1,000 miles away and dealing with my own troubles.
When my dad called to tell me of her passing, I felt a mix of deep sorrow and deep relief. That has been tinged with deep guilt. I hated to see her die. I was relieved that she was no longer suffering and no longer alone. I was relieved from not having to feel guilty about not seeing her. That, however, is where the really deep guilt came in.
I let her stay there, warehoused in a nursing home and cared for by strangers while I did nothing but send occasional cards or make a rare phone call. I let the one thing I swore I would never let happen, happen to one of the very people I loved the most in this world.
In hindsight, I know there is little that I could have done different given my circumstances. That doesn’t change the fact that I wish I could have done things differently. I guess I am now thankful that there were strangers in her life who were there for her. I now have a much deeper appreciation for those who commit their lives and service to helping those who are alone in their waning years. May God bless all the caregivers everywhere. You know who you are and you have my love and respect.