A few phone calls with a woman who used to "Dream. Dream-dream-dream" that her son, Donnie, would visit his old, black room

Margaret Everly used to call me, complaining about her sons.

I think Phil was in Los Angeles, hanging out with Warren Zevon, a healthy enough pursuit that I wish I'd been able to enjoy.

But Don was here in Nashville and in Kentucky.

A former confidante of both Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix, he was hanging out at Brown's Diner, where he obviously enjoyed the hamburgers. That's the only place, other than on the stage, that I ever saw him.

But, according to Mrs. Everly, either Don or Phil never visited her. She just said "my son hasn't visited" or somesuch.

Since Phil was not around, as he was getting his "shit fucked up," as Zevon would say, or hanging with Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers (again, something I'd enjoy), I guess it must have been Don.

Her house was a few blocks from my own, although in a slightly more upscale corner of the neighborhood.

"I just don't know why he doesn't come home," she said. "I kept his room like he had it. It's all painted black..... If he's not coming home, I think I'll get it painted."

Again, it must have been Don's room. According to published stories, he'd enjoyed LSD with Jimi and others. I believe she told me there were posters all over the walls and ceiling of the black room.

The quotes and recollections are hazy and paraphrased, as I wasn't taking notes. She simply was calling to see if I could get her son to visit. And nothing grabs my heart like a distressed mom.

I never accomplished that task, getting little Donnie to go home. I tried, I just couldn't track him down.

But I'm sure Don did, on his own, finally visit his mother..

Actually, now that I think about it, the first time I spoke with her, Nashville Banner icon Bob Battle, who knew everybody, switched her over to me.

"This is the mother of The Everly Brothers,'' Bob said. "Maybe you can help her."

She called several times for nice chats. She did invite me over to see the room, but by the time I decided to do that, the number I had no longer was in service. I imagine the room had been painted and the house sold.

Now both the boys are gone, after Don's death Saturday.

Margaret survives, however.

And man, I loved the music of The Everly Brothers. Bye-Bye Happiness.

Thank you for the phone calls, Mrs. Everly.

Boys, thanks for the tunes.