“Dammit, Don, the dealin’s done,” was what sprang into my head this morning when I learned that Country Music Hall of Famer and much-honored songwriter Don Schlitz had died. He was, to me, anyway, a lot more than that song. He was a damn nice guy.
“The Gambler” cued up in my brain. I usually have a song
that hits my brain every morning and it stays with me all day, no matter how
many other songs I listen to…… Most often it’s a Beatles or Petty or
Kristofferson song. Maybe Dylan. Or Bare. Tom T. has somethin’ to do with it,
too. Jagger and Richards. ….
Death made today’s mental jukebox choice clear.
Today, “The Gambler” will accompany my thoughts from my
daily workout until my head hits the pillow. And I have images to accompany the
song.
The guy with the light, wavy hair and well-trimmed beard
pulled his chair up next to the bed of the much-loved dying man.
Don Schlitz picked up his guitar, strummed it slightly, then
began to sing. Softly, not to wake up the dead. But to offer comfort.
“You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em,
know when to walk away, know when to run ….
“You never count your money, when you’re sittin’ at the table,
there'll be time enough for countin', when the dealing′s done ………”
It was December 4 or 5, 2022, and the guy with the
mournfully beautiful voice and delicate touch on the guitar was singing a few songs
at the deathbed of my great friend, almost baby brother or son, the writer and musician
Peter Cooper.
Actually, I can’t swear that Don Schlitz sang his signature
song at the bedside on that day preceding Peter’s December 6 death.
It was a horrible time, a deathwatch I’d shared for a few days
with Peter’s family and many friends.
Don had pushed the door to the ICU room shut, so he could
have personal time with his old friend. On the other side of that glass wall,
we could only hear him slightly. It wouldn’t have mattered. So much of that time blurs.
He could have picked from among an arsenal of Grammy-winners
and chart-toppers. For example, he co-wrote
-- with Paul Overstreet -- Randy Travis’ signature song, “Forever and Ever,
Amen” and “When You Say Nothing at All,” a classic by the tragically lost Keith
Whitley.
But even Don knew that his masterwork, much of his
livelihood I’m sure, came from “The Gambler,” which he wrote 50 years ago.
That song, made into a worldwide sensation and an enduring
classic by Country Music Hall of Famer Kenny Rogers, had been the hard and
explosive launch of Don’s chart-topping writing career, in which he fashioned more
than a score of Top Tens.
Of course, “The Gambler” is framed in the symbolism of gambling,
poker on the train, high cards and good hands and losing ones. Image reinforced by Kenny’s TV movies.
But it really is about life. The train we all take from
birth to grave, the train bound for nowhere and the wisdom to keep moving,
savoring life while not resting on laurels and choosing not to focus on life’s
losses.
There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done……
That song has, of course, been on everyone’s mental
soundtrack since 1978 or so when Kenny turned it into a massive hit. My friend,
Bobby Bare, already had cut it … I believe at the urging of his best friend,
songwriter and raconteur Shel Silverstein.
The best version I ever heard though was during a long day I
spent with Don in his writing room. It was
to yield a story for publication about one of the kindest and most prolifically
humble geniuses I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with during my
half-century-plus as a journalist.
I looked for that story today, but I lost many of my
writings in the 2010 flood, and I could not find the story on the internet. If
anyone has a copy of that story, email it to timothy.ghianni@comcast.net, by
the way. I’d appreciate it.
Anyway, Don and I spent several hours together in his songwriting
space and office, talking about music and about life. I was amazed by the
atrium that his desk faced.
I don’t know what you call a huge group of goldfinches, a
flock I suppose. The atrium was filled with Nyjer- and thistle-seed-filled feeders
and those heart-lifting birds came and went all afternoon. He told me a few years ago when my son, Joe,
and I sat near Don and his wife, Stacey, at Station Inn – where we were to
enjoy the songs of Peter and his comrades, Eric Brace and Thomm Jutz – that the
bird atrium eventually got too messy, so they cleaned it out.
Still, I’ll forever have images of Don, when he picked up
his guitar and, sitting on the corner of his desk, perhaps three feet at the
most from me and sang “The Gambler.” Yellow
birds flitting in and out of the atrium added a bit of punctuation. Tom T. Hall
had once told me “they look like little bandits, with their black facemasks.”
(I put him in this story, because I miss his company.)
Don leaned into his song, the first time I’d ever heard a
slow, acoustic version of the great hit. Its melancholy flavoring and meaning
struck me full on. Oh, I had understood from the beginning the meaning of the
lyrics, but when Don sang it, I almost cried. Then I applauded. Just a one-man
audience for one of Nashville’s very best damn nice guys.
“Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you,” is how
Satchel Paige described that same sentiment. Plenty of time to focus on the past when the
dealing’s done.
Don sang other songs. Like I said earlier, he had tons of
them. He gave me a couple of treasured CDs
of him singing many classics from his repertoire.
I thought again about that visit, and how it had begun. Don and Stacey lived in a relatively new and
quite comfortable development, I believe near where Williamson and Davidson counties
collide, not far from U.S. 431. This was pretty much before GPS days and Siri,
so he had given me directions on the telephone.
About 15 minutes later, I topped the hill into the
subdivision and saw the great songwriter standing at a corner, looking for me,
smiling at me and then, when I opened my window, telling me which was his house
and where to park.
“I was afraid you might get lost,” he said, before opening
my driver’s side door and escorting me into the house.
I guess that’s about where I should end this recollection,
this salute.
Don was a helluva guy and he should not have died, as he’s
just a year younger than me.
The memories, like the music, will forever and ever live on.
But the dealin’s done.
