Published: June 13, 2009 06:27 pm      

Sad country song stirs up sage advice

I recently heard a song on the radio that made me sad on two counts —the song itself is a tear-jerker and the singer was Dan Seals, a singer you don’t hear much of anymore and who died way too young.

Seals was born in McCamey, TX, started in soft rock and eventually performed country pop, having great success in the latter half of the 1980s. He had several chart-topper hits, including “Big Wheels in the Moonlight” and my favorite, “Everything That Glitters (Is Not Gold).” His popularity went into decline after 1989 and he became a touring artist for the remainder of the decade, recording no more gold records.

He died on March 25 of this year at the age of 61. And I’ve been thinking about him since hearing that “Glitters” song. Sad thoughts, mainly.

When I first heard him sing the song, I thought it was a marvelous performance, right up there with “Cool Water” and “Tumbling Tumbleweeds” by the Sons of the Pioneers, and “Love Song of the Waterfall” by Slim Whitman. Or “Cattle Call” by Eddy Arnold.

There were several lines in the song that choked me up and brought me close to tears. It told about the singer’s wife, who has moved on, leaving him to care for a young daughter, “little Casey,” and leaving him with memories of “how you used to ride out in your rhinestones and your sequins with the sunlight in your hair.”

There were the sad words telling how Little Casey “still asks about you all the time. And I guess we never even cross your mind.” Came then a tremolo break in his voice and Seals sang: “And, oh the crowds will always love you. But as for me I’ve come to know. Everything that glitters is not gold.”

It just about demolished me. I really loved that song. I even contemplated writing Seals to let him know how much I liked his singing it. But, as I sometimes do, I put it off and never got around to it.

So when I heard about his death, I felt maybe I had missed an opportunity. Could be he was flooded with notes and letters about his songs and mine would have been just one more in the pile. But, then again, maybe it would have brought him a little pleasure to hear from a fellow West Texan — I grew up in Crane, just down a tad north of McCamey. Maybe he would have been made just a little happier by getting my letter.

Regardless of his response, I know I would have felt better, knowing I had said thanks for something that had brought me such pleasure.

So the moral is one I’m sure you’ve heard before – pass out bouquets while the recipient can still smell the flowers. Don’t put off doing a kindness or expressing your thanks. Just do it.

You never know when it will be too late.