A Truly Nice Man
I use the term “friend” somewhat advisedly because I don't want to give the impression that we were lifelong buddies or anything. As an entertainer and a broadcaster, my relationship with Charlie was mostly professional. Mostly. But Charlie was the kind of person who could make even a professional association feel like a true friendship. He was open, honest, generous, friendly, and, above all, real. In the opening line to one of his many hits he says, “I ain't nothin' but a simple man.” Yes and no.
Charles Edward Daniels was born in Wilmington, North Carolina in 1936. Already skilled on guitar, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle by the time he graduated from high school in 1955, Charlie formed a rock 'n' roll band and took to the road, where he spent the rest of his life. He moved to Nashville in the '60s, married “Miss Hazel” in 1964, and worked as a session musician for just about everybody. His first major hit was the quirky “Uneasy Rider,” released in 1973, but it was 1979's “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” that really hung his star in the country music firmament. The tune reached number three on the Billboard Hot 100 that year and achieved even greater success the following year after being featured in John Travolta's hit movie, “Urban Cowboy.” From there Charlie never looked back as he charted one Top Ten hit after another, eventually joining the membership of the Grand Ole Opry in 2008 and being inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2016.
I first saw Charlie perform with his eponymous “Charlie Daniels Band” sometime in the early 1980s when he was the opening act for the then-mega star group, Alabama. While I was quite impressed by the show Randy Owen, Teddy Gentry, Jeff Cook, and Mark Herndon put on for an enthusiastic audience, I was completely floored by Charlie Daniels. I was immediately struck by one thing: energy. After watching Charlie perform and then seeing Alabama take the stage, I came away marveling at Charlie's ability to command the whole stage from within about a two-foot circle. Randy and company spent nearly two hours running from one end of the stage to the other. They jumped and clapped and raced around and used every inch of space available to them. Charlie, on the other hand, barely moved from his center stage spot. He danced in place a little and he twirled around a bit. His fingers flew and his bow arm moved like a churning piston until the rosin-coated horsehair of that bow began to fray and fly. But I don't think he moved more than a few inches off the mark during his entire set. And yet he absolutely electrified the audience. For all Randy's athletic antics, Charlie outperformed him practically standing still. His understated energy and innate showmanship flat blew Alabama off the stage. Sure, I had seen the big movie and I had heard Charlie's songs on the radio, but after one look live and in person, I was a Charlie Daniels fan for life.
It wasn't long after that I got to meet Charlie in person. I interviewed him for my radio show and after about five minutes, I felt like I had known him for years. The interview quickly turned into a conversation and the conversation became one of many more that Charlie and I would have over the course of the next twenty years. Most often, we would meet at various venues where he was performing. He was easily one of the most accessible “stars” with whom I ever worked. One call to his longtime publicist and right-hand, Paula Szeigis, and I was backstage with Charlie wherever he was.
Knowing that I was in Nashville on business one time, he invited me to visit him at his home and office in Mount Juliet. As if you couldn't tell by the huge hat he always wore, Charlie was a big-time Western and cowboy fan. In fact, he was close friends with one of the all-time great Western writers, Louis L'Amour, who dedicated his 1985 book, “Jubal Sackett;” “To Hazel and Charlie Daniels – His fiddle-playing would bring the Sacketts right down from the hills.” Charlie, in turn, titled one of his albums “High Lonesome” after a L'Amour book of the same name. So it was no surprise that Charlie's log-cabin office was a Western shrine/museum filled with amazing art and artifacts. Unfortunately, schedules and circumstances prevented me from going over to his house, but after a brief tour of the office facility, Paula showed me in to Charlie's personal office. The big man stood to shake hands and all I could say was, “Darn, Charlie. Never mind the house. Just let me live in your office.”
Charlie was performing at a state fair somewhere. I had watched the show from the sidelines and had headed back afterward to meet him at his dressing room trailer. When I got there, there were a couple of people standing at the door; a young boy and his mother. Apparently, the boy had a chronic ailment of some kind that severely limited many of his activities. But he was a huge Charlie Daniels fan and had somehow been afforded the opportunity to meet his idol on this occasion. Charlie came out to meet the boy and his mom and I could tell he was pretty much all in. He had performed outdoors in unrelenting heat with his usual high wattage and he was still red-faced and perspiring when he opened the trailer door to his young fan. But you never would have known he was the least bit fatigued as he chatted with the boy and then stepped back inside for a moment, returning with the tattered and frayed bow with which he had hammered through the show. As Charlie handed him this treasure, the boy started to cry and I wasn't far behind. Such a generous man.
One of my favorite memories of Charlie is one I share with my wife. Early in our relationship, I discovered that she was a big fan of his. I was skimming the newspapers at my desk doing some show prep one day when I saw a notice that Charlie was appearing in town the following night. I made a quick call to Paula and got set up to meet him backstage. I didn't tell my wife who we were going to see; I just said we were going out to a local club. She badgered me all the way there, but I kept up the premise as best I could until we arrived and there was a big banner shouting “Welcome Charlie Daniels” over the door. I think I made a few brownie points as we breezed past the long, long line that stretched deep into the parking lot and picked up our all-access passes at the box office. Then we headed backstage, her feet barely touching the floor, and waited for Charlie to appear. The bus had just pulled in and, of course, my other favorite member of Charlie's entourage, Joel “Taz” DiGregorio, was the first person off. He saw me and approached with his customary warm greeting and then shook hands with my still slightly shocked wife. Charlie got mobbed as soon as he stepped off the bus, so I waited until the crowd dissipated a bit before taking her over to meet him. He was seated behind a table, but he took her hand and pulled her down onto his lap by way of greeting. I will never forget the look on her face. It's actually pretty easy to remember because I have a great picture of it. I kidded her for weeks about not washing either her hand or her butt after that experience. When the band assembled onstage to begin the show, I escorted my fangirl wife to the stage left wing, pulled up an empty equipment crate, and said, “There you go, honey. A box seat.”
We hung out with Charlie and the band at fairs and festivals and concert halls many times over the ensuing years and every occasion was just as special as the first and the last thanks to the warm, welcoming presence of the head man, who, for all his bewhiskered long-haired country boy looks and attitude, was a big teddy bear.
I was distressed when I heard that Taz was killed in a car accident a few years ago while on his way to a gig. But the news today is far worse. Charlie had his share of health issues. He almost lost an arm when an auger caught his shirtsleeve back in 1980. A brush with prostate cancer, a case of pneumonia, and the implanting of a pacemaker didn't slow him down much. He even survived a mild stroke about ten years ago. But this one got him. A hemorrhagic stroke at age 83 has forever silenced that phenomenal musical talent and has taken from among us something that we can scarce afford to lose in these trying days: a truly nice man.
Goodbye, Charlie. I hope you and Taz have a great time regaling the angels with the story of how “The Devil Went Down To Georgia.”
