We arrive early at George S. Lindsey Theater in Florence, Alabama. My wife and I are driving a small van which used to belong to a plumber. A white work van, which looks like a Labcorp vehicle arriving at your place of work to gather stool samples.
Tonight, I am playing with Three On a String for our annual Christmas tour. We will perform four times throughout the state of Alabama, singing Christmas songs, telling stories, and presenting our show to admiring crowds of dozens. Next week is Albertville. The week after that is—I don’t remember.
But anyway, this band has been together since Richard Nixon was in office. The band was founded by Jerry Ryan and Bobby Horton who began by playing 14 songs at a bluegrass festival in 1971.
“We only knew seven songs,” said Jerry. “So we played them twice.”
Fast forward 54 years, Three On a String is a national treasure. Today, you will see white-haired men onstage who play music and tell jokes for a living. But long ago—you should’ve seen them—they were brown-haired men who played music and told jokes for a living.
I suppose what I’m getting at is: These men have not changed in over half a century. They started by playing dance halls, jukes, beer joints, and theaters all over this country. And that’s what they still do.
They still drive their old van full of instruments. They still swap driving shifts. They still pull off the highway every four-to-six miles to discard rented coffee.
Last year, Jerry, 84, had a bad fall. This changed things considerably. The band schedule came to a crashing halt. Jerry had brain surgery and retired from the helm. Due to the cardinal rule of showbiz, the band kept going without him.
“It was the hardest thing we’ve ever done,” said Bobby. “We had no team captain.”
Today, if you visit Jerry, he’ll likely be watching a ball game, glad to have company. He’ll lean forward in his recliner and show you the surgical scar on his bald head. Then he’ll pat his liver-spotted scalp, primping before an imaginary mirror, and say, “How’s my hairs look?”
He can’t play guitar anymore. But he’s still got his humor. And he ought to. He’s been entertaining for longer than I’ve been alive.
Jerry still plays with us on occasion. But he gets tired. Recently, during our last show, Jerry was so exhausted he had to sit this one out. He sat side-by-side on the piano bench with me as I played.
He watched his bandmates from behind the keys, wearing a pained smile on his face. “Wish I was up there with’em.” Then he palmed one of his eyes.
As we sang, I looked at an elderly man singing beside me. Possibly weeping. But still happy. Still joyful. Not because his life is perfect. But because love and friendship are the only ingredients required for joy. And Jerry still has both.
Three On a String was recently inducted into the Alabama Music Hall of Fame. Which Jerry said, only proves how quickly this state is going downhill. Three years ago, however, the band had a serious lapse in judgement and added a fourth member. The fourth member wrote this column.
Our Christmas tour starts now. See you soon.