There's Good Times and There's Bad Times...But There's Still Time

A typical early Summer afternoon in Texas is always hot; this one went far beyond that. It was 105 degrees in the shade without an air conditioner in sight. We were in Kerrville, Texas, for the annual, outdoor Kerrville Folk Festival.

My brother, Steven Fromholz, has been a singer/songwriter/poet all his life and is one of the originals from the Texas Outlaw genre. It’s the only job he knows and the only career he’s ever had for close to 50 years. He appeared at the first Kerrville Folk Festival ever held and most of the ensuing ones. At one time he was even on the Board of Directors for the Festival. The Festival was an old friend.

This appearance was different. It would be the first time Brother had appeared at the Festival after suffering a massive stroke 18 months earlier. When we walked backstage his welcome from other entertainers was nearly overwhelming. Most had not seen him since the stroke and were flatly amazed to see him up, walking and talking as all prognosis reported by the press had been iffy at best. Brother was in his element to be with so many of his friends and although still somewhat apprehensive it was evident he was ready to go out and do it.

I’m standing back watching all this and thanking my Lord for getting him this far. I’m also worried about the heat as extreme heat and cold can cause some trauma for stroke victims. I’m also apprehensive about how this performance will go and thinking my Brother is one of the toughest guys I’ve ever known just to attempt it. He’d written some new tunes and learned to play guitar again, since the stroke, but I knew it was inevitable that someone was going to ask him to perform the older tunes he’d become famous for – and they were completely gone from his memory.

Any time we were driving he’d listen over and over to his own CDs and I knew he was re-categorizing things in his mind. Occasionally he’d remark "that’s not a bad tune, huh?" The thing was, I’d never heard him ever practice any of those tunes – just the new ones that were fresh on his mind; today could be good, bad or some kind of catalyst.

When it was close to time for Brother to perform I left the backstage area and went out in the crowd to the sound booth which was located about three-quarters of the way back into the crowd. There were folks in lawn chairs, sitting on blankets and on ice chests and sweat was running down everyone’s face. It was nearly too hot to breathe.

"You got anything I need to know, Sis?" Having been in the music business for umpteen years I knew everybody and everybody knew me so the sound engineer was no exception. "Nope. This is as foreign to me as it is to you. Brother’s gonna do some of his new tunes and the only thing I can tell you is I don’t know if he works a mike like he used to or not." I accepted a seat in the sound booth, which had a roof that kept the sun off of us, and tried to quiet my nerves.

When Brother was introduced and walked onstage the crowd stood up in one motion and clapped, cheered and hooted like I’d never heard before. When they finally quieted down he thanked them and said it was the first time he’d ever gotten a standing ovation BEFORE he played. He mentioned the stroke but didn’t dwell on it, thanked everyone for their support and launched into one of his new tunes. It went well and the crowd loved it.

For 30 minutes he did his jokes, played his tunes and was obviously enjoying the moment. He was also sweating profusely, was very pale and the heat was obviously taking it’s toll. As he neared the end of his set a guy in the audience yelled a request for one of the very famous old tunes. Brother was very quiet for a moment and the crowd followed suit. It was like we were all suspended in time until he began to speak.

"I’ve written a lot of songs – about 250 – that are just gone since the stroke. I’d like to perform that song for you but it’s very doubtful I could get through the first verse because sometimes a few words come to me -- but they leave, just as quickly as they came. Please don’t think I’m bitchin’ ‘cause I’m not. I’m the most blessed man on the planet just to be standing here and there’s only one person to thank for that.

"I thank Him every day and I’m living proof miracles do happen so all you folks that are battling serious illness don’t quit. Keep your faith, talk to the Man, and go ahead on. I know He’s the only reason I’m still here. You know, there’s good times and there’s bad times, but there’s still time." He began to tune his guitar and talked at the same time, "I’ve changed my mind, my friend. We’re gonna see if I can sing that song for you, God willing."

He played the lead-in to the song and when it was time for the words his beautiful voice echoed as clear as a bell over the hushed crowd. He sang two of the five verses, with the chorus, perfectly and let the last note just fade away. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. When he took his hat off and bowed the crowd again stood up and the first standing ovation didn’t even come close to the last. He did not take an encore but left the stage. He’d gone as far as he could.

I climbed down from the sound booth and had started backstage when a young woman, sitting on a blanket, called my name. I turned and approached her. She was attempting to stand up and a couple of the folks with her were doing all they could to assist her. When she was finally on her feet she adjusted the scarf that obviously covered a bald head and reached out to take my hand.

"Tell your brother that I came here today believing this to be the last Festival I’d ever attend. I have cancer and it’s been winning. When I heard what he said and saw him stand up there in this heat and keep going after what he’s been through; somehow, I suddenly knew I can do that, too. Tell him for me that Helen loves him and will see him again next year." I assured her I’d deliver the message and watched as the two guys helped her to a chair. One of them fell in step with me as I made my way through the crowd.

"I wanted you to know something," the stranger said, as we picked our way toward the stage. I stopped to listen to him. "Helen is my sister and the thing that’s been missing in her recovery is that she gave up very early on. Our family has done everything we can to get her up and going and nothing worked. Your brother did that today with his music and his strength. Today’s the first time she’s stood alone for six months – or even tried to stand and your brother did that, too. Tell him thank you for us, and God bless him."

We were in the truck, enjoying the wonderful air conditioning, when I shared my afternoon’s happenings with my brother and delivered the two messages. He listened intently and a slight smile crossed his craggy face. "You know, before I walked out on that stage today I asked the Lord to go out there with me because I sure needed His help. I knew He was with me or I couldn’t have made it. He must have decided I was doing okay so He joined the crowd out front!"

"Could be," I agreed and we both laughed.

"Well, we all need His help but I’ve been talking to Him real seriously here lately," and I saw his blue eyes begin to twinkle. "I need Him to help me ‘cause I still talk with a limp," and he turned the corner to the main highway heading home. Roll on, little brother, roll on – and thank you, Jesus!