“How did you meet Willie Nelson?” A fertile mind could come up with all kinds of juicy scenarios, but the truth is much more in sync with one of Willie’s fundamental tenets, “Fortunately, we’re not in control.” 

Indirectly, I met him because I wanted to write. I was a Thirty-something wife and mother, finally taking college classes at night in pursuit of a degree in English, specifically Writing.  It was an ambitious undertaking since English is not my first language and I learned it completely autodidactically. I’d never even gone to High School, going straight from 8^th Grade in Germany to a GED and English 101 at an American university.

To get something – anything – published, I volunteered writing concert reviews for the college newspaper. My Twenty-something classmates were not interested in country music. When a triple-header featuring Conway Twitty, Merle Haggard and George Jones came up, I grabbed the chance.

The problem was that I had never reviewed a country show before. Actually, I had never reviewed anything. I bought several country music magazines and devoured them. Soon, Twitty, Haggard and Jones were not the only ones who’d caught my interest. I did a piece on Kris Kristofferson, and I researched Alabama and Dolly Parton.

Right around that time, a colleague invited my husband and I to a Willie Nelson show. I’d heard of Willie Nelson before. I knew that he’d written Patsy Cline’s chart-topper “Crazy”, and that his waist-long braids and red bandanna set him apart from the Rhinestone country musicians with the ten-gallon cowboy hats and alligator boots, but that was about it.  We went to the show and had a good time. My friend was a diehard Willie Nelson fan. I liked the show but was otherwise indifferent.

Fast-forward a few years. My husband and I had amicably separated and the colleague with whom I’d attended my first live Willie Nelson show had lost his wife and then reconnected with a high school sweetheart at their 30-year reunion. After a whirlwind courtship they were getting married.  I was invited to the wedding but couldn’t make it because of work. But at least I wanted to get them a nice gift. I asked what they wanted. He said, Willie Nelson’s latest album.

I searched every record store in vain for Willie Nelson’s newest album. That’s because albums were out and CDs were in – something I hadn’t caught onto yet. Several months later I still had not found the gift and was getting desperate. I wanted to come up with something spectacular to make up for my tardiness. As if on cue, another Willie Nelson concert was announced. I got an idea. What if I could arrange for my friend and his new wife to meet Willie Nelson? 

Meets & Greets are usually reserved for radio contest winners, VIPs, the artist’s family and friends, or people with connections. None of this applied to me. But I was determined.

I pulled out the old country music magazines and found the name of Willie Nelson’s manager. Then I looked for his fax number and composed a pleading fax, on the letterhead of the German Embassy, where I worked at the time. I explained my predicament and asked for a couple of Meet & Greet passes. I knew that it was a total shot in the dark and didn’t really expect a response. 

Maybe it was the Embassy letterhead that did it, but I was thrilled when word came back that the Meet & Greet was on. We took Willie a bottle of German Schnaps as a token of our appreciation and were thrilled when he posed for photographs with us. My friend was even more excited than I. He sent the pictures to pretty much everyone he knew. 

Because this had worked so well, I tried it again a year later. This time, Waylon Jennings opened for Willie, and I got a Meet & Greet with him too. I still didn’t know much about Willie. I didn’t know that “Willie Nelson & Family” not only referred to his sister Bobbie, who plays the piano, and his oldest daughter Lana, who is his personal assistant and perhaps closest confidante, but to the entire band and crew, most of whom have been with him for many decades and are considered family. 

Fast-forward another couple of years, late Nineties. I’d experienced some severe heartache. It was the start of summer, and I was determined to get over it quickly. If music is medicine, concerts are a great band-aid for the soul. I pulled out the Entertainment section of the Washington Post and marked all the shows I wanted to see over the summer. Tina Turner. George Thorogood. Bon Jovi. The Judds. Willie Nelson. And for the latter, I immediately sent a fax to his manager’s office again, requesting a Meet & Greet pass for the upcoming Baltimore show.

Unfortunately, sometimes life gets in the way of plans (“fortunately, we’re not in control”). Two days before the Baltimore show, I learned that I’d have to leave for a business trip to Boston the next day. Having to miss the concert did not make me a happy camper. I was grumpy when I arrived in Boston, and I stayed grumpy for the whole four days. 

On Friday, the last day of my assignment, I took the bus from Cambridge to the Convention Center and the bus driver got on my nerves big time. He was determined to talk to me when I wished he’d shut up and leave me alone. Even my monosyllabic answers didn’t stop him. He kept going on and on, about the weather, traffic, the construction going on in Boston Harbor. It wasn’t until he said, “Do you know that Willie Nelson is in town?” that he had my attention.

“Where”? I asked.

“At the Banc Boston Pavilion, right next to the Convention Center.”

I spent all day justifying to myself why I should splurge on the best ticket available. I’d missed the show in Baltimore and just spent four high-stress days away from home. By 5 p.m. I had convinced myself and shelled out $50 for a ticket, determined to treat myself and enjoy the show. 

The Banc Boston Pavilion sits right next to the Convention Center, and I went straight over after the conference to get a good seat. The weather couldn’t have been better for an outside venue. Gigantic white awnings protected against the glaring sun. A cloudless blue sky spanned the harbor, and it was warm enough to take off my stuffy blazer and go sleeveless. 

With two hours to go until show time, the rows of folding chairs were still empty. A few other early birds were in line at the concession stands. The stage was already set up, security was in place, and anticipation filled the air.

When I noticed the lone security guard posted at the fence that separated the front stage from the backstage, I got an idea. 

“I wonder if you could do me a favor”?

He was a young guy, late twenties, clean-cut, probably a cop moonlighting for some extra cash. The place was still almost empty, and he looked bored.

“What”? he asked.

“I had backstage passes for the Willie’s Baltimore show a couple of nights ago but had to come up here for work. I wonder if you could give this card to Willie’s road manager and ask him if I could get a backstage pass for tonight?”

I gave him my business card and scribbled “had Meet & Greets for Baltimore” on the back.

It was a long shot at best because Willie’s road manager didn’t know me from Adam, and the security guard gave me a bemused look that said ‘Lady, you’re not the first one to try this’. 

“Sure,” he said, in a not particularly reassuring tone of voice. “Come back to see me in 15 minutes.” Then he disappeared behind the fence. 

My gut feeling was that it would be futile. He’d throw my card in the nearest trashcan. Because I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment I didn’t even go back. But at least I’d tried.

With my hopes pretty much dashed, I was still determined to have a good time. I headed for the concession stands and bought myself a 16-oz Bud Light. After soaking up the sun for half an hour and watching a steady stream of people entering the arena, I started to look for my assigned section and picked an isle seat.

Most of the chairs were still empty, giving me an unobstructed view of the stage. As usual, the grand piano was on the left, the percussion section in the rear, and Willie’s timeworn guitar, Trigger, was front and center. 

The gigantic Lone Star flag that would drop and unfold at the first bars of “Whiskey River Take My Mind” was rigged up high behind the stage. And above the rolled-up flag, a banner stretched across the entire top of the stage, with the bold inscription www.willienelson.com

As I was making a mental note to check out the website, the security guard jolted me from my thoughts.

“There you are,” he said. “Glad I found you.” And then he handed me two backstage passes.

“These are for you,” he said, “you never came back to pick them up.”

I was momentarily dumbfounded, then thanked him profusely.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” I stammered, “so I didn’t come back.”

“Well, you’re all set now,” he grinned, and returned to his post.

A tingle of excitement slowly worked itself through my body. I was psyched. This was good. Actually, it was better than good. It was great. I was in Boston. A tough work week was over. The sun was shining. I was getting a slight beer buzz on. I was holding two backstage tickets, when all I needed was one. And the show was about to start. Glancing up at the www.willienelson.com banner, I got an idea.

Willie put on a great show, as always, two hours straight plus two encores. By the time he left the stage, night had fallen, and with it a light but steady drizzling rain. As the crowd dissipated, I leisurely made my way backstage toward Willie’s bus, expecting the usual long line. To my surprise, there was no line in front of the bus. No fans hanging around. No Willie by the door of the bus. This was not good.

Was the Meet & Greet over already? Maybe they’d cancelled it because of the rain? Maybe I should have rushed backstage as soon as the show ended and not taken my time until most of the arena had cleared out? Figures. Just my luck.

I was about to turn around and head toward the exit when the bus door opened and Gator, the driver, peeked out.

“Come on in,” he motioned. “He’s doing the Meet & Greets on the bus tonight.”

For a split second, I thought my ears were deceiving me. Was he asking me to come on The Bus? Did he really wave me into Willie’s inner sanctum? The famous Honeysuckle Rose?

I quickly collected myself and didn’t wait for a second invitation to come aboard, all the while still wanting to pinch myself to see if this was really happening to me. I took a deep breath, climbed the two steep steps, and stepped through the heavy curtain that separates the driver’s cab from the inside of the bus.

Willie was standing in the isle between his booth and the galley, signing autographs. Four people were in line ahead of me. I didn’t know any of them. Willie warmly greeted every single person, patiently signed autographs, posed for photographs, accepted kisses, and gave hugs and the impression that he was actually enjoying all of this.

He’d obviously changed clothes after he got offstage, but his hair and his long braid were still matted from the sweat he’d worked up during the show. Pizza boxes, takeout containers, fruit platters and a fancily decorated cake sat on the tiny countertop, and a joint was wasting away unattended in an ashtray nearby.

As the line moved up, I could feel myself getting tongue-tied. I silently reminded myself not to do or say anything stupid. I felt bad for coming empty-handed. If Willie was kind enough to indulge me with his time, at least I should have brought him a token of my appreciation. That’s when my earlier idea, which up to then had been just a blur with no outline, took shape.

“Howdy,” Willie said, shaking my hand and giving me a hug.

I felt my cheeks getting hot and was embarrassed for blushing like a schoolgirl.

“How are you”? I stammered.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

He had no idea who I was, of course. That’s what he says to everyone. But I was determined to make an impression.

“I loved your show tonight,” I said. “It was incredible.”

“Glad you liked it,” he replied routinely.

My voice was shaking nervously as I tried to put together the words to make my pitch.

 “You give people so much pleasure,” I said. “I want to do something for you.”

As soon as I’d said it, I realized how weird it sounded.

“Oh yeah?” He winked at me and gave me a quizzical look. That’s probably because during his 60+ years in showbiz, he’s pretty much heard and seen it all.

“I noticed that you have a website now,” I said. “You have a lot of fans in Europe, and not all of them speak English. I’m a translator. I would love to translate your website for your German-speaking fans.”

He gave me a surprised look. This was probably not what he had expected when I’d said ‘I want to do something for you,’ but he was instantly taken by the idea.

Looking over his shoulder towards the cubbyhole behind his booth, he called,

“Lana?”

A pretty, petite woman with a long gray mane and a distinct hippie aura emerged from the cubbyhole, holding a laptop computer.

“This is my daughter Lana,” he said. “She’s in charge of my website. Tell her what you want to do.”

I pitched her my idea and she liked it. 

“Here’s my email address,” she smiled, handing me a scrap of paper. “Just email me and we’ll get things rolling.”

I don’t remember much of what else was said that night. All I remember is clutching the little piece of paper with the email address like it was a winning lottery ticket, and thinking, Yes, Yes, Yes!!!

I wanted to pinch myself to see if all of this was really happening. I’d just seen another great Willie Nelson & Family show,  gotten a Meet & Greet pass, was invited on his bus, and now I was walking away with his daughter’s email address and the job of translating his website. 

My happy hormones were out of control, but the nagging fun buster that occupies the “Debbie Downer” region of my brain kept saying ‘She’ll probably never answer my emails anyway. This isn’t going to happen. After all, this is Willie Nelson. Why would he need me to translate his website’?

Little did I know that Willie and his family are the real deal. They are down to earth, their kindness knows no limits, they are fun and charismatic and unpredictable, and they are the most unpretentious people ever. Lana and I bonded right away.  She’s the Earth mother, nurturer, problem solver, best friend type and that’s what we’ve become over the years.

I would also never have dreamt that that night in Boston, which happened because of, or despite, circumstances that were completely beyond my control, would mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship and many more exciting adventures to come, including being named an honorary citizen of Texas!

P.S. There are so many stories– I’ve written them but never tried to publish any. Doing so would seem like betraying a dear friendship with Willie and his family members. I just wrote them for myself, to remember all the fun times, the many visits to the ranch in Austin, the European tours, the American tours, the dives we stayed in, the people I met (Snoop Dogg!), the crazy characters that hang around Willie. Just had to write it down so I don’t forget any of it ☺