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FOR THIS MUSIC FAN, KEEN IS SOME KINDA HERO

Date: November 4, 2004 Edition(s): ALL
Page: 22 Section: GO TRIAD
Column: Off the Cuff Diane Stephenson

It was 1986 when my husband, John, and I heard Robert Earl Keen's first CD, "No Kinda Dancer." John owned School Kids Records and Tapes near UNCG, and he loved music. But he was no kinda dancer. Still, as the music blared, we danced - or tried to - through our house, laughing and loving this new Texas artist we had found.

Since then, John and I have seen Robert Earl at least 20 times - in Texas, Arizona, Louisiana and North Carolina. At the famous Tipitina's in New Orleans, the three of us bellied up to the bar and talked about the birth of his first child, Clara Rose, toasting his good fortune and laughing for hours.
When he started playing in North Carolina, I would cook fried chicken, make potato salad and mix sweetened tea and deliver it to the band so it wouldn't have to suffer through another fast-food meal. For that, I earned the nickname "Chicken Lady.''

So, it was only natural that I invited Robert Earl to play for John's 50th birthday party at Jokers 3 near UNCG. It was quite a night, surrounded by friends, both onstage and off. Who would have known that one of the next times we'd see Robert Earl, our lives would be changed drastically.

It was October 1999. John was dying of a brain tumor when I heard Robert Earl was playing at Ziggy's in Winston-Salem. I knew John couldn't make it to the show because he could hardly talk, let alone walk. I called Ziggy's to see if John could come for sound check, and I was told that most bands don't allow anyone in at sound check. But they said they would ask. Soon, Ziggy's called back. The response? "Robert Earl Keen refuses to go onstage 'til you get here."

It was a sound check I'll never forget. John rolled into Ziggy's in his wheelchair, and each band member came over and talked to us. Robert Earl came over last. He sat next to John for 20 minutes, and they talked. Or rather Robert Earl talked and John listened. I heard Robert Earl say, "I remember when we first met" or "Let me tell you what Clara Rose did." Other times, the two just sat there, soaking up each other's presence and saying "I care" without words.

Then they played. They performed 90 minutes just for John. They pulled out songs such as "No Kinda Dancer, "Feelin' Good Again" and "Paint the Town Beige,'' one of John's favorites. And after each one, they called out, "What do you want to hear next, John?"

The look on John's face was priceless. It was a look of "Thank you so much!" As I sat there, my thoughts were bittersweet. This sound check was one of the best live shows I had ever seen. But I knew it was the last time John and I would ever see Robert Earl together again.

I told Robert Earl how special that was. But he told me how special having John there was for them. Then he did something that still surprises my friends today: He gave me his home number and told me to keep him updated on John's condition.

A few days later, a card came in the mail. It was from Robert Earl. Each of his band members wrote a personal note to John, writing such things as "Thanks for coming to sound check,'' and "Great to see you," and "Hope the music was good, and we'll meet again some day." Robert Earl, in part, wrote this: "A lot of people tell me, 'Hey man, I'm your biggest fan. I've seen you five times now!' I always think of you and Diane at that moment."

John held that card for days.

A month later, I had to use Robert Earl's phone number. John had died that day. I spoke to Robert Earl's wife, Kathleen, and I told her John had died and that her husband had asked to be called. I worried that she would think I was some weirdo, stalking fan, so I told her the band would know me as the "Chicken Lady.'' She told me Robert Earl was on the road, and she didn't know if she could get in touch with him. Five minutes later, my phone rang. It was Robert Earl.

A day later, he and his band were at my front door. They had been playing in eastern North Carolina when they got the news of John's death, and Robert Earl directed his bus driver to swing by Greensboro to pay his respects before heading to play in Asheville.

That gesture spoke volumes to me. Here was Robert Earl Keen, a singer-songwriter who had played to sold-out crowds nationwide and had been featured on CBS's "Sunday Morning,'' stopped his schedule to remember a single man and a lone widow.

I continue to see Robert Earl play every chance I get, and each time I see him, he'll say, "Diane! How are you?'' So, I'll be there Friday night at Carolina Theatre. I'll savor the night, enjoy a band of my own personal heroes and know we're weaving another chapter in this bond we share.

Diane Stephenson lives in Greensboro.

Illustration: PhotoS

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