WALKING AWAY OR WALKING TOWARD?
WHEN MY STINT ON THE PAISLEY TOUR CONCLUDED IN Connecticut at the end of October, I woke up on November 2, 2009, in the Litchfield Hills, with breathtaking views of the Berkshires’ fall foliage. That afternoon a chauffeur picked me up in a limousine at Interlaken Inn and Resort and drove me to the home of Daryl Hall, where I was to appear on his television show, Live from Daryl’s House.
Along with some great musicians, I met Daryl in his home studio. He greeted me, wearing his sunglasses. “Hey, man,” Daryl welcomed me in his aloof sort of way. “Glad you’re here.” The idea of the show was for Daryl and his studio pros to jump in and sing along on some of my songs, so we recorded all afternoon. By evening we had knocked out a great show of music, the highlight again, for me, was Daryl and me singing “Sara Smile.”
I received a phone call a few weeks later from John Oates. “How’d it go, man?”
“It was a dream come true,” I said, “to sing with one of the greatest vocalists of all time.”
“That’s awesome,” John said. “I’ve been fortunate to sing with Daryl a long time. I’m glad you got the opportunity.”
JOHN AND I HAD ESTABLISHED A GENUINE FRIENDSHIP, SO it made sense for me to contact him early in December when I decided to walk halfway across America to raise awareness about foster kids aging out of the system at eighteen with nowhere to go. “Foster kids don’t want a free ride,” I explained to him. “They are just looking for someone to meet them halfway.” I told John that I was thinking of calling my walk “Meet Me Halfway” because I hoped to walk seventeen hundred miles from Monroe Harding foster center in Nashville to HomeBase foster center in Phoenix—a distance equivalent to walking halfway across America. John caught the vision immediately. “I want to get started by the first of the year,” I told him. “That way I’ll be done by the time the spring and summer tour season starts. I think I can write some new songs along the way.”
I asked John if he had any connections with a company that may be willing to endorse the walk. Sure enough, John had an idea. “I know someone at Marmot,” John said. “Let me reach out to my friend there.”
I was familiar with the outdoor sports equipment and apparel company, but had no contacts with them at the time, so John’s reaching out to them was a tremendous help. On December 6, 2009, John wrote a personal e-mail to Alison Smith at Marmot:
A. My good buddy Jimmy Wayne (country singer) has a very cool project he is doing to promote awareness of homeless kids (read his story) around the country. . . . He had a huge #1 single this past summer, and his version of “Sara Smile” is in the top 30 on the country charts right now. He wants to walk around the country and sleep on the streets with kids and talk / sing to them and share their stories. . . . I thought you / Marmot might want to get involved with outfitting him and cross-promoting this. Pls. check out his sites. His bio is below.
By 10:30 a.m. the next day, Alison responded to John’s request:
Good morning,
That is a great idea and a perfect cause for us to support. I will review with my marketing team this week and get back to you.
P.S. I love Jimmy Wayne’s music and am very familiar with him. And his version of your song definitely honors your work and brings a new audience to that great music.
Did you check out the new Marmot store on Galena? Soft opening last Friday.
Talk soon. Alison
Although Alison’s note implied that it might take a week or longer to broach the subject with her marketing team, she must have been incredibly persuasive because before that day ended, she sent another note to John Oates.
Subject: RE: Oates idea
Hi there,
We are happy to participate in this cause. Do you want to send me the contact info, and I will pick it up from here?
Looking forward to helping out.
Alison
Amazing! But not so unusual for people such as John—someone who is willing to work behind the scenes, to lend his celebrity to help people whether he receives any acknowledgment for it or not—and Alison—someone who knows how to make things happen and is willing to throw her energy into doing it with excellence. Within days Marmot sent me more than ten thousand dollars’ worth of materials—pants, shirts, jackets, windbreakers, a backpack and tent, flashlights, everything I could possibly need for surviving out in the cold Tennessee terrain, and lightweight clothing for the superheat of the Arizona desert. Their generosity was astounding!
When I told friends about my idea, some people tried to talk me out of it. “Jimmy, that’s just too far!” they cautioned. But I’d traced it out on the map on the Southwest Airlines napkin, and it didn’t look too far to me. More important, I could no longer avoid the conviction I felt about not keeping my promise to help those foster kids, and I was convinced that I wanted to do it.
In mid-December it occurred to me that I probably should do some conditioning before I attempted to walk across the country. I wasn’t in bad physical shape, but after several months on the road, eating at the Paisley backstage banquet every day, I was in need of some vigorous workouts. I certainly wasn’t in the condition of a marathon runner or even a baseball or football player. I was a musician! And starting in the midst of the Christmas season didn’t exactly help matters.
A few days before Christmas I made an announcement to the media regarding the proposed walk, inviting the public to “Meet Me Halfway.” Scott Borchetta called me the next day, praising the concept. “I love this idea,” Scott gushed. “We’ll have the entire label staff out there to walk the first mile with you on January 1.”
I spent New Year’s Eve in my upstairs bedroom, rolling every item of my clothing—my Marmot shirts, pants, jackets, and Smartwool socks, even my underwear—and then placing each piece of clothing into its own Ziploc freezer bag. This was a trick I had learned while living outside in the cold as a fourteen-year-old. Rolling the clothes made it possible to get more into a tight space, and the plastic bags kept my clothes dry, even in the rain or snow. Packing everything I owned in plastic is how many of my childhood poems, drawings, photos, official documents, and prison letters survived all the years of my disjointed living.
I couldn’t help reliving some of those experiences, even as an adult in my nice warm townhouse, as I carefully packed each plastic bag into my backpack. When I finished packing, I turned off all the lights in my master bedroom and gazed out the large window. From my location I could see downtown Nashville’s New Year’s Eve celebration, which included a huge fireworks display, the dark night sky bursting with umbrellas of color every few seconds. A part of me wished I could be out there, celebrating the beginning of the new year with everyone else, but I knew I needed to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
ON JANUARY 1, 2010, WHILE THE REST OF THE WORLD WAS waking up to the Rose Bowl Parade, football games, and family events, I washed out my coffeepot, checked the clothes dryer and water faucets, and unplugged everything I could. I planned to be gone for at least three months. Bitterly cold winter air smacked me in the face as I left my townhouse at 9:44 a.m. and headed to Monroe Harding. When I arrived, I was met by a crowd of supporters, including my friend and record label boss Scott Borchetta and the staff of Valory Music Company. Jenny Bohler and Mike Kraski, from my management company, were there too.
Grand Ole Opry star and country music legend John Conlee braved the cold to see me off that morning as well. John gave me a special coin to carry along with me on my journey. “My son is in the Marine Corps,” John said, as he gave me the coin, “and I want you to know that just as I am proud of what he is doing, I am proud of what you are doing. I’ll be praying for you.” John’s kind gesture deeply touched me.
I went inside and spoke to the kids participating in the foster program, living at Monroe Harding. They were incredibly encouraging and appreciative. After talking briefly with the kids, I was having an interview with the media when Scott Borchetta stepped up in front of the live television news cameras and said, “I am donating fifty thousand dollars to project Meet Me Halfway.” Although I was grateful for such a generous gift, I was shocked at Scott’s promised contribution, especially since I hadn’t solicited funds from anyone and was merely seeking to raise awareness of the plight of foster kids through my efforts.
It was finally time to start walking, and I was ready. I stepped over to my vehicle and hoisted the heavy Marmot backpack onto my shoulders for the first time. Whoa! Who packed this thing? I hadn’t road-tested the fifty-pound backpack until the moment I began my seventeen-hundred-mile trek. It suddenly struck me just how poorly prepared for this journey I really was, but it was too late. To the cheers and encouragement of numerous onlookers, I took the first steps out of the parking lot, toward Highway 70, eventually heading west toward Memphis. I paused momentarily and looked back. “Here we go,” I called to the cheering crowd. “This is the beginning of the walk. Seventeen hundred miles!”
Despite the below-freezing temperatures, a large group of enthusiastic, exuberant people, including Scott and the Valory team, walked the first mile along with me. That initial mile seemed relatively easy; friends and associates were talking to me and laughing, and of course, I was still running on adrenaline, but I noticed the backpack was not getting any lighter. The end of the first mile was bittersweet as Scott and the Valory staff and I parted company. I didn’t realize that their departure was a living metaphor, soon to be played out in my future.
By midafternoon I had barely cleared the West Nashville suburbs, and already my crowd of fellow walkers had vanished. I was on my own, alone, walking out Highway 70. Cars whizzed by at fifty-five miles per hour or faster, whipping the already chilling winds across my face as they passed. Semitrucks roared past me, as well, a few blowing their horns as they sprayed me with a mixture of road dust and diesel smoke. I didn’t know if they were greeting me or telling me to get off their turf. I stopped at a Hardee’s restaurant, glad to take off the backpack for a while. I gobbled down a chicken filet sandwich, stopped at the restroom, and went right back out on the road again.
Day One of the walk was a mixture of excitement, adjustment to the cold temperatures, and a sudden awareness of the horrendous loneliness I felt. Despite my best efforts to stave off the devil’s attacks, depression was only a step away. The devil kept taunting me, telling me that I was stupid, that this walk was all in vain, and that I was a fool for walking away from a successful music career, leaving behind everything for which I had worked so hard the past twelve years. And for what? For a bunch of kids whom I would never know and who would never know my name.
I remembered Jesus’ words, “Get behind me, Satan!” (Matt. 16:23).
And I sensed God telling me, Keep walking, Jimmy.
So I took the next step.