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  • Dr. Ted Klontz

The Station Inn



The Station Inn Read by Ted Klontz


I was at the Station Inn recently, in Nashville, Tennessee.  I went at the invitation of a friend, to witness a family share their music together.  The friend whose invitation I had accepted was the reason that family was there (though they would never admit it).


It was their first time at the Station Inn.  A historical musical venue.  Her love and admiration for this family is palpable.  She doesn’t demonstrate it in any overt visible way, but it is evident to me. She loves them.  They were there because she made it happen. 


Three girls, all sisters, and their father.  Representing a new generation, carrying on the incredibly rich Cox Family bluegrass legacy.  


I was seated in a position that allowed me to sit directly in front of the father.  I was floored by what I witnessed.  His music, through his glances, his adoring energy, his smiles, his nods, his deferential energy, was all directed at his three girls; it was as if they were the only ones in the room.  He wordlessly exuded a father’s pure, beautiful, and perfect love towards his girls.  Unmitigated adoration, if I had to sum it up in a word or two.


At the intermission when everyone else got up and went somewhere else, I just sat there.  Stunned, I guess.  I was reminded of my friend who told me that whenever I felt connected to anyone or anything, I was in a spiritual moment.  It felt that way.  Sacred.  Holy.  Silent.  Perhaps only for me (based on the raucous noise surrounding me) but it was for me. 


I was in that liminal space between this world and another.  This wasn’t the first time; it was another one.  These experiences all happen quite unexpectedly and unsuspectingly in terms of time, space, and place. I found myself quietly weeping, out of both eyes (out of one eye, seldom; out of both, never before).


Someone came up to me during intermission and asked (out of genuine concern) if I was bored because I was just sitting there. I told them, no, that actually, I was weeping. My saying that seemed a bit more than that person could handle, so they quietly got up and left.

I smiled to myself and didn’t blame them.  After all, I understand that most of us Anglos are not all that well equipped to respond to those situations. It's a weird thing to say, but it was not at all a weird experience to me. It was just beautiful. I love those experiences.  I live for them.   


By the time I got home, I had been up 22 hours. I was feeling tired. I went to bed, planning on sleeping five hours, at least, until I had to do my thing the next morning. I fell asleep and I was blessed by a dream that was and wasn't a dream. It was simply the continuation of the energy of the evening before.  All fueled by what this woman was doing for this family. She just loved on them, and saw their potential, and vowed to save their music.


What was that dream?  I’ll tell you next time, but, if you can, remember the name, Charlie Billy.  

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