Danny Seals

Getting older is not for sissies, it’s been said. Not that living in this day and time at any age is. But for people passing their 50s and going into their 60s and beyond there is a meeting of the vortex that brings life as we know it into a much clearer perspective.

Not only are there financial considerations along with familial ones, but there are physical and spiritual realities which are sometimes sobering and at the same time confusing and frustrating.

I’m now into my mid-60s and the last few years has acquainted me with a steady stream of friends and associates passing into the great unknown. At first it’s not that big a deal. Oh, it’s certainly unnerving. People die. That’s all there is to it. But when close friends and family are effected, the realization that we are getting closer to the door ourselves becomes all too realistic. Conversations seem to spring up more frequently these days about so and so passing away. I know I’ve lost several good friends and acquaintances just this past year alone.

Most of the time I just shake my head, say a little prayer for their soul and their family, and try to remember them as I knew them. Memories are wonderful, often bringing a warm silent joy in times of need. But now I’ve lost someone who has me conflicted on so many levels it’s hard to react in a way that seems appropriate.

Last wednesday a great man died. He wasn’t great because he discovered a cure for anything or solved the world’s problems. He was great because he never let unimportant things take him away from the real important things. Family, faith, good humor, and lots of creativity.

Danny Seals was such a man. I met him back in the 80s when he and his family had just come here to Hendersonville, Tennessee to try to get his recording career back on track. He had already experienced a good amount of success with his former band, England Dan and John Ford Coley. But they couldn’t sustain their successes in California. Danny wound up broke and impoverished. He even lived out of his VW bus for a while.

I’m not going to bore you with all the details of his eventual success in the music business. You can get all that on the internet and other places.

What I want to say here is that when I met him he was just a regular Joe, like me. He was trying to feed his family and he had a tough road in front of him. He stuck to his guns, kept recording, and eventually picked himself and his family out of the ranks of the unemployed and made a nice living for them.

He never let the music business go to his head. He stayed a regular Joe throughout his career. His family was the most important thing in life to him, along with the Bahai Faith. He loved God, loved mankind, loved music, and loved fly fishing and making fantastic fly fishing rods from scratch out of bamboo stock.

Danny and his family welcomed my family as close friends and we spent many days and evenings at the Seals house laughing and singing, or swimming in the pool and eating barbeque. His sense of humor was legendary. Danny was full of the devil, but he never let it get the best of him. His humor was never hurtful or cruel. And he would have given you the shirt off his back even if he just met you.

He and his wife, Andy, welcomed my children as their own. They offered themselves up anytime they could be of service and treated everyone who ever met them with dignity and respect. You couldn’t find better people if you ordered them from God’s People Catalogue.

As the years passed I had problems at home with my now ex-wife and things spiraled down for me at a rapid pace. I got a divorce, was in and out of the music business for a few years, and fell in love with my wife, Connie. During that time I lost my faith in any religion and I decided to resign from the Bahai Faith.

After Connie and I married, and I resigned from the Faith, most of my Bahai friends and I became estranged but stayed friendly with one another. If I ran into them on the street we would hug hello, talk for a few minutes, and move on. Some of them were a little cold toward Connie, some a little warmer, but none would shun us. Except for Danny.

If you’ve never been shunned you don’t know how chilling it can be. I guess Danny felt that I was somehow not worthy of his attention, or that I had betrayed The Faith. So anytime I would be in his presence he would hold his hand up to his face and walk on by. This tore me up. I didn’t know how to react, but I accepted this as his decision and I went on.

Now the time has come to pay homage to the man. Today, hundreds will go to the Bahai Center in Nashville for the memorial service. Even my son flew in from California to be here to offer his support to Andy and Danny’s family. My daughter is in India so she couldn’t be here. She wrote a heartfelt letter to Andy and the family that I know they will keep forever. But for me? I just couldn’t bring myself to go. That’s the conflicted part.

I wanted to be there but I know in my heart of hearts that Danny would prefer me to stay away. If I did go I couldn’t take Connie. Not only would she be very uncomfortable, she would not be welcomed by a few people, like my ex-wife and her friends. It’s just a rather sticky situation.

So here I sit trying to work this out in my head but still nothing seems right. Going is not right. Staying home isn’t either. Conflict. Frustration. And sorrow.

I can tell you this. Danny will be missed by all that knew him, even those whom he met only briefly. He was that great. I have had the past few years to miss him. I got used to not being able to communicate with my one-time friend and I moved on. But now I feel like I miss him all over again, and not because he won’t, or cant, talk to me. But because I’ve always known how truly great this guy was, and now the entire world has lost him.

There’s a big hole where Danny Seals used to be. And all I can do is look down into it, and wonder.