A BROTHER IN SONG – JIMMY FORTUNE’S FINAL TRIBUTE TO HAROLD REID IN STAUNTON, VIRGINIA
It was a night unlike any other — quiet, reverent, and steeped in memory. Inside a small theater in Staunton, Virginia, Jimmy Fortune stood beneath the soft glow of stage lights, not as a performer seeking applause, but as a brother saying goodbye.
Before him stood a portrait of Harold Reid, the deep-voiced anchor of The Statler Brothers and the man who had shared his life in song for decades. The air was still, the audience hushed. Jimmy’s hand rested gently on his guitar as he leaned into the microphone and whispered, “This one’s for you.”
There was no spotlight grandeur, no scripted introduction — only honesty. What followed was not performance, but prayer set to melody, the kind of music that comes from the deepest corners of love and loss. His voice trembled on the first line, fragile yet unwavering, each word a thread connecting past to present.
The years seemed to gather in that room — long drives through Southern highways, laughter in motel rooms, the joy of harmony that once carried across America. For a moment, the decades folded into one single, sacred silence.
Jimmy’s voice, though seasoned with grief, carried the unmistakable warmth of remembrance. It was the sound of a man singing to his brother — one who had shared the miles, the memories, and the mission. Each note lingered like a heartbeat, echoing through the rafters of the old hall.
There was no applause during the song, no rustle in the seats — only tears, quiet and sincere. By the time he reached the final verse, Jimmy’s eyes glistened, his voice barely above a whisper.
The road goes on, though one’s gone home,
The song still plays, though I sing alone.
If heaven’s choir needs harmony,
Save me a part, and wait for me.
When the last chord faded, Jimmy lowered his head. The silence that followed wasn’t emptiness — it was reverence, a collective moment of gratitude for what had been shared between two brothers who gave their lives to song.
He looked up then, eyes turned toward the heavens, and said softly, “See you soon, my friend.”
There were no encores, no curtain calls. He simply stepped away from the microphone, leaving behind a single guitar resting against the stool — its strings still vibrating faintly, as though the music itself refused to let go.
For those who were there, it was clear: this wasn’t entertainment. It was farewell — holy, humble, and true.
As the crowd slowly rose to its feet, the portrait of Harold Reid glowed faintly in the light — a silent reminder that harmony never really dies. It only changes form, carrying on in the hearts of those who keep singing.
And in that sacred stillness, Jimmy Fortune’s song did exactly that.
It carried.