Fiddle Strings © 2005 by Bob Miller

Where better to observe humankind than Virginia City, Nevada. At least it was in Mark Twain’s time, what a learning experience that must have been.

"Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great ones make you feel you, too, can become great." -- Mark Twain

Virginia City and Mark Twain may seem to be the subject of this work, but really they’re not -- awareness is the subject I’m going to deal with. With your permission, I would like to offer you encouragement and maybe a hug or two. That’s because encouragement and a simple hug or two can do wonders for a broken heart. You may not have a broken heart, and I hope you never do; but we never know what the next hour will bring.

I really enjoy playing the guitar and singing. And without being immodest, I think I can sing pretty well. It’s a strange thing, though, no one-not my mother, wife or friend-has ever complimented my singing. This isn’t a big deal because I’ve never been interested in becoming a professional singer. I always wanted to be a pilot.

Then one night shortly after 10 p.m., my phone rang. It was Danny Lute, a professional musician, and member of the Entertainment Committee. He was performing at the Sands Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, where I lived and worked as a pilot.

"Hey Miller, I know it’s late for you, but will you please go to my house and pick up some strings for my fiddle. My wife’s got to stay at home with the kids and we have to be back on stage in 25 minutes. Please!"

I got out of bed, drove the mile or so to Danny’s place, then made my way through hellish traffic as fast as I could, getting there with two minutes to spare. There was no point in going back to bed, so I stayed for the show, even though I had seen it several times. After the last act finished at 2 am, a frightful time for a human to be up and about, we all went to someone’s place and continued the show, serving ourselves eggs benedict and three-day-old pizza in between acts.

At some point, Danny asked if I would sing a gospel song. It didn’t seem to be the time or place, but I belted out The Old Rugged Cross.

A couple of days later, Danny showed up at my place. Because musicians are almost always broke, I assumed he was there to borrow money. It has nothing to do with how much they earn, there’s just not enough room in their psyche for trivial stuff like money.

"Miller, I’ve been thinking," oh no, now he’s really got me worried. "If you played an acoustic guitar so no one could really hear it, and we got a keyboard player, I think I could get us a lot of bookings. I mean, you sing as good as anyone I’ve ever worked with."

Danny had won the National Fiddle Championships several times, played nearly every string and wind instrument known to man, and had worked with the likes of Wayne Newton. And if you've never worked as a musician for Mr. Newton, then you cannot fully appreciate this. He's a hard working perfectionist who is determined to give his audiences his very best, and those on stage with him had better be prepared to do the same.

I started to cry, as I’m crying now. It had taken 30 odd years, but finally; praise God and Danny Lute, my musical aspirations had been realized.

I suspect that the worst moment for an atheist is when he or she feels thankful and has no one to thank. Wherever you are, Danny Lute, I love you. And, God, thank you for Danny...

Epilogue: The following letter arrived a year after posting this online. I’ll not delete this story, but leave it as a tribute to a wonderful friend, Mr. Danny Lute.

Sir, As I was browsing through the internet, I came across the name Danny Lute. After reading the article I realized that the man you were writing about was my dad. The article brought tears to my eyes as I saw how my father touched your life like he has so many others. As a follow up to my dad's whereabouts, I regret to inform you that he passed away in 1997. It was great to know that my dad helped you fulfill a dream. My name is Brandon Lute and I just wanted to thank you for the kind words about father.

Read other Articles & Short Stories by Bob Miller