Glen Campbell was a name I learned as a little girl sneaking into my brother’s room. David was eleven years older than me and didn’t have the same rules that I was subject to as a ten-year-old kid. My daddy, being a strict Baptist preacher, had rules and I was not allowed to listen to “secular” music. But David had outgrown that rule. He had travelled the world with the Air Force and was back at home again. He had all kinds of music in his room and in his car. When he wasn’t home I would find a spot in his room and put in an eight-track and listen to The Lettermen, The Carpenters, The Beach Boys, and Glen Campbell. Glen’s voice was sweet and pure. I loved to sing along with “Gentle on My Mind”, “By the Time I Get to Phoenix”, and “Witchita Lineman”. Never in a million years would I have dreamed that I would one day meet the man singing on that little strip of plastic in a hard-shelled box. In fact, I had forgotten those days completely by the time I was twenty-something in Music City.
We were finishing up a contract at Meadowgreen Music Company when Geoff was called in to a session with Glen Campbell. I don’t remember now if he was doing background vocals or if we were asked to write for the album. All I remember is the story of how we became writers for Glen Campbell Enterprises.
Shortly before we met him, Glen had stopped drinking, returned to the church, and had turned his life around. He was in the middle of doing a Christian album. When Geoff walked in to the studio they were listening back to a vocal Glen had just done. Everyone was oohing and aahing over it but Glen was not so sure. He looked at Geoff, whom he had never met, and said “What about you son? What do you think?” Geoff was never much on politics so he said “Well sir, I think you have a better one in you.” Glen smiled and said to Geoff, “I like you.” He turned around to the rest of the room and said “I trust him – let’s do it again.” Within a few months, we were signing songwriting contracts with Glen Campbell Enterprises.
Meeting Glen was like finding an uncle you have never met. He walked in and gave me a hug and I was at ease. I don’t ever remember being intimidated or “stage-struck” by him. It was just comfortable and right. He loved our daughter Naomi too, and treated her like one of his own. His wife Kim was a spitfire and an amazing presence in my life for the next ten to twelve years. She was doing Bible studies on the Messianic Jewish faith and would send me videos and CDs to watch and listen to. I looked up to her strength and fortitude. I still do.
We wrote for the next three albums Glen released. We travelled to Branson to spend time with him while he was performing at the Glen Campbell Goodtime Theater. It was on the first trip there that I remembered the “name” Glen Campbell. Seeing all of the women rush the stage to touch his hand, to take his picture up close, to swoon. All of a sudden I was a little girl sitting in my brother’s room and I said out loud “oh, you are THAT Glen Campbell.” Like I said before – our relationship wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a star. He was my friend. He has released more than sixty albums, but my recollections of him will be sitting around a table talking about how good God is.
I remember the night nearly fifteen years later when the news announced that Glen had been picked up for driving under the influence. I didn’t see it. But we got phone calls from everyone. “Have you heard?” We hadn’t heard. Most people wanted a reaction I think. Some were genuinely concerned. We prayed. And we waited a few days. And then Geoff called him. I will never forget Glen’s response. “Thank you for reaching out to me. Not one, not one of my Christian friends has.” Then he shared his story and his sorrow. There is a line in the song “Ghost on a Canvas” from one of Glen’s last albums – “the ghost on the canvas – people don’t see us – ghost on the canvas – people don’t know when they’re looking at souls.”
Glen, my friend, is in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. He can no longer carry on conversation, but place a guitar in his hands and he can still play. He recorded a final song to tell what this disease feels like before he couldn’t do it anymore. One of the lyrics reminds me of our summer at Proskuneo Worship Institute – Redefining Words. The man who has recorded over 60 albums sings…
I don’t play guitar or sing my songs
It never defined who I am
When you look in someone’s eyes, never forget that you are looking at a soul. No matter how important they may seem. No matter how unworthy. No matter what. We all hurt. We all grieve. We all fail. We all weep.
Love someone who needs it today.
Glen’s final song:
http://www.nbcnews.com/watch/nightly-news/glen-campbells-last-studio-recording-session-338445379894