Godspeed, Gary Rossington. Thank You Just Isn’t Enough

I couldn’t call him a friend. I’ve met Gary Rossington maybe a half dozen times over the years. We’ve never had a beer or dined together. Gary has never been to my house, nor me to his. Given those facts, why does his death feel like a close and personal loss? Every day it seems we hear news of the passing of an actor, musician, or sports figure we’ve followed and admired. We usually have a moment of sadness and fond memories, then go about our day. After all, life goes on. Why does Gary’s passing seem so different?

To answer that, you’d have to go back to the days when most of us discovered the band. There were lots of great acts around when Skynyrd came on the horizon. It was the golden era of rock, and talent was in abundance. No doubt, there was a lot to love in rock, but there was something extra special about the boys from Jacksonville. Right from the start, it felt like they were ours. Alan Walden saw something special in them. Al Kooper saw something special, too. So did the fans.

You didn’t need to see his impressive resume or gold and platinum records to understand how Gary impacted his fans and admirers. Just talk to one of us, and you’ll soon see. Respect, appreciation and admiration were just a few of the feelings you’d encounter.

I first saw Lynyrd Skynyrd in 1975 in Atlanta. I was a high school kid who fell in love with the band after hearing their first album, Pronounced. Getting to see them live was a treat beyond words. We grew up watching country music stars on TV, with their sequined outfits and calm stage demeanor. American Bandstand was about as harmless as it gets. Don Kirshner’s Rock concert exposed us to more sounds my friends and I connected with, but it was still pretty benign.

There were the Allman Brothers before them. I admired their music, but it never connected with me the way that Skynyrd did. When I saw Skynyrd for the first time, I realized that they were genuinely different. Yes, there were bands like the Who that were wild and destructive on stage, but with Skyryrd, it never seemed like an act. It was who they were. It was like it was their mission to make you an addict of what they were selling, their brand of Southern rock, and they were damn good at it. Barefoot Ronnie, three smoking guitars, and all the other pieces of greatness were nothing you would see elsewhere.

A Skynyrd show was a lot like watching a movie you love over and over again. You knew from the setlist where you were in the show and what was left to go before it was sadly all over. Even with that knowledge, a part of you was hoping for some miraculous intervention that stretched the show out longer than we knew it would be.

I saw Skynyrd in Statesboro just days before that tragic October 20th, and had tickets to see them again in Atlanta soon after. For everyone I knew, it felt to us like it was our family in that crash. We grieved for those lost and rooted and prayed for those fighting for their lives. We mourned the loss of the music, but even moreso, were deeply saddened by the pain and loss for those that we felt were part of us.

I have often thought about what it was about Skynyrd that connected so much more closely than other incredible artists. In the end, for me anyway, they seemed like they were playing music just for me. Their lyrics resonated with what I dealt with in my life. They sang about love, loss, family, heroes, wisdom, and life experiences. Unlike all the other great bands of the day, it seemed like they had grown up where I did, knew the people I knew, lived the same ups and downs, and shared similar heroes.

In 1976, the band played three incredible shows at the Fox Theater. Not only were they there to capture the fire and brimstone of a Skynyrd show for a live album, but they were also raising money to save the facility itself. This was the first time I saw Steve Gaines with the band. To say he was a great addition was an understatement. Many scenes, sounds, and images scream Southern, but none more legendary than the slide intro for Free Bird, on the stage of Atlanta’s Fox Theater, coming from Gary Rossington’s SG.

My neighbor and fifty-year friend Dan Johns rode to school together every day. We both had eight-track tape players in our cars. The One More From the Road album was a daily staple. Free Bird started on the third track and took up all of the fourth. Each day, hearing our anthem was as exciting as hearing it for the first time. Air drums, air guitar, “Play it pretty for Atlanta,” and “What song is it you want to hear?” never got old. There was even air piano to Billy’s incredible keyboard part. Do you know another song that you can listen to every day for a year and not feel like you need a break from? I don’t.

Over the years, members of the band have passed. Time has taken those from the classic lineup of our youth and some of those that have come since. Through it all, Gary was still there, anchoring the Skynyrd legend. I’ve seen the band around thirty times since they reformed. I’ve seen Allen roll on stage in his wheelchair to talk about the demons some may face. I’ve seen Shorty introduce the band. I’ve seen Free Bird played as an instrumental with a spotlight on an unmanned mike stand. Through it all, I’ve seen Gary, soldiering on, giving the people what we so desperately want to hear and feel. He and the others let us know that, despite a horrific tragedy, the music that became a part of us was still here for us, in us.

I saw the band last July in Tennessee. Damon Johnson was filling in for Gary for health reasons. Damon is an incredible player who seemed to take his role seriously and respectfully. Even though he is a major star in his own right, my guess is that he looks at Skynyrd with the same level of awe as the rest of us.

There are those who feel that today’s Skynyrd, even with Gary, wasn’t the same. You certainly can feel how you choose, but I feel differently. Seeing how the crowds react, spending an entire show on their feet, singing along to every song, leads me to believe that the fans love both eras of the legend. They are thankful for those who started the Skynyrd family and those who endeavor today to bring us the music that has been such a significant part of our lives. Fans that weren’t even born in the band’s classic era were as passionate as us old folks who have been around forever. Gary was the last one who straddled the old/new fence.

For me, I hope the current band continues. I suspect that Gary’s wishes will be the most significant determining factor in that decision. As much as I feel a personal loss with Gary’s death, I think the sadness would be even more profound if I never got to see the band on stage again, carrying forward the legacy of Gary and the others that played a major part in creating the music that, for me and I’m guessing many of you, is a part of my soul.

Gary picked the guys playing under the Skynyrd banner today, so I feel they are the appointed disciples destined to carry on. Yes, many of the icons are now gone, but I hope that their music lives on through the passionate work of Rickey, Johnny, Michael, Sparky, Damon, and the others.

Whether or not I get to see the band play live again, either way, I know that on my last day on this earth, and for every day until then, Gary and Lynyrd Skynyrd will be a part of me. Free Bird, quite possibly, will be the last song I hear on this earth and the first one played at my funeral. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Godspeed, Gary Rossington, and thank you for everything.