Diary of a Player by Brad Paisley Read Free Book Online

rallies, fairs, infinity and beyond. We were called the C-Notes. Some of you may remember us, a 12-year-old front man with three AARP members backing him up, Gene Elliott, Tom Berisford and Hank, a semi-retired world class lead guitarist who had played in the military, in Europe and with countless jazz and country bands over the years, and then in mine. I look back now at my luck and I can’t believe it.
    Here was a man who was willing to take a kid under his wing, all the while standing in the background. He was incredible, he could play ANYTHING from Chet to Les Paul, Hank Garland to Joe Pass; and yet if you look back at those videotapes, there I am with my cheapJapanese Strat, flogging away and playing way out of tune with him grinning ear to ear. No ego about it. A master guitarist, standing in the shadows, letting an unpolished little upstart take the lead.
    When someone would gush about his talents, he would blush and say they were too kind.
    When we were paid well for a gig, he would come over to my dad and say, “Let Brad have most of it. He’s the front man.” He insisted I take a solo in every song, right next to him. He would hold back and make sure I never looked out of my league. He was humble and selfless. He taught me how to lead a band and he treated everyone with respect and kindness.
    He led his family in the same gentle way. He was an incredible father, husband, grandfather, worker, and friend. I learned so much from him, from how to treat people to how to handle praise. And so I have spent the bulk of my career trying to honor him. I talk about him in interviews; I mention with pride the way I was taught by a master. And I wanted to write this today because I feel so strongly that his talent was extraordinary. I want my hometown to feel pride in his life and the overabundance of talent we are so blessed to have in this area.
    It’s not right that he passes on silently without recognition. If you know who I am, if you have enjoyed my songs on the radio, if you’ve ever wondered how I got to this level, well, one person is at the top of the list of who’s responsible. His name was Clarence “Hank” Goddard. He left a wake the size of a river barge. I will spend all my days trying to live up to the example he set for me, with this career that he made possible for me.
    I thank God for Hank Goddard.
    Days later, I called Steve Wariner. Besides having charted more than fifty singles on the country charts, including ten number one smashes, like “Holes in the Floor of Heaven,” “Some Fools Never Learn,” and “You Can Dream of Me,” Steve was another big influence on me as a guitar player, and a very close friend. In addition to our love of music, Steve and I had something else in common: we each had a brilliant guitar teacher who had meant the world to us. The man who took Steve under his wing was none other than the great Chet Atkins—who was himself perhaps the ultimate guitar hero to my grandfather, Hank Goddard, and pretty much the world.
    Because I knew that Chet Atkins was like a father to Steve, I asked Steve to come over, and I shared the song I had begunto write. “You wanna write your own verses of this song for Chet?” I asked him. One of my more treasured possessions is a photo of Chet, Hank, and me. Though I had the honor of meeting Chet on a few occasions, I didn’t get to know him personally, but I feel like I knew him through Steve, who has shared a million Chet stories with me over the years.

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    One of my more treasured possessions is a photo of Chet, Hank, and me.
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    C hester Burton Atkins—better known as Chet—was one of the most respected and influential figures in the history of country music and American music generally. He was born dirt-poor in the tiny Appalachian town of Luttrell, Tennessee, yet somehow he became a symbol for sophistication in country music. Chet became known as “Mr.